The Better Part of Darkness (5 page)

“I’m fine.”

He briefly examined the chaos of the scene. His jaw started to twitch. Never a good sign. He propped both hands on his hips, his voice clipped and tight when he spoke. “You did this?”

Feeling stronger, I picked up my firearm slowly, ignoring the pain, and slid it into the holster under my left arm. “I got one round off,” I said, not meeting his intense gaze. “The other two, guess I just got lucky.” I warned Bryn with my look to be quiet. “They may look strong, but they don’t know how to fight dirty.” It was lame, I knew, but what else could I say? That a weird surge of strength had possessed me and allowed me to kill two jinn with my bare hands? Yeah, right. Even I didn’t believe it. There had to be some other explanation.

Hank dragged his fingers through his hair, looking from the bodies to me and then back again. “You had better hope none of these guys were from the local jinn tribe …”

I couldn’t entertain the thought of jinn retribution. Not right now. Instead, I walked away, passing the paramedics as they placed the bodies in bags, to the officer on the scene to give him my statement.

About a half hour later, Hank and Bryn walked, or rather stalked, me to my car.

“I can’t believe you came down here alone,” Hank muttered, finally breaking the silence.

I’d seen it coming. “I come down here
alone
all the time. So do you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to wait for your partner. I’d think you’d have learned your lesson by now.”

Oh, hell no. He wasn’t about to make me feel guilty about this. I grabbed his arm, standing toe-to-toe with him. “I
did
learn my lesson, Hank. I was already down here getting Bryn to babysit. And you and I both talk to Auggie, to get the scoop, whenever we’re here. Alone or not. I didn’t attack the jinn or go after them.
They
jumped
me
. So get the hell off my back.”

Enough of this crap. I left them both standing in the plaza, went to my car, and then peeled away from the curb.

I yanked down the mirror, stunned by the red-and-black blood-streaked face staring back at me. I didn’t recognize this person—gaunt, wide-eyed, and scared shitless. Everyone said Bryn and I bore a close resemblance, though my hair was more on the brown side than auburn, but looking in the mirror I saw no resemblance to anyone human at all.

I could be an extra from
Night of the Living Dead.

The scent of blood, iron, and tar filled the car, and as soon as I noticed, my stomach curdled and a cold sweat broke through my achy skin. Unable to hold it in, I opened the car door and puked on the concrete. Twice.

My lungs couldn’t fill fast enough with air and it took several seconds for my breathing to return to normal. Once it did, I grabbed the keys, ignored the shaky legs, and hurried into the back of the brick building, heading up the back stairs to the showers.

I didn’t allow myself to think or feel the hollow ache in my stomach, just went straight to my locker, undressed, grabbed my toiletries, and stepped into the shower.

Hot water stung my skin, almost too hot, but it had to be that way. I
needed
to be clean. Bloody water and thick suds pooled like pink cotton candy at my feet, sliding off my hair and skin as I scrubbed and shampooed until, finally, the water ran clear.

It had all gone so wrong. And Auggie. Poor, harmless Auggie was dead, and I should’ve been dead, too.

Again.

Ever since that night eight months ago, I’d hardly gotten into an altercation of any kind while on the job. Sure, we had runners, ducked a few punches, and exchanged fire a few times, but nothing like this. I had told myself the last time, when I woke in the hospital alive and saw Emma’s pale face: I’d never take another chance. Even if it meant letting a crook go.

So why had I
wanted
to fight? I’d purposefully invited an ass-kicking. I could have run, just as Auggie urged me to, yet I hadn’t.

Lately, I didn’t know who the hell I was anymore.

Screw this. I should just retire to a desk job. It was the right thing to do and the only option if I wanted to raise my child and be a good mom. She needed me to be there for her. She needed that kind of stability in her life. Not someone who might never come back from her shift.

My palms flattened on the shower wall. I let my head fall low between my shoulder blades. My throat closed, and my chest hurt, but it was the right decision. It had to be.

After I stepped out of the shower and dried off, I inspected my naked body in the long mirror. Bryn had been right. Somehow, I’d healed. I closed my eyes tightly and shook the cobwebs from my mind. When I opened them again, nothing had changed. It was almost too much for one day. A sharp laugh escaped me, sounding awfully demented in the quiet of the locker room.

“There has to be some explanation,” I whispered, studying my body. My swollen eyes had healed, though dark circles lingered beneath. My split lip was almost gone. A few ugly bruises colored my left rib cage and collarbone, and there was a faint yellow bruise on my jaw. Otherwise, I looked my normal self: tall, lanky, and fit.

