Chapter Fourteen
Remi reeled off several fine curses when she stepped out of the bathroom to realize that Ash had disappeared while she was showering. Grabbing her phone, she’d had every intention of calling him and demanding he return so she could go with him. They were supposed to be partners, weren’t they?
Then, with a grimace, she tossed her phone on the kitchen counter. She was no longer Ash’s fiancée. Which meant she didn’t have the right to call and demand that he do anything. Even if he had promised they would work together to stop the Butcher.
Pretending she didn’t care where Ash might have gone, Remi returned to her bedroom. Pulling on a casual pair of jeans and a cable-knit sweater, she braided her hair and headed into the third bedroom, which she’d converted into an office. She intended to spend a few hours at the youth center this afternoon and she wanted to create several worksheets that would help with her tutoring.
It was nearly nine a.m. when a knock on the door interrupted her concentration. Remi left her office, feeling more curious than alarmed. She didn’t have any doubt that Ash had made sure there was a cop watching her house. He was nothing if not predictable.
Still, she glanced through the spyhole in the door before pulling it open with a flare of surprise.
“Mrs. Marcel?” she breathed, staring at the woman she hadn’t seen in years.
June Marcel was a small woman with a halo of dark curls and a dimpled face. She looked far too young to have grown sons, but it was her frenetic energy that most people first noticed. It buzzed around her like a force field. Remi didn’t know if it was the result of being the mother of four epically active boys, or just a natural part of her.
This morning, she was wearing the same plaid coat Remi remembered and holding a well-used Tupperware container.
“No one calls me Mrs. Marcel,” the older woman chided. “I’m June. Or Mom.”
A dull pain throbbed through Remi. Once, she’d shyly called this woman Mom. It wasn’t in an effort to latch on to a mother figure. She already had that. It was a symbol that she’d become a member of the Marcel family.
“Come in,” she murmured, stepping back so the older woman could enter the house. “I’m afraid Ash isn’t here right now. I could call him if you want.”
June waited until Remi had closed the door and turned to face her. “I’m not here to see my son,” she said with a smile that could warm even a frigid Chicago morning. “I’m here to see you.”
“Me?” Remi felt a sudden jolt of anxiety. When she’d seen June standing on her porch, she’d just assumed she was here to see her son. “Why?”
“We haven’t had a nice chat in years.”
Remi wasn’t fooled by the sweet smile and innocent expression. By chat, the woman meant a quizzing that would rival the Spanish Inquisition.
“I . . .” Remi licked her dry lips, searching for a reasonable excuse to escape. “Actually . . .”
June held up the Tupperware container. “I brought coffee cake.”
Remi’s mouth instantly watered. Like Pavlov’s dog. There was no one who could cook like June Marcel. “Cinnamon pecan?” she asked.
June’s eyes sparkled with an evil amusement. “That’s the one.”
Remi’s lips twitched. “You should have been the detective,” she told the older woman. “You could make the most hardened criminal talk.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Conceding defeat, Remi turned to lead June through the living room. “Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll make some coffee.”
June walked behind Remi at a leisurely pace, giving the older woman plenty of opportunity to glance around the living room with obvious curiosity. “What a charming house,” she said.
“It suits me,” Remi said, crossing the kitchen to start the coffee maker.
Eventually, June appeared and set the container on the breakfast bar before she was shrugging out of her coat. “Ash mentioned it belonged to your grandparents?”
“It did.” Remi collected two mugs and spooned two teaspoons of sugar into June’s. She assumed the woman still had her sweet tooth. “I have a lot of great memories here.”
“And that’s what makes a house a home.”
“Yes,” Remi agreed.
This house wasn’t a showstopper, but it had a warmth that came from the love her grandparents had shared. She gathered two plates and a knife before returning to pour out the coffee. By the time she’d climbed onto the high stool, the older woman had the cake cut and a large slice was shoved in front of her.
Remi didn’t protest. She would take another jog in the gym at the youth center. There were some calories more worthy of sweat than others.
She took a big bite, the cinnamon and sugar and butter hitting her tongue with glorious perfection.
“Yum,” she breathed. “Just as delicious as I remember.”
