Once she had her session with Dr. Gardner, she agreed to a seventy-two-hour hold for evaluation, otherwise known as the ITA, Involuntary Treatment Act. They didn’t need her to approve, but she did, nonetheless. Convinced she was no longer a danger to herself, they discharged her. Newly diagnosed, she was allowed to go home. Mac had stayed with her the whole time and tried to make light conversation on the drive back to Port Townsend. She didn’t know what she was feeling. The entire ordeal had taken two weeks, from the morning Mac got her into the medical center to the ride home.
As he pulled the car up to her driveway, she experienced the same feeling when she had first come home after the experience from the warehouse wash over her. It wasn’t a great one. She opened the back door of the car for Ellie, who bounded happily to the front door. Mac unlocked the door but paused before opening it.
“I made sure that nothing was touched. So it looks like it did that night.” He was warning her. And it was a good thing he did so. When he swung the door open, she was greeted by the sight of photographs strewn all over the floor. They were in some kind of order, starting from the living room to her dining room and finally, into her kitchen. There were even photos on the stairs. Surprisingly, Ellie walked very carefully through the minefield of pictures and waited at the backdoor, in desperate need of running out some energy. Mac followed her while Marissa stood in her front hall, her eyes scanning over the photographs.
She vaguely remembered spreading them out. They were in a timeline order. From the first photograph to the most recent. If only she could remember why.
“Do you remember where you threw your phone?” Mac’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“Over here.” The conversation with Mel drifted across her thoughts, the hurt she had felt, and the sudden reaction of throwing the phone. “I just left it here.” She pointed to the floor, where no phone could be seen.
“Okay.” Mac hesitated, looking out toward the backyard. He was avoiding her eyes.
“What is it?” Marissa asked as he turned to look at her, and she could see it all over his face. He had something he didn’t want to tell her. “Tell me.”
Walking over to the counter by the back door, he picked up an envelope and handed it to her. “This was in the mailbox this morning, according to Clyde.”
She took the manilla envelope, still studying his face before turning her attention to the package in her hands. It was the same as all the others, her name written across the front, but immediately, she realized it felt heavier than they usually did.
Opening it very carefully, she pulled the photographs out, letting out a gasp and nearly letting them slip through her fingers.
The top image was of her looking at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. Taken from directly behind her. The image was dark, taken from the shadows. He had been standing right behind her that night. Flipping to the following picture, she shuddered violently. It was a photograph of her face, looking directly at the camera as she cried. The camera couldn’t have been more than six inches away from her face. She flipped through several more of just her face, one where she was clearly trying to push the camera away from her and one of her sitting in the bathtub, rocking herself.
“He was here,” she said quietly, her voice shaking more than she anticipated. Flipping to the next, she found a picture of Mac helping her out of the tub. The photo had been shot from the ground. Maybe under her bed? The final image was of her and Mac outside the SPD from weeks earlier when Mac had just arrived. Scribbled in the corner were the words I’ll be seeing you.
She handed the photos to Mac, whose horrified expression matched her own. “He was here,” she repeated, looking to the back door where she could see Ellie running laps in the yard, her toy in her mouth.
“She knew him.” The realization washed over her, looking over at Mac. “He couldn’t have gotten in without Ellie realizing. He’s someone she knows.”
Marissa felt all the breath get sucked out of her lungs. Her knees wobbled beneath her where she stood, and Mac took her arm gently, making sure she didn’t lose her footing.
“You should sit down,” he said finally, putting the photos on the counter, but Marissa shook her head.
“No. I need to remember what the hell I was doing with these photographs. We’ll address those,” she gestured to the pictures on the counter, “later.”
She walked back into the front hall and looked at the photographs spread throughout, unable to remember what it was she felt had been so important.
She walked along with the photographs, eyeing each carefully. Seeing her life over the past two years summed up on the floor was surreal. She stopped to stare at the photo of her and Allison at the Mansera, the night of Bree’s birthday party. That was when it hit her, like a shockwave through her body.
She made her way to the pictures from the night of Allison’s going away party, closer to the dining room. Sure enough, in the first picture she saw, Owen Rolley and the bachelor party were in the background.
“There!” She snatched up a picture. She was the focus of the image, laughing as Allison whispered something in her ear on a night that felt like it had been decades ago. But in the background of the picture, there was Owen and his camera. And she had seen that camera before. It had a cheesy Space Needle sticker on the side of it.
Marissa’s mouth all but fell open. “I’ve seen that camera!”
Mac stood next to her, looking at the photograph with her. She looked up at him with big eyes, her hand shook.
“It’s in Dr. Seaver’s office.” She pointed directly to the Space Needle sticker. “The camera we never found.”
Mac took the photo from her hands to take a closer look while Marissa breathed very carefully through her nose, struggling to process. She walked over to the table and sat down. It didn’t make any sense, thinking back to the interview at the police station. Laura Seaver had been calm, collected, and appeared to be nothing but helpful. Her breathing had been controlled; she didn’t do anything to raise alarms with her body language or words.