My hand rubbed my flat stomach. It still amazed me that I’d grown a child in that small space—and that my boobs had skyrocketed from a 36B to a 40C. Will, my ex, had loved every second of that. The memory made me smile.

We all looked alike: me, Bryn, and Emma. The same big, light-brown irises flecked with gold and copper, the same high cheekbones and determined chins, the same lips—you could pick out a Madigan anywhere by our lips. They were full, more puckered than wide. Well, that’s what I thought when I’d watch Emma sleep. We each had a right-sided dimple—except Bryn; she had a matching pair—and straight noses, with just the faintest tilt.

I saw my sister and my daughter in the face that stared back at me, a face that nodded with a single-minded purpose.

I dressed quickly in clean street clothes: jeans, boots, and a deep red V-neck T. Then I hooked my badge onto my belt loop, replaced my shoulder holster and firearms, dried my hair with one of the wall-attached dryers, and then twisted it up with a clip. The tension eased out of me as I regarded my image in the long over-the-sink mirror. Minus the mascara and clear lip gloss I usually wore to work, I looked like the same old Charlie. Hair up. Small diamond studs in my ears. And my T-shirt of choice. The cotton V-neck. I slipped Bryn’s charm over my head, finding comfort in the weight and warmth of the disk as it settled between my breasts.

Feeling a little better at seeing the usual me, I shoved my soiled clothes into a bag, making sure to pull out the matches Auggie had slid into my palm before he died, and then made my way down to the evidence room to turn in the gun I’d used on the first jinn to attack me, as well as the bloody clothes. The matches I tucked safely into the back pocket of my jeans.

As I rounded the corner, a couple spilled into the hallway from the chief’s office. Crap. I was already pivoting on my heels when a voice called out:

“Charlie! Oh, thank God.”

The last thing I needed was to go through the wringer with the Motts, but since they knew me from all the times Amanda had babysat and stayed at the house, I had no choice but to turn around with a fake smile plastered on my face.

Marti, Amanda’s mom, rushed toward me. “We just came from the hospital. The doctors can’t tell us anything. We heard you were at the school. Please tell us our baby is going to be okay.”

Cold and bony, her hands gripped both of mine with a strength that surprised me considering how thin and fragile she appeared in her black slacks, lightweight pink sweater set, and expensive blonde bob. Gently, I removed her manicured claws and used the most calming tone I could muster. “We’re doing everything we can to figure out what happened, Marti. And how to fix it.”

A snort broke out behind her. “Hanging out at the station doesn’t seem like—”

“Cass,” Marti warned her husband with a light hand on his arm even as she continued to smile at me.

Cassius Mott was the younger brother of celebrated research scientist Titus Mott. And he was the biggest good-for-nothing I’d ever known. Besides being a first-rate asshole, he squandered his share of the Mott fortune day after day on drugs, fast cars, gambling, partying, and probably a whole slew of other illegal activities. He was tall, dark-haired, and probably good-looking if one could get past the attitude. Which I couldn’t.

“Have you found any leads?” Marti asked gently, always softening the crassness of her husband. “No one can tell us anything. If there’s a cure, if she’ll wake up …”

I thought of the matches Auggie gave me. “Nothing solid, but we’re doing our best. I wouldn’t settle for anything less.” Three years ago we’d met at Hope Ridge. She needed help with carpooling, and I needed a babysitter in the afternoons for Em. It had worked out perfectly. “Look, I care about Amanda, too. She’s been a great big sister to Emma and a big help to me. I’m going to do everything I can to figure this out.”

“I know you will.”

Cass rolled his eyes, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere but here, finding out about his kid. Asshole. “I don’t know why my brother even bothers with you people. Come on, Marti.” He marched away, straightening the collar on his salmon-colored golf shirt, Marti giving me a hopeless look and then trailing in his wake. I wanted to run to her and shake some sense into her, but after three years of subtly placed comments over my kitchen table, I knew she wouldn’t listen. Not until she reached a breaking point. If she even had one.

Chief Abernathy stepped into the hallway and followed my gaze to the retreating figures with a hard set to his square jaw. He must’ve heard the exchange in the hallway, and he hadn’t liked it one bit.

A bear of a man, the chief had street-tough senses and a boxer’s intimidating face. His hands were as big as oven mitts and solid as a rock, just like the rest of him. “That guy rubs everybody the wrong way,” he commented, in a deep voice reminiscent of Barry White.

