Repressed Read online

  “Nothing.”

  “Stressed about work? Or the nannies?”

  He pushed his own salmon around on his plate. “No. That took some figuring out today, but no.” There was the case, but that was just the job. But Shannon was leaving tomorrow. With Evie. They’d be gone for a week and if Shannon started to have those dark thoughts again … No, he was probably just stressed. Or upset about … Roger’s gold watch. Yes, just remembering the glint of sun on the watch’s face, like Shannon’s gift was happy to be on Roger’s wrist, stoked an irrational fury deep in Morrison’s gut. “I saw Roger today.”

  “Ah, that’ll do it.” She searched his face. “How did he seem?”

  Why does she care? “Like himself.”

  “So, like a dickhead?”

  Morrison’s chest loosened a little, and the sudden lack of tension made him lean back in his chair. Had he really been holding onto that all day? “He was definitely a dickhead.”

  “I’m not looking forward to going back to work with him. Maybe one day you and I will just move away altogether. Start fresh.”

  “Yeah.”

  She furrowed her brows. “But?”

  “You know I don’t want to—”

  “—leave Petrosky.” She grabbed her fork. “He’ll be okay, Morrison. I promise. We don't have to go far, just … far enough that I don’t have to deal with Roger.” She ran her fingers though her hair and blew out an exasperated breath. “Sorry. I’m a little stressed too. I’ve been thinking about getting a position in another city. I don’t want to work too far from home but I can’t find much else in Southfield or anywhere within thirty minutes. I’m stuck.”

  Stuck. With him? With the job. The fork handle was digging into his palm and he released his grip.

  “I guess it’s good. I can … heal a little more before making big changes. Get back to what I know. But it’s been on my mind lately, and even Dr. McCallum seems to think it’d be a good move.”

  “You talked to McCallum before me?” Of course she’d talked to her shrink. Why wouldn’t she? That was his job. But still, he was her best friend, her husband and—

  “Well, no.” Shannon switched Evie to the other breast, and the kid kicked her in the gut so hard that Shannon winced. “I mean, yeah, I talked to him, but I didn’t want to bother you with it until I had it figured out in my own head.”

  God, he was a hypocrite. Dr. McCallum was the only person who knew—really knew—about Morrison’s addiction and his missing memories. Now that Morrison was sober, McCallum thought the missing pieces would never come to light. “State-dependent memory requires you to be in a similar state for recall to the one you were in when the memory was formed,” the shrink had said. So if you’d repressed a memory of an event that had happened, say, while drinking, you were more likely to retrieve that memory from your brain during an intoxicated state.

  The gist as Morrison understood it was that he’d need to shoot up to fill in the gaps in his memory. And that wasn’t worth one morning of traumatized reminiscing—withdrawal had been a beast. Though not as much of a beast as his emotions had been without the drug. He had never gotten to the sell-your-soul-to-the-devil stage of addiction, but heroin had been like a lover, the only thing that made him feel something besides the bitter emptiness from the deaths of his parents: his dad shot dead in a robbery when Morrison was still in primary school and his mother, beaten to death with a baseball bat by an abusive boyfriend Morrison’s freshman year of college. And his best friend Danny, his glazed eyes, the blood on Morrison’s hands … Maybe the lack of memory was for the best. Most days, he sincerely didn’t want to know what he’d forgotten.

  Morrison watched Slash leap onto the extra chair at the dining table and curl into a purring ball. Shannon was right. If she’d asked him earlier about changing jobs, he probably would have asked if she thought big changes were a good idea while transitioning back into the working world. And he should trust her. He needed to trust her. Shannon was strong, intelligent—she wasn’t one to tolerate being treated like an invalid. It was bad enough that she had doubted herself, but if she hadn’t told him … she doubted his faith in her, too.

  He touched her hand. “Whatever you want to do, Shanny, you know I’ll support you.” If they needed to move a little farther out, they would. The market wasn’t great, but they’d figure it out. They’d—

  Slash picked his head up as Morrison’s cell rang. Probably Petrosky—maybe with a lead. Morrison dropped his fork and had raised the phone to his ear before he recognized that the ringtone itself was just the standard buzz and not Petrosky’s Miami Vice jingle or the ringtone belonging to Valentine or the chief. Telemarketer? “Morrison.”

  “Hey, this is Natalie Bell.” Her voice was hoarse, low. A cold?

  “Ms. Bell. Good to hear from you.” Across from him, Shannon straightened, and Evie fussed at the movement.

  “I know you called about the job, but I took something else.” Not sick. Whispering. Muffled, like she was talking through a cloth or had a hand wrapped over the receiver.

  “Oh, okay, thanks for letting us know.” The line went dead before Morrison could say goodbye.

  Shannon stared at him expectantly, eyebrows at her hairline. “So?”

  “No-go on Bell. She found something else.”

  “Dammit! We should have just offered it to her when she was here. I know it’s better to be thorough, but—” She frowned. “Why’d she call you? I left my number earlier.”

  “I gave her my business card yesterday. Besides, I told you, I’m The Master Dialer.” He picked up his fork again.

  “You didn’t even have a chance to dial.” Shannon looked at Slash. “Fuck.”

