Saturday, June 9
The dark fingers of twilight crept into the room. The mattress was lumpy. It kneaded Sophia’s back in all the wrong places, but she didn’t want to sit up because she was afraid Sybill might take that as an invitation to talk. They hadn’t spoken a word since they’d arrived at the front desk and collected the keys to a room. (Sophia had used her last shred of power to convince the clerk they had booked some accommodations. The effort it took practically knocked her out.) She didn’t want to speak about what had happened, but she knew that the silence between them was reaching a dangerous point. If it wasn’t broken soon, it would harden into something impenetrable, an unspoken monster they would never be able to conquer.
“Hey,” Sybill said suddenly. Sophia heard her get up and walk across the room; the bed sunk a little lower as she sat on the edge of Sophia’s mattress. “Are you mad at me?”
Sophia raised herself up on her elbows and stared at her. “Um, yeah.”
“I know that wasn’t the best way to handle things.”
“Wasn’t the best way to handle things?”
“But it was the only option.”
“So talking to him or just---oh, I don’t know---running away? Those two things never crossed your mind?”
“It wasn’t that simple. He had already called the cops.”
“Yeah, about a break-in. Which would’ve been a whole lot easier to live with than a murder.”
“I was trying to protect us---protect you. That’s what I’m always doing. Nice to be appreciated.”
Sophia fell silent, picking at a hole in the blanket. She could feel Sybill’s gaze boring into her and for several uncomfortable seconds, she avoided meeting her eyes.
“I just wish you hadn’t done it,” she said finally.
“Well, I did. That’s all there is to it.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of running?”
“It won’t always be like this.”
“When won’t it be like this, Sybill? When do we get to stop? When can we just be normal?”
“When I say so,” Sybill said coolly, as if dealing with a difficult toddler.
Sophia felt her cheeks grow warm with indignation; the heat began to spread through the rest of her body. She sat up, a newfound feeling of power overtaking her. Images of Coppula’s mangled head cut through her brain. She remembered Sybill’s eyes as she had brought that potpourri jar down---flat and black like a shark’s. How quickly she had reacted, moving with the sharp, keen sense of a predator who was used to tearing, wounding---killing.
Sybill screamed and jumped to her feet.
Sophia gave a start and looked around, startled, half-expecting to see a hooded man standing in the corner with a knife. But a scan of the room told her they were alone, and when she looked back at Sybill, she saw her cowering by the window.
“Stop it!” she yelled.
“What’s wrong?” Sophia cried.
Sybill was staring at a spot near the bed, but Sophia couldn’t see anything there---certainly nothing that should’ve made her sister look so pale. After a tense minute, Sybill’s face relaxed, and the wild look faded from her eyes.
“What---did you---why did you do that?” she said, breathing heavily.
“Do what? Are you okay?”
Sybill wiped her sweaty forehead with the back of a trembling hand.
“I---yeah.”
“What happened?”
“I think we should call it a night. I’m obviously pretty tired. We’ll talk more in the morning if you want.” Without another word, she climbed into her bed and rolled over. Sophia stared anxiously at her back, waiting for the sound of her deep, even breathing to fill the room.
It never did.
Eventually Sophia nodded off herself, dozing fitfully. When she woke up in the early hours of Sunday morning, the room was dark and her stomach was rumbling. She closed her eyes and sent out mental feelers, stretching into time and space to see if anybody nearby was going to conveniently die. She came up empty. Looked like everyone in the motel, at least, was planning on living through the night. She would have to expand her search. With a quick glance at Sybill, Sophia slithered off the bed and tiptoed out of the room. There was nobody at the front desk, so she was able to duck out the front door undetected.
It was a stuffy night. The heat lay like a smothering blanket on her neck and shoulders. Bugs swarmed around the streetlamps, dancing in the air like sentient darts of dust. She wandered for a few blocks, taking constant care to look over her shoulder. She finally came across a homeless man in an alleyway. He was passed out, the ground around him a battlefield of empty booze bottles and broken glass.