“Yeah.”

“But,” he said, “his brother donates a shitload to this department.”

“Is that a warning to be nice?” I finally looked at him as the Motts disappeared around the corner.

“It is what it is, Madigan. We make nice with the folks who provide us with state-of-the-art weapons and funding. So, you wanna tell me what happened in Underground?”

“Just defending myself. They seemed to have a grudge against ITF.”

He chuckled. “Who doesn’t? Listen, the doc is looking for you.”

“But—” I had to talk to him about a transfer.

“No buts, Madigan. You’ve missed the last two psych evaluations. Make sure you stop by her office on the way out.” He turned back to his office, but paused and gave me the infamous eye—a piercing black stare no one could take for more than a few seconds. “And I’m not asking.”

I inhaled deeply. The last thing I wanted was to be analyzed by some Ph.D. who didn’t know the first thing about tracking a crook, facing a ghoul with a bad attitude, or dodging a bullet. Emma would be home from school soon, and I didn’t have time for this. Screw the doc.

As I started down the hall, the chief stuck his head out of his office, holding a cell phone a few inches away from his ear. “I mean it, Madigan. Go see her.”

Great.

I did a one-eighty and headed back the other way with a sharp glare at the chief, but he’d already shut his office door.

Fine. But I was going to make this as quick as possible.

Doctor Berkowitz, or Doctor Berk, as we called her, peeked over the upper rim of her stylish horn-rimmed glasses as I entered the Loony Room … er, office.

“Officer Madigan, please have a seat.” She set aside the papers on her desk, folded her delicate hands on the polished surface, and waited for me to comply.

The brown leather chair begged me to sink down into its comfy cushions and lay open all my deepest and darkest fears. I perched on the edge, not falling for tricks. My hands fell limp in my lap, and I had to concentrate damn hard to keep them relaxed and to keep my pulse normal. “No offense, but I don’t have a lot of time.”

I wasn’t trying to be a bitch, really. I actually liked Katherine. Despite her soft appearance, she was as tough as nails. Maybe in another life we would’ve been friends, but the fact that she wanted to probe my mind and my past kept her eternally at arm’s length.

Leaning back in her chair, she studied me for a long moment. I couldn’t look her in the eyes, so I chose a spot over her left shoulder. Okay, so I had somewhat of a phobia when it came to therapists. At least I wasn’t in denial about it.

“I’ll take whatever time you’ve got, Detective. Now, let’s see,” she began, rummaging through the files on her desk, pulling mine out to open it.

You should pick up some milk on the way home,
I thought.

“Last time you came to see me, you still struggled with exhaustion from the nightmares. How’s that been going?”

Ooh, and maybe some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Oh, my God. Good stuff.

“Detective?”

“Oh, um, better. It’s been better.” God, this was like being on trial. “Still have them, but they’re not as bad or as frequent.”
What else are you forgetting? Laundry detergent. Deodorant. Maybe you should get a new kind this time. The Fresh Rain scent is getting old.

“That’s good. And how are you doing with the meditation I recommended?”

“Fine.”
Ooh, or maybe that new pear one. Pear Seduction. No, that’s not it. Pear … something.

She frowned at me. “Did you try it at all?”

I didn’t answer, just gave her an apologetic smile.
Pear Seduction? Jeez. How lame is that? Man, you really need to get laid.

Katherine removed her glasses and leaned forward. “Listen, Charlie, it’s important to take care of yourself here.”

Pear Abundance …

“You still have a long way to go if you want to totally recover from your death experience. You’ve suppressed so much of how it made you feel.”

Pear Medley …

“You need to let it out, embrace your thoughts, the past, and the things you remember about that time.”

Pear Showers …

“You’ve come out of this a different person, and change is okay. It’s the events in our lives that shape who we are. Don’t fight it.”

Pear Whispers! Yes! I knew I’d get it.

She paused and leaned back again, rolling her pencil through her fingers. “I think the nightmares are because you’re suppressing the memories of being dead, of what you experienced, the feeling you had during this time. You’ll have to deal with it sooner or later, or it’s going to break you.”

“Doctor Berk,” I said, tiredly and with a sudden urge for pears. “I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but me dying was just that. I died. I was brought back. It’s over. End of story. I don’t remember anything, and honestly, I don’t want to. The only thing that matters is that I woke up, and”—I stood—“I really need to get home and take care of my kid. See you around.”