Chapter Nineteen

Waking up in Joe’s arms and thinking of Owen felt strange and oddly like cheating. I planned on having a heart-to-heart chat with Owen when I got to work, but the events of the dark night hindered any idea of talk. I hadn’t been at my station for more than twenty minutes when one of the most bizarre cases to hit Barrow unfolded.

Coffee poured, fresh new book poised for reading and iPod set on shuffle, I settled in for the long haul when the front door opened.

Great. A drunk wandering in out of the cold.

I looked up to see a twenty-something-year-old skinhead, complete with swastika-tattooed neck and eyebrow piercings. Not a common sight in Barrow. The fact that he only wore a hooded sweatshirt in the minus-fifteen-degree temps got my attention.

His face had a gray tinge to it, and his teeth chattered loudly enough to make a chipmunk envious—I could hear them through the closed dispatch center door.

I buzzed the squad room to let them know I was stepping away from the phones.

“May I help you?” I asked the shivering man.

“I need to be arrested,” he muttered. His vacant, dead eyes startled me, and I unwittingly stepped back.

“What?”

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a switchblade. The swishing metal-against-metal sound of the blade extending sent shivers through my body.

“I said, I need to be arrested.” All I could see was the gleaming five-inch blade coming toward me. “I’m going to hurt someone, and I need to go to jail before that happens.”

He jumped over the counter and sliced the air in front of my face, getting closer with each swipe.

“Need an officer!” I yelled.

I’d seen anger. Dispassionate abuse. Out-of-your-mind violence. I’d never seen such crazed, hollowed eyes. When he stepped closer, I reached behind me and grabbed the first substantial object my hand touched. Anger overcame me as memories of the years of Ray’s abuse flooded my mind. Never. I was never going to be a victim again. Powered by rage, I swung the object as hard as I could.

WHACK.

Who knew a tape dispenser could cause that much damage?

Looney skinhead dropped the knife and touched his forehead. When he pulled back his hand and saw the blood, he passed out. He crumpled to the floor at the same time Owen and Joe ran into the lobby.

“Damn, Anne, did you kill him?” Owen asked.

“If we’re lucky.” I dropped the deadly dispenser on the counter.

Joe picked up the knife. “What happened?”

“He said he needed to be arrested, and I guess he thought stabbing me would fast-track him to jail.” I shrugged. “I didn’t get the chance to tell him that we’d gladly lock him up. There was no need for violence.”

Owen laughed. “Guess we better take him to the hospital before hauling him upstairs.”

I called Samuel Simmonds to let them know the officers were on their way. The guys patted down the little Nazi and found two more knives, a throwing star, and ninja nunchuks.

As they loaded the knife-toting Ninja Nazi into the patrol vehicle, both men gave me odd looks. I could see them talking and nodding. Then, Joe came back into the office.

“Are you okay? Do I need to stay with you?” he asked.

“Why? I’m fine.”

He scrutinized me. I’m sure he was searching for signs of shock, paleness, shaking hands, cold sweats or something.

Years of dealing with Ray’s violent outbursts taught me one thing. Don’t blink.

Some nutter coming at me with a switchblade wasn’t worthy of getting upset.

Another glance to assure himself I wasn’t going to dissolve into a pool of tears as soon as they left the station, and he joined Owen.

They radioed to let me know they were at the hospital, and I could hear the psycho yelling in the background. Blathering on about the cold.

“184, Barrow.”

“184, go.”

“Check wants and warrants on a Kronos Nobunaga.”

I laughed. “184, Barrow, repeat, please.”

His smile radiated over the radio. “Kronos—Q-o apostrophe-o-n-o-S. Nobunaga—common spelling.” He joked.

“Copy that. He went with the Klingon home world spelling instead of the father of Zeus version, I see.”

“Impressive.”

“10-4.”

By the time they returned to the station with Nazi-Ninja-Klingon, his true reason for being in Barrow emerged.

Bernadette was called in, and she tripled the number of on-duty officers, which included Owen and Joe working through and helping with day shift. Outfitted in all their arctic gear, the officers worked in pairs. Teams were dispatched to Nuvuk, the northernmost point of Barrow, Ukpeagvik—the southern tip of Barrow, to the gravel pit and several places in Barrow and Browerville. Their task was to find all the items our friend Qo’onoS had buried in the snow.

Since there were so many officers in the field, I stayed on to assist Darlene with dispatch. The teams working the south end of Barrow returned to the station first. They brought in three duffle bags. The other teams slowly filtered in, and by noon the squad room was piled high with all kinds of weaponry—knives, swords, throwing stars, more nunchuks, rappelling ropes, carbines, axes, hatchets, and the cherry on top—a mace.

Bernadette and Owen stepped into dispatch. Both were shaking their heads.

“There’s only one way to get into Barrow,” I said. “Why on earth did they let him on the plane?”

“I just got off the phone with TSA in Las Vegas,” Bernadette answered. “Their defense is that the guy declared everything, and nothing he had was illegal.”

“Holy crap. God forbid, he have a lighter.”

“That’s what I said.” Owen laughed.

“Don’t you think they would have suspected something? I mean, suitcases full of weapons would surely raise a red flag, wouldn’t it?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, you’d think a heads-up would’ve been in order.” Bernadette shrugged.

“So what was he doing?”

“Turns out Qo’onoS is a big time gamer and decided he wanted to kill a town.”

“What?”

“Kill a town,” Owen repeated. “He came to Barrow to kill everyone.”

“Well, that’s just rude.” I snorted. “And stupid. Who brings a knife to a gun fight?”