June settled on a stool next to her, sipping her coffee as she studied Remi demolishing the cake with a smile of pleasure.
“It’s been too long,” the older woman finally said. “I thought about calling, but I didn’t know if you would want to talk to me.”
Remi sent her a startled frown. “Why wouldn’t I?”
June cleared her throat, obviously choosing her words with care. “I was never sure of the reason you broke off your engagement to my son. I was afraid you might be angry with the entire Marcel clan.”
Remi glanced down at her nearly empty plate, feeling a pang of guilt. She’d been so caught up in her own emotional trauma that she’d never considered how her retreat from Ash might have affected others.
“I was never angry with anyone.” She forced herself to lift her head and meet June’s searching gaze. She owed the older woman that much. “Certainly not you.”
June reached out, lightly touching Remi’s hand. “It’s not my business, but if you weren’t angry, why did you push Ash away?”
Remi resisted the urge to shake off the woman’s touch. She didn’t want to talk about the past. Especially not now. The return of the Butcher had stripped away the thin layer of protection that had allowed her to pretend her life was getting back to normal. It left her feeling raw and vulnerable.
“It was too painful,” she forced herself to admit.
June squeezed her fingers. “Did you blame him for your father’s death?”
“No,” she sharply denied. “Never.”
A sad expression settled on the older woman’s face. “That’s what he believed.”
Remi flinched. She wanted to tell June that she hadn’t realized what she was doing to Ash, but the words stuck in her throat. For five years, she’d told herself that she wanted to protect the man she loved. She’d already lost her father; she couldn’t bear to put Ash in danger.
And that was a big part of her need to build a barrier between them. But it wasn’t the full reason.
“I didn’t blame him, I blamed myself,” she confessed, her voice oddly harsh. “It was all my fault.”
June stiffened her spine, a sudden anger flashing through her eyes. “Nonsense. How could you even think such a ridiculous thing?”
“It’s not ridiculous.” A queasy sensation rolled through her stomach. She’d had endless nightmares about the horror her father must have endured when he walked into the house to try to find her. No one knew exactly what had happened. She’d been unconscious in the kitchen, and while there’d been a gruesome amount of blood on the living-room floor to indicate her father had received a killing blow, his body had never been found. Somehow, the fact they’d never had a proper burial for him had only made it more difficult to put the past behind her. “My dad was trying to save me when he was murdered.”
“Exactly,” June said in a stern voice. “He was killed by the Butcher, not you.”
Remi swallowed a frustrated sigh. June didn’t understand. How could she?
“But he wouldn’t have been there that night if I hadn’t called to say I thought I was being followed,” Remi reminded her companion.
June leaned toward her, her features soft with sympathy. “You think your father would have preferred that you hadn’t called, that you’d become another victim?”
“No, but—”
“The only one at fault is the Butcher,” the older woman insisted.
They were the same words Remi had heard over and over again. Until they’d become a yammering chorus that gave her a headache.
“Logically, I understand that.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “But my heart still says that my father would be alive if it wasn’t for me.”
“So you’re punishing yourself by pushing everyone away?”
Remi’s brows snapped together. “That’s not what I’m doing,” she protested.
“It’s not?”
“I just . . .” Remi closed her mind to the accusation. She had too much to process. She was adding to the mess in her mind. Instead, she fell back to her most convenient excuse. “I can’t put anyone else in danger.”
June’s hand moved to rub over Remi’s shoulder in a soothing motion. “What danger?”
Remi pushed aside her empty plate, hating the feeling that her stomach was being twisted into knots. She’d struggled for years to get rid of the awful sensation. Now it was back with a vengeance.
“I’ve always known the Butcher would return.” She glanced toward the kitchen window, as if expecting to see the monster standing in the middle of her yard. Sometimes it felt like he was there even if she couldn’t see him. “And that he would strike again.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I’d already lost my father. I wasn’t going to lose Ash.”
“But you did.”
Remi hissed at the soft words, as if she’d been struck by an unseen weapon. Or maybe she’d just been hit by the truth.
Either way, it was painful.
“Stop trying to make sense of what was going on in my mind,” she pleaded. “It’s a disaster in there.”