She crouched down and waited. It only took a few minutes. The curtain of the universe barely ruffled as he slipped quietly beyond it. His memories of an alcoholic dad and an absent mom were as sad as his current state. Sophia turned away feeling heavy, overwhelmed with the agony of a life that wasn’t her own.
When she rounded the corner that stood across the street from the motel, the flash of red and blue sirens blinded her. She ducked behind a bush and peeked through the branches. Her heart plunged into her knees.
Two officers were leading Sybill out the door and into a cruiser. Just before they pushed her inside, her head snapped up and her eyes stared right through the bush. Sophia froze, struggling with the urge to both help and hide.
Then one of the police officers forced Sybill into the car and the cruisers drove off into the night.
***
Sunday, July 10
Nate was roused in the early hours of the morning by an excited phone call from Stilly. “We’ve got someone,” he said. “I just Mirandized her. You wanna be part of the interview?”
“Gimmie five minutes,” Nate said thickly. “I need to find some fucking pants.”
“Put on your Sunday best, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting.”
He left Felicity a note on the counter and left the apartment, locking the door behind him. When he got to the station, he found Stilly waiting for him by his desk. They wasted no time and hurried together down the hall to the interview room.
The single lamp hanging from the ceiling cast a bright glow over the girl’s thick blonde braid, throwing into sharp focus the dirty state of her clothing. Her tee shirt was smeared with what looked like a week’s worth of grime, and it was yellowing around the neck and armpits. There was even a small hole in one of the sleeves. She was wearing large, gold-rimmed glasses---which, oddly enough, looked cleaner than anything else on her person. They had confiscated her belongings when they’d booked her, though she hadn’t been carrying much. Just some spare change and a blue lighter.
Stilly pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. Nate perched on the edge of the table, putting up a great show of nonchalance as he swung one leg back and forth.
“Hi there,” Stilly said. “My name’s Detective Stilly and this is my partner, Detective Reynolds. We were hoping to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?”
The girl looked at Nate. He felt an immediate and disconcerting sense of danger. A cold caterpillar of dread inched down his spine. He forced himself to smile at her.
“Nice to meet you,” he said.
“Reynolds, was it?” She poked her tongue out between her lips as she continued to stare at him with unblinking eyes. “Like the Vikings?”
“Yeah,” he said, surprised. “How’d you know? Do you like history?”
The girl didn’t answer as she shifted her gaze back to Stilly. Her face had a slack-jawed, bored expression. Stilly cleared his throat.
“We’re not here to judge you or jump to conclusions,” he began, his voice tinged with a convincing note of sympathy. “But I have to say, we’ve pulled your record up and it doesn’t look too good for you, kiddo.”
A lie. They had run her prints, but the girl was nowhere in the system. Quite honestly, they had nothing but a neighbor’s account of two girls fleeing Coppula’s burning house. The witness had described one of them as “short with dark hair,” and the other was “tall and maybe had glasses.” Not exactly rock-solid evidence. Still, this girl didn’t know that. Nate carefully watched her face as Stilly continued:
“But I want to hear your side of the story. Why don’t we start with your name?”
“Sybill.”
“Well, Sybill, it’s nice to meet you. Would you mind telling me what happened?” No response. “Who was with you in Mr. Coppula’s house?” Stilly pressed.
“I don’t know anybody named Coppula.”
“Then why were you in his house?”
“Isn’t that what you guys would call a leading question?” Sybill asked sweetly.
“Look, Sybill. I get it. Maybe things got out of hand. It was supposed to be an easy job, right? You and your friend decide to break in during the day because most people are at work, but then you see he’s home after all, right when you’re in the middle of it, and your friend panics. Maybe they do something stupid and leave you to pick up the pieces.”
Nate’s heart sank when he saw a smile oozing across the girl’s face. Her eyes were as unreadable as a slab of granite.
