Dark Pursuit

He obeyed, swinging his head toward the window. She placed the medicine in his palm.

“Bombs away.” He threw the pills into his mouth, took a water glass from her efficient fingers, and swallowed.

Three times they repeated the process. Pills, always pills, day and night. He didn’t even know what he took anymore. Most of them were vitamins and herbs. Did no good at all, except to keep snake oil salesmen in business. As for the inventor of the one that was supposed to make him think more clearly—Darell could imagine a million torturous ways to kill the shyster off in his next book.

If he ever had a next book.

Margaret nodded with satisfaction when he swallowed the last batch. She stood back, folding her arms across her ample chest. Darell tilted his head to view her with unspoken challenge. A weak ray of sun filtered through the window, showing up the crow’s feet around her eyes. The woman was looking old.

She was only sixty-one. Compared to her he looked like death.

“Have you done your exercises this afternoon?” she asked.

“No.”

Her lips pressed. “D., you know you should.”

He shrugged. “They don’t work anyway.”

“They might, if you’d do them three times a day like you’re supposed to.”

“Aaah.” He swatted the air with his hand.

She exhaled loudly. “What am I going to do with you?”

Put me out to pasture, like everyone else.

“Where’s your Thera-Band?”

The hated thick rubbery band from the therapist. At first he’d worked hard with it, determined to regain all the movement he’d lost. But as time ticked by and progress proved slow, the choking cloud of depression set in.

“I don’t know. Maybe in the office.”

Margaret picked up the glass and tray. “I’ll go get it.”

Darell focused out the window, waiting until she was almost to the door, far enough away to allow him space.

“Margaret. Thank you.”

She turned back. “You’re welcome, D.”

For some reason her smile—so loyal and loving—reminded him of his granddaughter when she was little.

A sudden brutal image of Kaitlan filled Darell’s head—the last time he’d seen her, six years ago. The hard, bitter face that looked decades beyond her sixteen years.

“I hate you!” Spittle had sprayed from her mouth as she marched toward his front door.

“Good.” White-hot rage at her treachery seared his veins. No one stole from him. “Then you won’t care that I never want to see you again.”

She’d turned back, lips curled. “I don’t care. You never showed me any love anyway. Your writing—that’s all you care about. And now you have nobody left. Nobody!”

In Darell’s mind, he heard the door slam.

Margaret reappeared, toting the Thera-Band. She held it out to him, and he snatched it from her fingers. Why had he thought of Kaitlan? Anger at her betrayal swirled within him, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He leaned over, slapped the long band around the ball of his foot, and pulled the ends up hard with both hands, forcing his toes downward.

“There,” he said through gritted teeth. “See? I’m exercising.”

Margaret studied him. “Good. Whatever you thought about just now—keep thinking it.”

As she turned away, Darell pulled tighter, jaw clenched. His ligaments screamed. So did the memories. Maybe a little more pain would drive them away.

He relaxed for a second, then pulled again—harder.

four

Kaitlan’s body shook. How could this … what …?

Somehow she pushed herself off the floor. Call 911! her mind screamed, but her stupid feet wouldn’t move. She swayed like a drunkard, shoulders hunched and breathing ragged. Her gaze glued to the corpse on her bed—the woman’s bugged eyes, drool coming out of her mouth. And her expression! Didn’t faces go slack in death? This one was frozen in shock.

The glands around Kaitlan’s mouth started to drain. She was going to throw up.

She lurched for the bathroom. Rounded the corner, fell on her knees before the toilet, and threw back the lids with a loud crack.

Kaitlan heaved, holding back her hair, eyes squeezed shut. Again and again until nothing was left in her stomach.

When it was over, she trembled from head to toe. She flushed the toilet and put down the lids. Washed out her mouth with toothpaste and water. Trying to tell herself none of this was true. She’d leave the bathroom to see nothing on her bed. She was just tired, that’s all. Too stressed.

Clutching her arms, Kaitlan sidled back into the bedroom.

The body was still there.

She stared at it, mind bouncing. Looking for one rational thought she could grasp.

Why would anyone bring a body here?

Craig. He’d been in the apartment today.

But he couldn’t have done this.

Who was this woman? Kaitlan had never seen her before. She looked … maybe in her forties.

That cloth around her neck. Black with green stripes. It was silk, wasn’t it? Kaitlan forced herself to move closer, peering at its shiny texture.

Yes. Silk.

She drew back, shuddering. This fabric had been used in two other killings in the area over the past year. The last one just two months ago.

Craig.