A deep sorrow darkened June’s eyes before she was briskly grabbing Remi’s empty plate and filling it with another slice of coffee cake.
“There’s one way to clear the clutter,” she said, returning the plate directly in front of Remi.
“Don’t say a therapist,” Remi groused, reaching for her fork. She’d take two jogs tonight. Right now, she needed the sweet, ooey goodness. “I know they’re fabulous for some people, but I’m not interested.”
June shrugged, grabbing her mug of coffee. “Then talk to me.”
Remi swallowed the large chunk of coffee cake she’d shoved into her mouth. “You?”
“I’m a pretty good listener.”
Remi believed her. “You’d have to be, with four boys.”
June studied her with a somber expression. “Remi, I consider you a part of my family, whether you are engaged to Ash or not,” she assured her. “You can trust me. Whatever you tell me will never leave this room. Let’s start with the night you were attacked.”
Remi shoved another bite of cake into her mouth. “There’s really nothing to talk about. I don’t remember anything from that night,” she mumbled.
“Nothing at all?”
With a sigh, Remi set down her fork. June wasn’t going to be satisfied until she’d heard every detail of the few scraps of memory Remi possessed.
“I remember that I went to my classes and that I stayed late on campus to attend an open house at the art gallery,” she said, barely able to recall the young coed who’d been filled with a belief that nothing could steal her glorious future.
“Alone?” June asked.
“Yep. It was worth extra credit in my art appreciation class. And Ash was working.” Remi wrinkled her nose. At the time, she’d been more resigned than annoyed when Ash had called her to say he wouldn’t be able to join her for the event. Being a detective meant his schedule was always crazy, but with a serial killer on the loose, he’d practically disappeared from her life. “As usual.”
June heaved a small sigh. “A Marcel trait, I’m afraid. Only Nate has learned there’s more to life than his job.”
Remi shook herself out of her dark memories, offering her companion a small smile. “I haven’t told you how happy I am to hear Nate is getting married,” she said. She hadn’t known Nate as well as the other brothers. His job with the FBI had kept him away from home most of the time. But she’d always enjoyed his lighthearted teasing when they’d been together. “I hope his fiancée appreciates what a great guy she’s going to have as a husband.”
“Ellie is wonderful,” June said with genuine satisfaction, holding Remi’s gaze. “My boys have shown excellent taste in women.”
Color rushed to Remi’s cheeks. There was no mistaking the older woman was referring to her. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would,” June insisted. Then, with a grimace, she returned the conversation to the past. “What happened after you left the art gallery?”
Remi swallowed a sigh. The sooner she was done with the story, the sooner she could try to tuck it into the back of her mind.
“I was supposed to meet Ash after he was done with his shift,” she continued with a pang of wry amusement. She’d been eager to show off a new outfit she’d bought the day before. A rare display of vanity. “So I decided to go home and have a quick shower and change my clothes before I went to his apartment.”
“Is that when you noticed you were being followed?”
“Yes.” Remi’s amusement abruptly vanished. Her skin prickled with unease, as if she was back in her car on that fateful night. “I’d been edgy ever since Ash admitted they were looking for a serial killer. That’s the reason I looked in my rearview mirror when I pulled out of the parking lot.”
“What did you see?”
“Headlights behind me,” Remi said.
“You couldn’t see the vehicle?”
“No.” She’d tried, but the darkness of the night and the blinding brightness of the headlights reflecting from the rearview mirror had made it impossible. “At first, I told myself it was meaningless that a car was pulling out of the parking lot at the same time as me. There were lots of people coming and going from the campus no matter what time it was.”
“When did you get worried?”
It’d been a slow, steady process from unease to downright terror.
“I usually drove home through the side streets. It could take longer, but I avoided the traffic.” She didn’t have to add that the streets in the wealthier neighborhoods were wide and impeccably maintained. They were also clear of traffic jams. “After the third or fourth turn, I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence that the headlights were still right behind me.”
“Is that when you called your father?”
Regret sliced through Remi. It’d been sheer impulse that had her digging in her purse for her phone and calling her father. At the time, she’d simply wanted the reassurance of his voice. No one could offer a sense of security like Gage Walsh.