“When do you chip in and play bad cop?” she said, turning to Nate. “You gonna flip the table? Should I stand back?”
“I’m not going to do anything, Sybill---except try and help you,” Nate said. “Tell us your friend’s name.”
“I don’t have friends. They take up too much time.””
Stilly sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“Now, Sybill. We know you must’ve had this job planned for a while. The receptionist at the motel said two girls came in. She said you had reservations. So this was clearly premeditated.”
“Well, if you’re so sure, why are we still sitting here?” She held out her wrists. “I surrender.”
“Why don’t you just be straight with us? It’ll be easier for you in the long run.”
Sybill lowered her hands and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly how it would all play out.”
Stilly pushed back his chair and stood up.
“We’re going to step out for a minute, Sybill. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
She flashed a toothy smile. “No thank you, sir.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
He walked out into the hall, Nate at his heels. Stilly closed the door behind them with a sharp click, shaking his head. The look of benign interest his face had worn during the interrogation dropped, replaced with his usual expression of sour complacency.
“She’s a real fucking treat.”
“Why hasn’t she asked for a lawyer?” Nate wondered aloud, scowling through the one-way glass at the hunched blonde figure on the other side.
“Because she’s arrogant. She doesn’t think she’ll be here for very long.”
“I mean, she’s not wrong to be cocky. We have jack and shit on her. If we can’t find anything solid in the next 48 hours, she walks.
“Holy shit. You’re right!” Stilly looked at Nate with exaggerated awe. “That never occurred to me. You’re so smart and handsome. Can I get your number? Are you seeing anyone right now?”
Nate glared at him. “Did you find any leads on a possible accomplice, jackass?”
“Oh sure. Then I promptly forgot to bring that the fuck up during the interrogation. No, Reynolds, I don’t have any leads.” Stilly took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. There was a beat of silence. “Sorry,” he muttered. “That was uncalled for.”
“Your apology is actually more unnerving than the insults.”
Stilly smiled ruefully. “Right. So what do we know about this delightful ray of sunshine named Sybill?”
“The woman at the motel didn’t see the two girls drive up with a car, so I imagine Sybill’s friend is on foot, which means they probably haven’t gone far.”
“Do you think the two of them had something to do with the Union Station shooting?”
“Who knows?” Nate said, carefully avoiding his partner’s eyes. “It’s a weird coincidence that both brothers were attacked so close together though. Is Xavier still out cold?”
Stilly nodded. “I doubt he’ll make it. His head wounds looked pretty bad.” He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “I’m going to follow up with forensics in a bit. They’re still processing evidence from the house. Maybe something will turn up. In the meantime, let’s leave her in there to sweat for a bit.”
He turned and led the way back down the hallway. Nate threw one last glance at Sybill. She looked like she hadn’t sweat a day in her life. He suppressed a shudder. There was something about this girl that was almost…reptilian.
***
“Welcome home,” Felicity said, coming out of the kitchen to greet him when he walked through the door. The apartment smelled like bacon. “I was wondering when you’d get back. Your note sounded urgent.”
“Yeah, sorry for leaving like that.”
“Oh, please. It’s your job.” She smiled. “I’m making brunch for dinner. Like when we were kids, remember?” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Want some?”
“Sure. Thanks.” He smiled down at her, trying to ignore the way his heart stopped when her lips touched him. “How long are you sticking around?” he called as she went back into the kitchen.
“I guess that’s up to you and your police friends, honey. Any leads?”
Nate threw himself down on the couch. “Not really a lead, but a hell of a coincidence. You been watching the news at all?”
“Not if I can help it,” she laughed.
“We have a suspect for Xavier’s attacker.”
He heard the microwave door slam. Felicity came hurrying back out into the living room. “Really?”