“Okay.” Mac sat beside her, placing the picture between them on the table. “What do you want to do now?”
She wanted to approach Laura Seaver by herself and potentially strangle her with her bare hands. Instead, she shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t…”
Her eyes wandered back to her kitchen, to the photos sitting on the counter. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he had been in her house. He had been right in front of her.
Forcing herself to focus, she looked at Mac, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
Mac knelt down to be eye level with her, directly meeting her gaze and taking her hands in his. “Hey. One step at a time, okay?” He watched her, waiting for her to respond.
Marissa took a deep breath, finding herself momentarily lost in his dark brown eyes. She had to focus, grounding herself before she nodded her head. Inhale, calm. Exhale, worry. Inhale, calm. Exhale, worry. The stupid mantra she was supposed to recite every time she felt that panic in the pit of her stomach.
“I’ll call Ronnie and give her everything I have. We’ll wait for them to pick her up and hope they let me in an interview room with her.”
She let out a breath, catching a quick flash of relief on his expression.
“Here. You can use my phone.” He handed it to her and stood up. “I’m going to get all of that picked up.” Before he walked off toward the dining room, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’ve got this.” He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand before he started picking up the photos scattered all over the first floor.
Marissa reluctantly dialed Ronnie’s direct number, which she had thankfully memorized. It rang enough times that she was afraid it would go to voicemail, but finally, she answered.
“Ronnie!” She didn’t even give her enough time to finish saying hello. “It’s Marissa.”
“Oh, hi, Marissa. How are you feeling?” Cool, she was up to date on how things were going.
“Never mind that now. I know who killed Allison, Cindy, and Owen Rolley.”
She told her about the photograph, along with the potential motive. Ronnie promptly put her on hold while she went to talk to Jackson. Marissa counted beats while she waited, watching Mac anxiously, bouncing on her toes while sitting in her chair. Inhale calm. Exhale worry. Inhale calm. Exhale worry. She felt slightly irritated that it seemed to be working. Mac was picking up the last photos when Ronnie came back to the phone.
“Okay. I’m going to come by and pick up the photo. Dylan and Dale are heading to her office, and Jackson is trying to call her in now. I’m pretty sure she left town last week, but she won’t have gotten far. We’ll bring her back, Marissa. I promise.”
Marissa let out a breath of relief. She hadn’t been sure she would be taken seriously.
By the time she had hung up the phone, Mac had all the photos back in the box, except for the newest ones. “I think we need to get these to my supervisor. I’m going to make some calls and see what they want me to do.” He paused and looked at her. “What do you need?”
She looked up at her and sighed. She didn’t even know. Suddenly, her mouth was unreasonably dry.
“Ronnie is coming by to grab the photo of Rolley. But I think after that I need to take a shower. I need to get the hospital feel off of me.” She involuntarily shook as Mac nodded, watching her.
“We’ll have to get you a new phone…” He glanced at the clock. “But it’s Sunday. What are the chances that there is somewhere open?”
“None,” Marissa said flatly. “Stupid tourist town.”
“Okay, we’ll get it tomorrow then.” The concern on his face hadn’t lessened. “Are you hungry? Do you need something to eat?”
Marissa smiled. “I’m okay. You can sit down, you know.” He didn’t look convinced. “Or even go home and rest.”
“Now you’re talking nonsense.” He grinned at her.
They stayed in the kitchen and talked quietly, passing the time until Ronnie arrived. Marissa had hoped Ronnie would just come, take the picture, and go, but she noticed Marissa’s appearance. After two weeks in the hospital, her hair was ratty and dry, she was pale, her lips were chapped, and the circles under her eyes made her look like she hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Are you doing okay now? Is there anything I can do?” She was trying to be helpful, but Marissa felt herself tensing up again.
“Just tired mostly.” It was honest. She felt exhausted. But thankfully, Ronnie took the hint.
“Okay, well, I will let you go. Let me know when you have a phone again, and until then, I’ll call Mac. But I will keep you updated when there is anything to update.”
“Sounds good. Thank you for everything, Ronnie.”
“Of course.” She gave Marissa a hug and headed back out the door.
Marissa had hoped she would feel some kind of relief when Ronnie took the photograph, a sense that it was close to being over. They knew who it did, but Marissa didn’t feel any better. There was no relief. In fact, if anything, she was feeling restless.
“I need to take a shower.”
Mac nodded but hesitated. “Let me just … check things out upstairs first. We’ve walked through several times since the other night, but I just want to triple-check.” He wanted to make sure her crazy stalker wasn’t still in the house.
She nodded with a sigh and allowed him to head upstairs first. Ellie followed behind him before Marissa could make her way up the stairs. She stopped on the bottom step and turned, deciding to lock the front door’s deadbolt.
By the time she made it to her room, Mac seemed content that everything was okay, but still, he hesitated. “How about I stay and make my phone calls out here?”
Marissa wondered for a moment what he would say if she had said no. But she smiled and just nodded. “Of course.” His presence always made her feel better anyway.
