“Aye,”he muttered with a somber bob of his head. “But that's not what happened here,lass. I'm sorry.”
Icould only nod. I hadn't realized it before, but I'd still been hanging ontosome possibility of him finding evidence that she hadn't, in fact, beenmurdered. That it wasn't a mystery and hadn’t been foul play. That, somehow, itwas a simple, tragic, godforsaken accident, and as heartbreaking as it wouldhave been—hadbeen—to accept that, it was so, so much harder to acceptthat Gracie had been robbed of her life. And by who? Would we ever know? Andwhat would happen once we found him—or her?
Asweeping surge of anguish thrust my body around and I rushed into the foyer toget away from the swallowing truth in the kitchen. I listened as Brodie told myson to give me a moment and TJ sniffled and sighed. Then, I listened as Rickwhispered in a voice I could still hear, as he told Brodie his other findings.
“She,ah,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “she had lacerations all over herbody, including her pubic area. Withoutdoin' aseries of lab tests, Icannaebe certain of whathappened, but if I had to guess—”
“Justsay she was raped,” Brodie replied in a gruff, angry whisper.
“Idon’t—”
“Comeon, man. Ye do know.”
Ricksighed. “It's an ugly thing,” he said quietly. “Andthinkin'it was someone here, someone we could fuckin’know… itdoesnaesit well with me. And whoever the bastard was … he,or she,wasnaemerciful.”
Thethumping, pounding organ in my chest clenched in a violent seizure of despair,as I exhaledevery lastbit of air from my lungs andsank to the marble floor in a crumpled heap of sobs. At the thought of my babysister, tortured and made to suffer, I opened my mouth to scream, to beg my godand all the others to take my life instead of hers, but no sound would escapemy lips. Just a silence that reflected hers, and I prayed to be dead, too. Justto be with her. Just to be free of this pain, like her.
***
When Iopened my eyes, I found myself in a room fit for a palace. The four, largeposts of the bed I laid on surrounded me, and I stared up to the ceiling andits old, exposed beams. I couldn't remember coming into the room, or being laidon the bed, and I assumed I must've passed out in my breakdown.
Isat up and surveyed the room inall ofits splendor,looking for my son and not finding him. One glance out the window into apitch-black world told me it wasvery late, and I hadto guess he was asleep somewhere else in the house.
Afew moments later, the door creaked open, and Brodie peaked inside. I eyed himwarily now, holding an unreasonable prejudice against every person in Scotland,and when he entered, I found myself scurrying backward on the bed.
“Rosie,”he said, holding out a sturdy, careful hand, “yecannaethink I'd be capable of this.”
“Howthe hell am I supposed to know?” I spat out at him, bracing myself for hisapproach, but he stayed right where he was, just at the foot of the bed. But hewas blocking my escape from this room, and that was enough for my tortured mindto see him as a threat. “Anybody in this fucking town could've done this, sohow the fuck am I supposed to trust any of you?”
Helowered his hand, to tuck it and his other into his pants pockets, andshrugged. “Ye're right,” he replied, nodding. “Yeshouldnaetrust me, or anybody, for that matter. Yedinnaekenwho did this heinous thing toyersister, and yeshould be fuckin' mad. Ye should be so fuckin' pissed, that ye would doanythin' ye can to find the bastard that did it.”
Isat at the head of the bed,shakingand beginning tocry slow, slippery tears, as he spoke in a low, sullen voice, that told me hewas just as angry as I was. Then, his brow furrowed as he stepped forward, andthis time I didn’t flinch, as he said, “I told ye I would find the arseholethat did this, and that he would pay with his life, even if it meansriskin’ my own, and I meant every word. But I needyerhelp, Rosie. Icannaedo thisalone.”
Hewatched me, pleading with deep, brown eyes, and I was sure the sincerity Ifound there could fill the entire house. So, I nodded.