“Yeah, there’s a person of interest in custody, but we can’t officially charge her yet. You should see this girl. She has the eyes and social skills of a dead fish. Out of nowhere she asked me if my surname was Viking---I always thought dad just had an overblown sense of self-importance when it came to our lineage---and then basically told my partner to screw himself, which would have been funny under any other circumstance. There’s something off about her, you know? You remember that one kid in your fifth-grade class, Jimmy what’s-his-nuts, the one who liked to eat glue?”
“Viking?” Felicity said. There was a strange look on her face. “Who is this girl?”
“Honestly, we don’t know much about her, other than the fact that her name is Sybill. I don’t even know her surname ---are you okay?”
Felicity’s face had turned white as bone.
“Did you want toast?” She turned and headed back towards the kitchen.
“Felicity?”
“Do you want me to put on some coffee?”
Nate got up and followed her into the kitchen.
“Felicity.”
Her back was to him. She made a show of frying the bacon on the stove and transferring a few slabs to a plate on the counter.
“You trust me, right?” She turned around. Her face was still pale, but there was a rigid stubbornness about her jaw that Nate recognized.
“Of course.”
“I need you to arrange a meeting.”
“What?”
“With Sybill.”
He stared at her. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t ask questions,” she said pleadingly. “Please, Nate. She could make things really bad for me—for us.”
“Felicity, what the hell is---”
“Please.”
Nate felt the old feelings stirring inside him, like filthy sediment from the bottom of a pond rising to the surface. He fought them---weakly---but once again they overwhelmed every notion of common sense he had in his head.
“I can’t give you long,” he said curtly. “Five minutes tops.”
“And no cameras.”
He stared at her. “Felicity…”
“I won’t hurt anyone. I promise. I just need to…sort some things out.”
“How do you know Sybill? What’s going---”
Felicity took his face in her hands. Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears.
“Just trust me.”
Her mouth silenced the protests that rose to his lips; the bacon on the stove began to burn.
***
Monday, July 11
Something was very wrong---well, other than the fact that they were wading through deep shit with no end to the reeking pile in sight. What she was feeling now was something else, something unusual.
Sophia had been keeping close to the police station, scoping the building for any sign of her sister. She made sure to blend in with the crowds on the sidewalk across the street, falling into step behind dog walkers, sitting on curbs behind parked cars. Hours passed. It became apparent that Sybill wasn’t going to be released anytime soon. Sophia, worn out and too frightened to try and manipulate someone into giving her accommodations for the night, slept behind a bush in a nearby park. She slept fitfully and found herself longing for lumpy motel beds.
Morning came. It was a warm one; the air shimmered with pearl-gold curtains of evaporating dew. Sophia extracted herself cautiously from the bush and walked back towards the station, her cramped muscles protesting. As she peered around the bumper of an SUV, she spotted a woman strolling up to the front doors. The sunlight tangled in her brilliant red hair, which fell to her waist in a dazzling array of ringlets. She was only in view for about five seconds before she vanished into the building---but it was long enough for Sophia to sense that something was off about her.
Normally Sophia was connected to the mental rhythms of those around her. That was how she knew when someone was going to die: she felt the signals fading, the way a doctor might see a heartbeat getting slower on an ECG. But this redhead’s signal felt...jumbled. Sophia couldn’t get a clear read on her mind’s language. It was like tuning into a familiar radio frequency and getting nothing but static.
She closed her eyes and tried to reach out to this odd signal, to feel her way through its sporadic beats and pulses. But she found herself in a myriad of mental confusion. When she opened her eyes again the sun blinded her, and she felt dizzy. She took a moment to get her bearings, then glanced back over at the station and saw that the redheaded woman had come outside again. She was standing off to the side of the front entrance. It looked like she was smoking. Sophia watched her intently for a few moments. Just when she was just thinking of migrating (she didn’t like to linger in one spot too long), the woman threw whatever she was smoking on the ground and made a beeline towards her.