She walked into the bathroom, letting Ellie follow her in before she closed the door behind her. Ellie curled up on the mat and watched her as she stared at her. Marissa had been at the hospital long enough that the stitches they had to put over the scar had already been taken out, but it still looked red and irritated. She was pale and thin, and she was looking more and more like a ghost of her former self. Marissa started the hot water and disrobed slowly, the fabric irritating her. Stepping into the walk-in shower, she let the hot water run down her body, leaned her hands against the wall, and closed her eyes.
Allison’s killer had been identified. Not only was it someone Allie had trusted, but it was also someone who had all of Marissa’s secrets. Someone who had been in control of her medication, who had kept her from getting better. Someone who had allowed her to get worse and nearly lose the remainder of the life she still had. She had violated her trust. She had violated Allison’s trust. For years. She had made Allison feel as though she had no other way, that there was no out in that relationship. And when she finally made it out, she fucking killed her in a rage. Clenching her fist, she hit the stone tile.
It had been just over two years ago that Tom Disher lost his life in that warehouse, and her life had been spared. But again, she had been violated. Repeatedly. She had experienced things she would never put to words. Someone just as vile had sat across from her in an interview room to confess to her, and only her, all the horrible things he had actually done. And the one who had actually done those things to her had been here, in her home, less than a few feet away.
He had taken pictures of her at her most vulnerable, as she was literally trying to tear herself apart.
He had been right there. He had touched her.
He had stopped her. Chances are he had texted Mac and taken her phone.
But he had been right there.
And Ellie knew who he was.
She hadn’t acted upon a stranger entering the house. Ellie hadn’t warned Marissa of anyone’s presence. She knew who he was.
Again, her fist met the stone wall. Again and again and again, unaware that she was letting out a feral scream as she did until she felt her legs give way beneath her. But instead of dropping to the ground, she felt arms catch her. Looking up through the water that was still running down her face, Marissa saw Mac standing there, holding her up. He helped lift her back up, and while her ears were ringing, she could feel he was telling her to just let it out. So she screamed again and again. She cried out until she had no voice left, and all that remained were tears. And Mac just held on to her.
He helped her out of the shower, and once he got a towel wrapped around her, he took his own soaked shirt off and dropped it to the floor.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to her gently. “Get comfortable.” He was speaking so softly to her. The ringing in her ears had stopped.
She nodded, holding her towel in place as he left her room. She felt weak. And embarrassed. She had never allowed herself to appear so vulnerable in front of someone else. Now her head was beginning to throb. She waited a long moment before grabbing a pair of underwear and a loose tank that she could manage. Ellie rubbed up against her legs and whined, probably less than pleased with her screaming.
By the time she sat back down on the bed with her back against the headboard, Mac had come back in, now wearing dry sweatpants and a shirt. It took Marissa a minute to realize he’d had a bag with him from staying with her at the hospital. Wordlessly, he sat down on the bed next to her. Ellie was more than happy to jump up and curl up on the edge.
A moment passed before Marissa broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” she said in a whisper.
“Why are you sorry?” Mac seemed shocked by the admission.
“I’m just so afraid…” She choked the words out.
“Hey…” Mac turned his body slightly to face her and took her hands in his. “You remember when we worked the O’Rourke case?” Marissa nodded. “Melissa Jensen. We needed her to ID him in a line-up, and she was terrified. Do you remember what you told her?”
Marissa blinked. Honestly, she would’ve needed to give it thought to remember what she said, but apparently, James Mackenzie did not.
“You told her that being scared didn’t make her any less of a badass. That being a badass, even though he scared her, was something he wasn’t going to ever be able to take away from her. That she had all the power.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’d been working for the FBI for nearly a decade and never had met anyone with so much compassion for people. You never treated them as victims. You treated them like survivors. And that’s exactly what you are. It was the first thing I admired about you. You never have to apologize. Not to me. Not for anything.”
Before Marissa could remember how to form words, his phone rang. Pulling his cell off her nightstand, he sighed. “It’s my boss. I have to take this. I’ll just be in the guest room. Why don’t you try to sleep?” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there for an extra beat before he headed out the door, answering the phone. She listened to the sound of his voice as he walked down the hallway to the guest bedroom, processing.
It had been about five years since the O’Rourke case. And he still remembered.
She grabbed the pillow beside her and held on, feeling the need to hold on to something. The adrenaline from the shower was fading, and exhaustion was quickly taking over. One day she was going to stop having meltdowns in front of him, particularly ones in her bathroom. Flexing her fist, she realized she’d probably bruised the knuckles on her hand. She’d have to take a look when she woke up.
Breathing deeply, she forced herself not to think about the photographs, Daniel Fryer, Allison, or Laura Seaver. She couldn’t, or she would never sleep. Instead, she let herself think about that extra beat when his lips touched her. The way he was there to catch her. The way he looked at her. The way he took care of her while always following her lead. Wicket mewed as she jumped up on the bed, happy her new human was home, and curled up by her pillow.