“Okay,”I agreed, in a small, meek voice, confirming that I was with him until the end,while hoping beyond hope that it wouldn’t come to that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ROSIE
Beforehe left my room, Alec let me know that TJ was in the room adjacent to mine, andthat he was going to sit in the kitchen for a while, to reassess the case andgo over his notes. Then, he walked out of my room, in his quiet way that I'dalready grown accustomed to and closed the door behind him.
Isat on the bed, far too big for one person, and stared ahead at the door,feeling so confused and disoriented. The events of the past week—the news ofGracie's demise, the questions about how she died, the back and forth ofwhether it was accidental or not, and the realization that it was in factmurder—rushed against my mind, pummeling me into a dream-like state until theroom spun, and my stomach swam in a sea of nausea.
Wherethe hellwasI supposed to go from here? How could Itrust this man when Gracie's killer could have been anyone? I had half a mindto just grab my son, forget my sister's lifeless body, and run home as quicklyas possible, with the foolish thought that being thousands of miles away couldprotect us from the truth. But in another stream of logic, I couldn't reasonablyexplain how Alec Brodie could be Gracie's murderer. And it wasn't that Ithought he was a particularly warm or kind man; it was more his passion to seekjustice that threw me off. His persistence was too strong to be fake, his wantto keep us safe was too sincere, and I talked my panic back down to areasonable level, as I scrubbed my clammy palms against my cheeks.
Closingmy eyes and pressing my hands to my face, I thought of Gracie, my poor, sweetlittle sister. Even in adulthood, she had held onto an innocence I had oftenteased her for, and I thought about that now. How often I had made fun of herlove for cartoons, how she still slept with stuffed animals, and how shepreferred a day at a children's museum over a day at the beach. The guilt steadilycrept in, crowding my lungs and heart with a suffocating pain, as I wished Ihad kept my mouth shutall ofthose times. It had allbeen in good fun and I hadn't meant anything by it, but now I wanted to takeback every one of those moments and every time I had demanded she grow up. Iwished now that she had never had to grow up and that she could've always beena child, because then, she never would've gotten onto that plane. She neverwould have come here and met whoever the hell took her from me. She wouldn’thave been hurt and never would have been killed. Christ, I wished so badly itcould have been me, instead. I was stronger, hardened by life and divorce, andmaybe, just maybe, I could have fought harder than her.
Imageryjoined the guilt and pain now. I saw her, taken and trapped. Struggling andscreaming. Held down, like a pinned butterfly on horrific display. Beaten andbroken,destroyedand disposed of. I pretended withignorant foolishness that I knew what she felt in the end,allofher fear, pain, and sorrow, and I was sure the agony would suffocateme in the clear air of this room in Scotland.
Snappingmy eyes open, afraid I'd see Gracie's lifeless, empty face staring back at me,I knew I needed to get away from these walls. I couldn't be alone, not withthese thoughts or this pain, and I nearly jumped from the bed, to escape theroom and head next door to find TJ. But when I reached the adjacent room andpushed the door open, I found him asleep. He was curled up beneath the coverswith his fists tucked under his chin, like he had always slept as a little boy,and I resisted the urge to climb into bed with him. As badly as I needed thecomfort, I wanted him to sleep, and so, I closed the door quietly behind me andmoved down the hall, to the stairs, and into the kitchen.
Brodiesat on one of the island stools, pouring over his notepad and an array ofphotographs and papers. One hand clenched strands of his dark, brown hair,while the other held a pen, which he tapped endlessly against the crown of hishead. He groaned and dropped the pen to the counter, gripping his hair in bothhands now, when he noticed I was there and inhaled with a sharp breath.
“F-F-F-Fu-Fuck,”he stuttered, bringing his palms down to the counter with a slap and slamming hiseyes shut. Then, after a few, deep breaths, he looked to me again and in aslow, steady voice, said, “Yecannaesneak up on melike that.”
“You'rejumpy,” I said, offering a gentle, teasing smile that I didn't quite feel.