Startled, Sophia turned and walked quickly in the opposite direction. Her heart was pounding fiercely in her ears. She tried not to go too fast so she wouldn’t arouse suspicion among passersby, but the woman was walking next to her before Sophia had even registered the click-clack of her heels on the pavement.
“Don’t say anything,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. “Just follow me.”
Sophia’s first instinct was to run, but curiosity made her pause. The woman certainly didn’t look like a cop. Besides, squatting next to cars and walking in circles was getting old. She decided to follow her while maintaining a generous amount of space between them. That way she could still make a break for it in the event the woman decided to grab her and throw her into the back of a van. Plus, the distorted mental signals flowing from this stranger were even worse up close; a certain degree of distance made Sophia feel less dizzy.
“Listen closely,” said the woman as they cut through an alleyway. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe. You’ll stay there until we can hash out a way to get your sister off the hook.”
“I’m not doing shit until you tell me who you are, lady.”
“I’m an old friend of Sybill’s. We went to school together. Okay?”
“What school? Who was your homeroom teacher?”
“You ever get any better at that brain-sucking trick, Sophia?”
Sophia stopped dead in her tracks. The woman looked at her from over her shoulder.
“Sybill told me all about it. It’s nice to finally put a face to the stories.”
“What’s your name?” Sophia demanded.
“Your sister trusts me. Isn’t that good enough?”
Sophia studied the stranger’s face. With its round, moon-like whiteness and rosy cheeks, it wasn’t exactly a dangerous-looking one. The woman turned around again and they continued to walk for a while, hopping fences and cutting across parking lots until they finally arrived at an apartment complex. Sophia couldn’t see any street signs and she didn’t recognize the area. She started to get nervous.
The woman led the way up a flight of stairs, then two, then three. Finally, she stopped at a door stamped with the number six and fiddled with some keys before entering the apartment.
“You should be safe here,” she said, turning on lights as they stepped inside. “My brother usually rents it out, but it’s been vacant since last year. Feel free to go out and---do whatever it is you do to eat. But stick close to the area if you can, and don’t go out for any other reason. I’ll be by to check in on you.”
“How are we going to get Sybill out?”
There was a long pause before the woman answered:
“I’m not sure. But don’t worry, honey. I’m sure I’ll think of something.” She smiled. “I’m good at that.”
***
Monday, July 11
Nate came out of the bathroom buckling up his pants and swearing. This belt had been a gift from Felicity a few years ago, but it was too tight. He wished he had the balls to throw it away; he didn’t really need any more daily reminders of her. He was still struggling to with the buckle when he came around the corner and almost ran right into a gangly woman with stringy hair. She worked a few desks over from him, but he couldn’t remember her name. Molly? Macy?
“Hey Reynolds. ‘Scuse me. Oh, by the way, some old guy is waiting for you at your desk.”
“Old guy?”
“Yeah, he said he had an appointment?”
“Oh…okay. Thanks.”
She continued down the hall towards the women’s bathroom. Nate stared after her for a moment, then cautiously walked back through the lobby towards his cubicle. When he saw who was waiting for him, he stopped dead in his tracks.
The man sitting there had a face like old leather and a body as solid as a brick wall. His short-sleeved polo shirt stretched laboriously across biceps that bulged with veins as thick as metal rods. A couple of buttons were undone at the throat (no doubt pushed to their limits by his python-thick neck), which allowed the gleaming silver locket he always wore to poke through. He had shaved his head since Nate last saw him, and grown a fluffy, salt-and-pepper beard in its place. The eyes that stared out from beneath his aggressive, bushy grey eyebrows were devoid of any warmth or humor, and they were the color of a rainy sky. There was a mole on the corner of his eye that Nate had always hated; it looked like it was an extra eye, watching him.
When the man spoke, his gravelly voice sent an unpleasant shiver down Nate’s spine.
“It’s nice to see you again, Nathaniel. How long have you been working in this precinct? Do you enjoy it?”
“What do you want?”
“I guess we’re not catching up then. Very well. I’m looking for your sister.”