“It looks like his internet experience was solely in the gaming realm, because he hadn’t done any research on Barrow,” Bernadette explained.

“How did he settle on Barrow to begin with?” I asked.

“30 Days of Night.” Owen chuckled.

“No way.” My jaw dropped open, and both Bernadette and Owen laughed. “He was inspired by a vampire flick?”

“Yep. Fortunately, his lack of research resulted in him getting too cold to complete the task. He was going to start at the northern part of town and work his way through each house and kill everybody while they slept.”

With each sentence, my jaw dropped a little lower. Bernadette leaned against the wall and listened to Owen.

“Once he got into Barrow proper, he was going to start on the ocean side and slaughter his way to the terminal. Then, he was going to catch the Alaska Air flight back to Anchorage.”

“There are so many flaws in that plan, I don’t even know where to start,” I said.

“Try me.” Bernadette smiled.

“Okay, let’s start with the first house—did he think everyone would sit idly by while he slashed up Aka and then came after them? At the first scream, the guy would’ve been blown away. I mean, my God, is there a house in Barrow that is gun-free?”

“Besides yours?” Bernadette asked.

“I have a gun,” I retorted.

“Yeah, she has a big ass gun in her kitchen,” Owen said.

“You should see the one in the bedroom.”

“I’ve been trying.” Owen winked at me.

“Anyway,” I continued, my face ablaze. “It’s a subsistence community. Folks survive by hunting. They have lots of fire power. Even if he made it through the first house according to plan, did he actually think he could go through all of NARL without someone calling the cops?” I questioned.

“Oh, he planned on cutting the phone lines,” Bernadette explained.

“Uh, cell phones? CBs?”

“Yeah. Like I said, no research.”

“So, once he killed everyone in NARL, he’d grab a new bag of weapons and continue his killing spree in Browerville?” I asked. “You have to give the guy a little credit. At least he brought plenty of weapons, and hiding them along the route he was going to take was pretty smart.”

A nod confirmed my statement.

“Even if he was able to wipe out the entire town, did he actually think the plane would land? The pilot would be clued in that not all was right in the world when the terminal was empty.”

“I asked him that,” Bernadette said. “He said he’d take a Ski-doo back to Fairbanks.”

“Ha. Five hundred miles on a snow machine. Nice.” I laughed. “So, do I need to call Charter North or have you already done that?”

“Oh, it’s done. We have a Title 49 seat on tonight’s Alaska Air flight,” Owen said. “Huffman is escorting him.”

“Hey, now, I’m the one that almost died.” I turned to Bernadette and grinned. “Shouldn’t I get the free flight to Anchorage?”

“Become a cop, sweetie, and I’ll let you escort the nut jobs all you want.”

****

It seemed strange to be lying in Joe’s arms, cuddled up to his warm, sinewy body, listening to his snores and thinking of the day’s events—of violence and mental breakdowns.

Even when Ray wasn’t hitting me, he and Mama would use me as a target for their insults and put downs. At first, before I got a handle on the situation, my work and home life were so different, I feared I was losing my mind—becoming bipolar. My mood swings were so severe I considered seeing a doctor, but couldn’t. That would mean admitting what was going on at home.

I’m not sure exactly when it was in our relationship that I realized I was giving Ray too much power over me, but the moment stands clear in my mind. It was a Tuesday night. I’d been waiting all day to start the new Elizabeth George book. A cup of freshly brewed chamomile tea sat on the nightstand, and I was propped up on pillows, snuggled under the blankets. By the second paragraph, I was hooked, totally engrossed in the book. When Ray came to bed, I mumbled something to him, but kept reading. He’d never had a problem falling asleep with a light on, so it didn’t occur to me that my reading would bother him.

I’ll never forget the fear that rippled through my body when he sat up, tore the book from my hands, and flung it against the wall. Then, he slapped me so hard I fell against the nightstand. Hot tea splashed on my hand.

“You selfish bitch. I’m trying to sleep.”

Anger boiled so hot I actually retorted, “I was reading.” I got out of bed and retrieved the book. “How the hell can I keep you awake when I’m reading?”

“The pages. You’re turning the pages too loudly.”

“Are you serious?” I stood by the dresser staring at him in wonder.

He threw back the covers, ready to advance on me. Instead of cowering in fear when he jumped out of bed to hit me again, I stood my ground. One look at me and he fell back on the pillows. “I’m too tired to mess with you.”

From that moment on, I took control. He was too stupid to catch on. I reduced the amount of time that I spent with him and Mama. Working late became a common excuse. I told him I’d gotten a promotion that required a lot of travel. Conferences in Orlando and business meetings in Chicago were spent at hotels in Bentonville. One of my co-workers had a cozy little cabin in Eureka Springs and I’d commute to work from there, but the lying still took its toll. I felt like I was losing myself, hiding and fabricating excuses. I kept it simple. The less complicated, the easier it was to remember, but I lived in fear of saying the wrong thing and tipping my hand.

Assuming a fake identity did nothing to appease my fears of losing myself. The first year as Anne Sutton was hell, but the thought of Ray finding me enabled me to live the lie.

I snuggled next to Joe. Nelson sprawled along my side, his soft snores hummed in the darkness. Cash, curled up and content, slumbered on Joe’s stomach.

Was I living a lie now?

When did I fully become Anne Sutton and Maggie Shaw cease to exist?

My feelings were real even if my name wasn’t. Should I tell Joe about my past? Did it really matter?

He stirred. “Hey, baby.” He pulled me to his side. He ran his hand over my hip and lowered his lips to mine.

Within seconds, passion consumed me and all thoughts left my mind. Surely, he couldn’t doubt that my feelings were real.