One Kill Away Page 12

  Daphne shuddered; a sudden flashback to Margi slapping her. Quickly, she dried her face, hung the towel on the bar. The clearer face in the mirror was that of a girl with eyes like open wounds, a sickly pallor, and dark smudges above her cheeks.

  Look at you. So weak and pathetic. You’re a disgrace. I hate you. Hate you.

  Closing her eyes, Daphne leaned her forehead against the mirror. She gritted her teeth, felt her stomach surge again. Nothing happened this time. No vomiting. No dry heaves.

  She went over and sat down on the floor, pressing her back against the side of the bathtub and pulling her knees up to her chest. The sharp blade dragged across her brain and she winced. Dug her fingers through her hair and grabbed the sides of her head.

  There was no way she could go to school today.

  No way she could go back there again. Ever.

  > > >< < <

  Audra tried the bathroom door and found it locked. Worried, she rapped her knuckles on the wood twice.

  “Daphne,” she called out. “Are you okay in there? I thought I heard you throwing up.”

  “I’m sick, Mom.”

  “Can you open the door, please?”

  There came the thump of footsteps—Daphne walking on her heels—across the floor, the fumbling with the metal handle until the lock clicked. Audra pushed the door open to find Daphne, still in her sleep pants and pink sweatshirt. She shuffled toward the tub and sat down on the edge of it, crossing her feet at the ankles.

  Audra froze when she saw her daughter’s face—pale, wrung out, older somehow. Her eyes were red and swollen, as if she hadn’t slept last night. Stress. Had to be.

  Audra went over to her, a mix of worry and love filling her chest.

  “Oh, honey,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m queasy.”

  “Is there a bug going around school?”

  Daphne’s jawline seemed to tighten. She averted her gaze and leaned her shoulders slightly away from her mother.

  “I don’t know,” she said in a small voice. “Maybe.”

  Audra studied her for a moment. She knew deceptive behavior when she saw it—shifting eyes, increased blinking, change in voice.

  What the hell was going on at school? Something had to be. Why else would a student with good grades and a perfect attendance record suddenly go into a free fall? Were kids picking on her? Was it because of her friend, Tabitha? Were they fighting?

  She touched Daphne’s forehead, then touched her own. “You’re not running a fever. Is your throat sore?”

  “No, but my head is killing me.”

  “Did you get much sleep last night?”

  Daphne pouted. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “My stomach was bothering me.”

  “What did you eat?”

  “Just the leftover lasagna Dad and I had last night.”

  Audra frowned, picturing the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, herself missing. And the image burned right through her.

  That was the one thing she hated about her job—being away from her family so much. She felt trapped between her duties as a mother and her responsibilities as a homicide detective, one who crawled home late almost every night after spending 16 to 18 hours up to her neck in human tragedy. Last night, she’d gotten home at midnight.

  She said, “People lose sleep because of stress and anxiety. Are you stressed out about something? You look it.”

  Daphne dropped her gaze and licked her lips. She began rubbing her hands on her pant legs.

  “Remember what I told you the other night,” Audra said. “I’m always here for you, honey. If there’s a problem, you can come to me. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “How’d school go yesterday?”

  Daphne’s voice cracked on the word: “Okay.”

  “Yeah? You sure?”

  Daphne opened her mouth to speak, but then her gaze stuck on something over Audra’s shoulder. Audra turned her head to see Daniel standing in the doorway, dressed in a white shirt, black pants, and a purple tie. His eyes darted from his wife to his daughter and a frown of worry creased his forehead.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Audra said, “Daphne’s not feeling well.”

  “No? What’s wrong, kiddo?”

  “Stomach’s upset,” Daphne mumbled.

  Daniel’s gaze lingered on her a moment, then he looked at Audra and she could see it in his face, the concern, the understanding they both shared. Their daughter was in trouble and it wasn’t just a phase of adolescence, some stormy period a lot of kids go through.

  Audra filled a glass from the sink with cold water, took out a bottle of Motrin from the medicine cabinet, and popped one pill into her hand.

  “This should help with your headache,” she said.

  Daphne slapped a palm up to her mouth and chased the pill down with the water. She gave the glass back and Audra placed it on the sink.

  “Maybe you should go lie down, honey,” she said. “I’ll call the school and tell them you won’t be in today.”

  Daphne raised her head. “Sorry, Mom.”

  The sadness Audra saw in her daughter’s eyes made her miserable.

  “Hey, don’t be,” she told her.

  “We just want you to be all right,” Daniel said.

  Daphne swallowed and her eyes moistened. Rising to her feet, she hugged herself. She looked unsteady and Audra took hold of her elbow, helping her. She could feel the tremors rippling through Daphne’s flesh.

  Daniel moved out of the way, loosening his tie and unhooking the top button of his shirt. Audra wondered if he’d decided to stay home, realized with a stab of guilt that she couldn’t.

  She followed Daphne down the hall to her room. Daphne crawled on top of the bed, pulling the covers over her. On impulse, Audra went over and kissed the top of her head.

  “I’ll be right back, honey.”

  She found Daniel in their bedroom, hanging up his tie in the closet. She gently closed the door behind her.