“Yes. I didn’t know what else to do,” she said, her voice thick with pain.
June wrapped her arm around Remi’s shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze. “That’s exactly what you should have done.”
“If I could go back in time . . .” Remi whispered.
“What happened next?” June demanded, clearly eager to distract Remi from her raw sense of guilt.
Remi lifted her hand, pressing her fingers to her temple. Recalling that night always gave her a headache. The doctors said it was psychosomatic. She didn’t care. It hurt like hell.
“It’s all fuzzy. The doctors think the drugs affected my memories.” Remi shrugged. “All I know is that they found my car parked in the garage. And when I woke up, I was lying on the kitchen floor.”
“My poor dear,” June breathed. “You must have been so afraid.”
Yes, she’d been afraid. And confused. And desperate to get help. But at the time, she hadn’t realized just how horrifying the night was about to become.
“I managed to clear the fog enough to call 911, but then I blacked out again. When I regained consciousness, I was in the hospital.” She was forced to halt and clear her throat. “That’s when I was told that the cops had found my father’s blood in the living room.”
“Oh, Remi.” June gave her another squeeze before she was pulling away to study Remi with a stern expression. “It was a horrible thing. But there was nothing you could have done to change what happened.”
Remi shuddered. “I think that’s what terrifies me the most.”
“Why?”
“We like to believe we have control over our lives.” Remi shook her head. “It’s scary to know how little we really do.”
Expecting the older woman to try to convince her that the world wasn’t totally random, Remi was caught off guard when June released a sharp laugh.
“No crap,” she agreed. “With four boys, I’ve accepted that life is crazy and messy and sometimes so scary I can barely breathe.”
Remi blinked at her blunt honesty. “I don’t know how you stand it.”
June sipped her coffee before answering. “A lot of sleepless nights. An occasional bottle of wine. And faith that I have the strength to endure what fate has in store for me.”
The words made perfect sense. Deep inside, Remi knew she had the power to overcome the past. Her parents had raised her with the belief that she could achieve anything, no matter what the hurdles. But the grief and continuing fear that her torment wasn’t over had stolen her confidence.
“I’ve lost my faith,” she breathed.
June reached out to place her fingers beneath Remi’s chin, tilting it up as if she was encouraging her to go into battle. And maybe she was. A battle not only against the Butcher but her own sense of worth.
“I believe in you, Remi. I know my son believes in you,” June told her in fierce tones. “Accept our strength until you find your own again.”
Remi wrinkled her nose. She wanted to reassure the older woman, but it was easier said than done. “I don’t know if I can.”
With brisk motions, June was climbing off the stool and grabbing her coat. “Promise that you’ll at least think about what I said.”
Remi gave a nod. “I promise.”
“Good.” June grabbed the plates and carried them to the sink. “I have to go, but I’m having a dinner for Nate and Ellie on Sunday.” She turned back to send Remi a stern glance. “I expect you to be there.”
Remi felt a warmth spread through her, suddenly realizing just how much she’d missed this woman. She wasn’t just Ash’s mother, she was a friend.
“Yes, ma’am,” she promised.
“Good girl.” June turned to head out of the kitchen, thankfully leaving the coffee cake behind. “Call if you need anything.”
* * *
Wrong. It was all wrong.
I’d been so certain that the effort to create a perfect replica of my obsession would cure the sickness that was spreading with alarming speed. Or at least offer a few months of respite. Instead, it seemed to be making everything worse.
Clenching my hands, I watch my creation walk from one end of the room to another. I have her perch on the edge of the bed. I have her braid her hair. She has been practicing hard and her natural ability to mimic others has given her a talent the last one lacked. I try to convince myself this will be my salvation.
It doesn’t work.
Against my will, I remember my fingers warm and sticky with blood. The feeling had banished the darkness, easing the gnawing pain in the center of my soul.
The malignancy doesn’t care that it has been fed only days ago. Or that its hunger threatens to expose my secrets.
No. The disease is crawling through my veins and invading my mind. It has to be cut away before the madness consumes me.