“Still don’t have anything better to do, huh?”
His leaned back in his chair, eying him warily.
“I thought she might have come to you. You were always…close.”
“Sorry. Don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t seen her since she broke out of your loony bin.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t expect anything from you, Dad.”
There was pregnant pause. Then his father sighed. “Well if you do come across her, please let me know, will you? I’m terribly anxious about her.” His smile didn’t reach his cold, flat eyes.
“Whatever.”
His father stood up, pushing his chair back.
“I’ll let you get back to work then. Take care, son.”
Nate watched as he lumbered across the police station. The tense knot of dread in his chest loosened only when the front door closed behind him. Nate yanked back his chair and sat down at his computer, angrily chugging coffee for the rest of the morning as he tried to distract himself with the ever-growing mound of paperwork on his desk. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake the heaviness from his heart. His father had always possessed the knack of leaving behind an unpleasant spiritual stink, excreting ooze like some kind of metaphysical slug. Nate knew he was going to be pissed off for days.
Felicity had come to visit him just that morning. She’d wanted to arrange a time to see Sybill, but since they still had nothing solid on the girl, Nate had advised his sister to wait just a little longer. The situation might resolve itself, and there would be no need for secret meetings. If Sybill was released, they could just talk on their own time. But Felicity wouldn’t listen. She had gone in and visited Sybill for a few minutes, with Nate nervously keeping watch. She left without incident, hurrying out if the station without looking at him or explaining what she had talked about with Sybill.
Had his father come an hour earlier, they would’ve run right into each other. The thought made him feel nauseous.
Nate leaned back in his chair, stretching his aching muscles. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after five. The station was deserted except for himself and the security guard, who was packing up his things for the day. Nate was just about to follow his example when the front door flew open. A breeze swept across his desk, almost knocking his papers to the floor.
Stilly entered, flushed, out of breath, and radiating smugness.
“I was hoping you’d still be here,” he said.
“Yeah, well, not for long. I’m gonna go home and drink myself to death, so if you’ll kindly move aside, I can get right on that.”
“Hang on. I got something you’ll wanna to see.”
“Look, boys, I have a family dinner thing,” the security guard called. “You locking up or…?”
“Jesus, Tommy, what do we pay you for?” Stilly said, staring at him. “Two minutes.”
“Fine. But I’m going to time you.”
Stilly rolled his eyes and turned back to Nate. With a dramatic flourish, Stilly flung something onto the desk between them. Nate glanced at it, then leaned forward to get a better look. His heartbeat quickened.
“The lab pulled this from the ruins of Xavier Coppula’s house a couple days ago. You’re looking at a half-eaten English muffin.”
Nate stared at him, waiting for further elaboration. Stilly’s grin widened at his confusion.
“How did you even find this?”
“With my incredible sleuthing. Also, I might’ve tripped over some debris when I was snooping around the other day and face-planted right on it. It almost made me throw up, but then I noticed a bite had been taken out of it.”
“And?”
“Sybill’s DNA is all over it. The lab just matched it to the prints we got when we booked her. It shows she was at least in the house. Maybe we can use it to squeeze her for details about---"
“Guys,” Tommy said.
“That was definitely not two minutes,” Nate said, turning to face him.
“Wrap it up. My wife is ovulating.”
“Tommy,” Stilly said in disgust, “what part of my demeanor suggests I am the least bit interested in your sex life?”
Tommy grinned and jangled his key ring. “You boys calling it a night or am I locking you in here? Though maybe you’d like that.”
“Fuck off. Get your coat, Stilly. He looks serious,” Nate said. He turned back to his desk. He didn’t know how to feel about this English muffin. Mostly because he didn’t know if he wanted to convict Sybill or let her go. He had no idea how it would affect his sister, or which option might be better for her. Frustration washed over him. He wondered why Felicity was keeping him in the dark about all this.
He wondered how many times she had done it before.