  “Are you staying home with her?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He turned to her, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. “Someone has to.”

  “I know,” Audra agreed. “But what will the office say?”

  Daniel shrugged it off. “It’ll be fine. There are some statements I can do here. Besides, when have I ever taken a day off?”

  “Never.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. I’ll keep an eye on Daphne. Make sure she eats something.”

  “How was she last night?”

  Daniel puffed his cheeks. “Quiet. Barely touched her supper. Then she went up to her room and never came out all night.”

  “Something’s going on at school,” Audra said, lowering her voice. “She skipped Monday and Tuesday. Went back yesterday. I could tell when I dropped her off she was reluctant to go in. Now she’s sick today. And there’s no school tomorrow.”

  “Why not?”

  “Teacher’s in-service.”

  Daniel fell silent. He took off his shirt, draped it over a hanger in the closet. Then he gave her a sideways look.

  “Think someone’s picking on her?” he asked.

  Audra shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I thought about that.”

  “Me too.”

  “Whatever happened to her friend, Tabitha? You never see her come around anymore.”

  “Daphne won’t talk about it.”

  “Maybe it’s over that.”

  Audra spread her hands. “Could be. They were pretty close.”

  Daniel folded his arms across his chest and fixed Audra with a thoughtful gaze. The room fell silent for a few moments.

  “Well,” he said finally. “We need to find out what’s bothering her. Try to help her. It’s hard when she won’t talk about it.”

  Audra looked down at the floor. Looked back up at Daniel.

  “I know,” she said. “I know.”

  > >
>< < <

  Daphne could hear the faint whispers coming from her parent’s bedroom. Even though she couldn’t make out their exact words, she knew they were talking about her. Wondering what was wrong with their precious little girl. Couldn’t they see she was a complete failure? Dumb. Ugly. A screw up from birth. The kids at school knew it, they saw it, they understood. Why couldn’t her parents? Why couldn’t they just admit it to themselves?

  Someone sliced that blade into her brain again and Daphne winced. She rubbed her temples, hoping she wouldn’t get sick again.

  She heard her parent’s bedroom door open, footsteps coming. Her mother walked in.

  “Honey,” she said. “I have to get ready for work now. Your father’s going to stay home today.”

  Daphne blinked at that. “What if he gets in trouble?”

  “He won’t. And you can’t stay here by yourself. You’re sick. If something happened to you, we’d never forgive ourselves.”

  The expression on her mother’s face was one of pity and sadness. Eerily similar to the look Tabitha had occasionally given her at school and Daphne felt a cry form in her throat, swelling, wanting to break out. She clenched her teeth against it.

  “I have to jump in the shower,” Audra said. “I’ll be back before I leave for work. Okay?”

  Daphne managed a small nod. She watched her mother leave the room and she hated herself even more.

  Now her father had to miss work because of her. Daphne shook her head and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. She was making her parent’s lives a living hell, becoming a burden, an embarrassment. Neither one of them deserved this. They’d be better off if she’d never been born.

  God, she wished she could just die. Die and be gone. Forever.

  21

  Toronto, June 10

  5:20 p.m.

  The birthday cake was cut into the shape of a football, frosted with chocolate icing for the skin, cream cheese icing for the laces and stripes. Simple decorations marked the occasion: balloons tied to the back of the kitchen chairs, floating at the ends of two-foot strings; a Happy Birthday banner draped across the wall.

  Brian sat at the table, nibbling his upper lip, as Melissa flicked a lighter and lit the seven candles on the cake.

  “Let me get a picture,” she said. “Before you blow them out.”

  Standing by the cupboards, Allan took out his cell phone and brought up the camera feature on it. He waited until Melissa snapped off a photo with her Nikon, then he shot one for himself.

  There were just the four of them—Brian, Melissa, Allan and Tom Godfrey. Since Brian’s birthday fell on a school day, Melissa had promised him a small party with his classmates on Sunday afternoon.

  Tom stood by the refrigerator, quietly sipping coffee from a glass mug. He kept to the outside of the occasion, playing more the role of observer than participant. Allan could sense his awkwardness, one similar to his own. How do you walk into a broken family and try to create a place for yourself? To establish a relationship with a small boy who already had a father? And now that father was here in your home.

  Melissa began singing, “Happy Birthday to you…”

  Allan and Tom gathered around the table, joining in the song. Embarrassment soaked color into Brian’s cheeks. He shifted in the chair, covered his face with his hands, and removed them again, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “Time to make a wish,” Melissa said. “Blow out your candles. Get them all in one try, your wish comes true.”

  Brian paused a moment. His gaze leapt from Melissa to Allan and settled on Melissa again. Allan could see the hopeful charge in his pupils and he felt a stab of sadness as he pondered the wish circulating inside his son’s head.

  Brian squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled a deep breath, and blew out all the candles in one long blast of air.

  Allan applauded. “Good job.”

  Melissa kissed Brian on the cheek. “Happy Birthday, Pumpkin.”

  The time came for presents. Melissa laid a box on the table in front of him, roughly two feet long and over a foot wide. The paper wrapped around it had a pattern of racing cars and checkered flags. Excitement danced in Brian’s eyes like a child on Christmas Eve anticipating the arrival of Santa.

