Greer watched from across the street as the mourners left the club in drib drabs. His gut rolled as he watched the man with the dreadlocks carry her inside wrapped in the quilt. It took everything in him not to hurl a Molotov cocktail through the window, but the man with the dreadlocks was smart. From where he stood, Greer could tell that the windows where fireproof.
Reading the news online was encouraged. Bookmarking stories while incarcerated not so much. And if one had an unusual interest in fires or a new glass technology with flame retardant in it was a red flag. The first couple of paragraphs told him more than enough. A quick jaunt to the local library filled him in on Langston Hughes Davis’ landholdings. True to her word the man was buying property that exchanged hands a few times, but indeed belonged to Cappy Reds.
“You’re a sly one... so sly. But so am I.” Greer mashed a button on speed dial and waited for someone to answer. “Fatima make a call to my Pilgrim. Tell them there’s more that I require.”
“Willow, you’re on bereavement leave probably need to be on sick leave too.” Beth said as she shrugged into her coat. Beth’s gaze drifted over the Davis ‘dimly lit living room then gave Willow’s hand a good squeeze. “Nice digs for a fed.”
Willow cringed inwardly then sighed.
“I didn’t mean anything by its Willow. I’m just saying its nice and he put on a mean spread.”
“He and Dad spent a lot of time together. Saying goodbye must have been hard for him too.” Willow gaze fell to her jump out bag and laptop and frowned. “He’s just as adamant as you are about me not returning home.”
“Can’t argue with him about that. With Endicott dead, and Greer out. “Beth shook her head and looked away “Endicott was in bed with that monster can you believe it?”
“Maybe that was why he was so desperate to marry me. Maybe in his twisted logic he thought…” Willow let the words die in her throat as she opened the door and leaned on it. “Guess we’ll never know.”
Strangely enough when the word came down about Kyle, she wasn’t surprised. It explained why the man was so desperate to marry her. She ran a hand over the bruises and shuddered. Beth reached for her.
“Davis is going on scene with us, but we got people downstairs. I’ll be back when I can.”
Snipe hunts on a good day were in poor taste. Throw in a little arson and the matter was down right insulting. As Davis pulled up on the scene, his gut went south. The hall marks were off. Gas fumes infused the air with that rank rotten egg smell. One engine put out the fire. A quick walk through the spectators made the desire to be back at his loft unbearable.
By the time he reached the club he was in a dead run with the agents charged with watching her on his heels. When they arrived on mass at the Daniel’s residence, Davis took the steps by two barking orders as he moved.
“Surround this house. No one else in or out.” He made a beeline for the parlor, looking for Willow only to find Fatima holding court with her church family all around her.
“Where is she?”
Fatima’s mouth worked at an answer as she rose from the chair. She clutched at the string of pearls around her neck.
“How dare you barge into my house”
Davis leaned closer making the woman cringe
“She came here on the strength of a phone call. Where is she!”
“Now son you need to just back up and explain yourself. This is a peaceful gathering” The pastor said as he tried to wedge himself between them. Fatima flopped down in her chair.
Davis stepped back far enough to look at the man head on. “Please don’t make me hurt you.” He caught a glimpse of one of the agents. “Search the house. Get out of my way pastor “The Pastor moved aside, and Fatima tried to move with him.
“You can’t do that! You have no warrant.” Fatima struggled to her feet and reached for Davis. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
“How could I forget? You tried to suffocate me in my hospital bed.”
“Oh my God.” she said feebly as she looked from face to face searching for confirmation. “But that’s impossible. She… she got a phone call to meet someone. She didn’t say where she”
“Triangulation puts her near the cemetery.” Another agent called from somewhere near the front door.
Davis rounded the cemetery’s small grove of trees to find Willow face down outside the locked doors of the crypt. Back in his loft, Davis walked straight to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. He batted on the water as hot as he could stand it and sat down with her in his arms. The second the hot spray hits her from all sides, she screamed. He cradled her to his chest as the steam filled the room.
After a while he leaned her back in his arms so that he could see her face. Her lips were no longer blue. He pushed her knees down from her chest and put his hand against her ribcage. She was warm again. He fell back against the wall and reached over his head and turned off the shower.
He carefully stripped her out of her sodden clothes and wrapped her in a towel. Then he stripped out of his clothes and dried himself off and pulled on a pair of jeans. He noticed her trembling in her sleep and he climbed in bed with her. He pulled her to his chest and wrapped the blankets around her.
“Stay with me Willow.” Davis murmured as he gently lifted her up onto his chest being careful not to touch her ribs. She breathed in shallow quick gasps. The side of her face glistened with her tears. He smoothed his palm over her cheek and slipped her hair behind her ear. She whimpered softly, making him inch even closer to her. He combed his fingers though her hair pausing over the lump
“Shhh, it’s alright,” he cooed as he pressed his lips to the shimmering trail of her agony. Instantly his throat tightened as her grief mixed with his own. “I’m here, Willow. Hold onto me.”
Even if she heard him, and he prayed she did, she was frozen in limbo where all decisions and actions were impossible. Part of him that wanted her to be hysterical. The screaming and crying he could deal with even if it meant he had to pin her to the ground to keep her from hurting herself. The silences that scared him.
Had his “death” brought her to this place? It was bad enough to lose her mother, but then to follow it with another, and now her father? He ran his hand through his hair and looked out the window. The sun was up, and the world had moved on. People were getting ready for work or making breakfast or getting their children off to school. Crimes were being committed and lives were ending with little or no notice of the fractured woman in his arms.
There was no telling her, not now. Not in the midst of her sorrow. It wasn’t about him. Maybe it never was. Davis had a plan. It should have been enough that her father forgave him and understood. He could live at the hem of her life. The last few years were proof of that. If a friendship was all that could be salvaged, then it was enough; he'd make it enough. With William Daniel’s gone, so was Langston Hughes Davis’s one human credential.