  “This is from Tom and me,” Melissa said. “Hope you like it.”

  “What is it?”

  Melissa mussed the hair on the top of his head. “Open it up, silly.”

  Brian tore off the paper to reveal a LEGO police station complete with cars, cops and robbers.

  “Cool,” he said, beaming. “I love it, Mom.”

  He got off the chair and gave her a hug. Went over to Tom and gave him one too.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You bet, little buddy.”

  Melissa said, “You can pretend you and your father are out catching bad guys.”

  Brian returned to the chair. “We can be partners. Right, Dad?”

  Allan smiled at the innocence of the remark. “We’d make a great team, wouldn’t we?”

  Brian grinned, and it was his mother’s grin—genuine, adorable, with a tightening of the face as if trying to hold back a rush of laughter.

  “Yeah,” he said. “We’d catch all the bad guys.”

  Tom turned to Allan. “Would you like to see Brian someday go into law enforcement?”

  Allan’s eyes were steady, holding his, as disturbing memories came shooting up from his subconscious: a mother letting out an anguished scream and doubling over when hearing her son had been murdered; a straight-A student with the whole world ahead of her lying dead in a bedroom after failing to beat the demons of heroin addiction; an old man’s wrinkled face staring up at him from the depths of an acetone bath.

  Allan clenched his jaw. He glanced at Brian on the other side of the table. No, he wouldn’t like to see his son go into law enforcement. Not see the things he’d seen. Life itself would download enough shit onto Brian’s clean hard drive without him being exposed to an underbelly of society few people got to see or be part of. It wasn’t a place of smiles and gifts and hugs, but grim and heartbreaking with only rare glimpses of beauty.

  At last, Allan said, “I’d support Brian in whatever he decided to do.” He gave a light shrug. “By then he might want to become a doctor or something else.”

  “Or Spiderman,” Brian said.

  They all burst into laughter.

  Allan said, “I see you eyeing the bag I brought over.”

  He picked up the gift bag off the counter and carried it to the table.

  “Happy Birthday, Little Man,” he said. “I don’t know where the last seven years went. I still remember the day you were born like it was yesterday.”

  Brian smiled up at him. He pulled out the blue tissue paper from the bag and looked inside. His eyes suddenly opened wide and his brows jumped up his forehead.

  “Oh wow,” he piped. “This is awesome.”

  He reached in and brought out the box.

  “Four-by-four monster truck,” Tom said, drawing a little closer to the table. “How cool is that?”

  “I know.” Brian hugged his father. “Thank you, Dad.”

  “You’re most welcome,” Allan said, hugging him back.

  Melissa shot a photograph of Brian holding up the box and another one of him with his father.

  Brian asked, “Can we get a picture of me and Dad and you together?”

  The request, natural in its delivery, made all three adults pause. Melissa’s quick glance at Allan, skipping across his face and away, hinted at her awkwardness. Allan felt his throat constrict. Tom just stood there, looking at the floor.

  At last, Melissa ventured a tiny smile. “Sure, Pumpkin.”

  When she handed Tom the camera, he hesitated before taking it. Melissa walked around the table and squatted to the right side of Brian, Allan already on the left. Brian draped his arms around both of them, pulling them close.

  Tom held up the camera, his mouth twisted t
o the side, one eyebrow arced higher than the other. Allan found himself wondering what Tom was thinking as he framed the shot.

  “Say cheese.”

  In unison, all three said it. The sudden flash made Allan blink. He rose to his feet and sighed. Melissa cleared her throat and began removing plates and forks from the cupboards. Tom placed the camera on the table, head down, eyes crinkled in thought.

  Among the three adults, things became oddly hushed after that. They had cake, then Allan and Brian took the monster truck out to the street. Allan was never so happy just to be out of there.

  The guy who sold him the truck had been right—it was fast as hell. With a quiet whine from its engine, it tore down the street at incredible speed. At times, it looked like it wanted to become airborne, lifting off its big wheels for brief seconds. The controls took some practice, especially the brakes. If you hit the button too hard, the brakes would lock up and send the truck tumbling end-over-end down the asphalt. He found the truck did wheelies best from a standing start, not so much when it was moving.

  Allan stood on the curb, watching Brian have fun with it. He guided the truck over the front lawn, down the driveway, and back out to the street.

  “Do you like it?” Allan asked him.

  “I love it,” Brian said.

  He turned the truck around in the neighbor’s drive and brought it racing back toward them.

  “We should have a ramp,” Allan said. “Then we can see how far the truck can jump.”

  Brian stopped the truck at his feet. “That would be cool, Dad.”

  “Does Tom have any old boards in the garage we could use?”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  Heart swelling, Allan watched his son run into the house. He inhaled a deep breath of evening air that was mild and tinged with the smell of blooming flowers. The sun warmed the side of his face and a light breeze rustled his hair.

  Allan’s world seemed like it had righted itself. For once, he felt happy, healthy. Free of Halifax and the bad memories. He realized now he never wanted to return.

  Brian came back out with a set of keys in his hand. “Tom said you can check.”