  “Indeed.”

  Shannon put her napkin on the table and stood, tugging her shirt down and shifting Evie to her hip. “You want to call Alyson Kennedy with your magical phone fingers while I take a bath?” She walked around the table and put Evie in his lap, then brushed his ear with her lips. “And if she says no, don’t tell me until you’ve secured us another nanny, okay?”

  He put his hand on the small of her back. “You sure Alyson is the one you—”

  Her look stopped him. No arguing with lawyers.

  “You’ll love her,” she said. “Trust me.” Shannon kissed him again, on the lips this time, and her smell lingered in his nostrils like all that was right with the world was concentrated there in her scent.

  “You got it, Shanny.”

  She headed for the door. “I just nursed Evie, so if you manage to get her down before I get out of the tub, join me. We’re leaving for Alex’s in the morning and we won’t see you for a week.”

  Morrison stared down at Evie’s round face, at her wide eyes as blue as the sea, her Cupid bow lips grinning at him. “You’re not going to let that happen, are you, beautiful?”

  Evie just gurgled.

  Evie didn’t fall asleep in his arms until well after Shannon had emerged from the bathtub, but the smell of Shannon's skin was all it took. Their lovemaking was patient, though faster than it had been in the days before Evie, when he used to spend hours stroking Shannon’s skin, watching her writhe. Now she’d rather sleep—not that he could blame her. Parenthood was draining in a way he’d not expected—in a way he’d never have known about if he hadn’t stayed home this last month. Afterwards, he lay beside her and watched the moon cast shadows on her bare back, every familiar plane of her skin hazy beneath the soft glow. Somewhere in the night, a dog howled, loud and long, perhaps seeking another to share the moonlight with him. Seeking what Morrison had already found. The baby monitor crackled from the end table.

  Morrison rolled toward the wall where the darkness was deep and quiet—a pleasant break from the harsh glare of day. He drifted off to sleep with his heart full and peaceful, the phantom voices of repressed memory for once blissfully silent.

  11

  By the time Morrison woke up Wednesday morning, he’d almost acquiesced to the idea that Alyson Kennedy
would make a damn fine nanny for Evie. When he’d called her the night before, she’d practically squealed with excitement. “I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to meet you, Mr. Morrison. And I can’t wait to care for Evie. She’s a doll.” Even Evie had seemed extra happy this morning, her pudgy cheeks shining, milk dribbling down her chin as he bounced her in one arm. But Evie didn’t know that she and Shannon were leaving for a week.

  Morrison’s stomach was twisted in knots. He hefted Shannon’s suitcase into the trunk alongside the pack-n-play she’d brought for Evie to sleep in, then grabbed the cooler and positioned it in the front seat so Shannon would have easy access when she got hungry. “Say hi to Roxy for me,” he said lightly. He still missed the dog he'd given to Shannon's niece, though he wouldn’t admit it. Nor would he admit how badly he wished the dog was there now—he’d have felt better knowing Roxy was riding shotgun, protecting his family in his absence.

  He tried to smile, but his whole face felt tight, like the muscles in his cheeks were rubber bands stretched to a hair from snapping. “And say hi to Abby and Alex of course.”

  “You know I will.” Shannon slammed the trunk.

  He kissed Evie’s soft, downy head. “I’ll miss you guys.”

  “I wish you could come. I wish you hadn’t used up all your time off after Evie was born, but … I really needed you then.” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. The spring air sent the branches crackling above them as if the atmosphere itself was irritated by the thought of their separation.

  “And I’m fine now, Morrison. Really. I’m fine, and Evie will be fine.” Her voice was tight, rushed, like she was trying to convince herself.

  He pulled back. “I know you’re fine. I didn’t think for one moment you weren’t.” That might have been a lie, but he couldn’t dwell on it. Some of the things she’d told him…

  “I can do this. I’ve got this.” He almost winced at the furious intensity in her gaze. Did she resent the mere idea that she’d needed him? He shook off the thought. Postpartum depression can mess with a person’s head. But that was over now.

  Evie snuggled her face against his chest and he could almost feel half his own heart in her pulse. “It was my fault too, running around trying to solve cases while you were here struggling with a new baby. I was …” He should never have gone back to work right after Evie’s birth. He hadn’t even taken the week off when they’d gotten married. Though the way she was looking at him now …

  Her eyes bored into his.

  “What?”

  Her face softened. “This is the first time we’ve ever really talked about it. I mean, after it was over.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to.” He hadn’t wanted to either. Just hearing that she’d fantasized about dropping Evie from an upper-floor window had been enough to keep him awake for weeks. He’d taken immediate vacation time until things had settled.

  “I didn’t. I just wanted to put it behind us.” She reached for Evie, and he laid the baby in her arms. “But I’m glad we did, you know? It feels better, knowing that you don’t think I’m nuts.”

  He ran his thumb over her cheek, memorizing the contours as he’d done so many times before. “I never thought you were nuts, and I don’t think it now.” No more than the rest of us, anyway. “If I was worried, I’d fight you about leaving.”

  “Instead you’ll just badger me with texts.”

  “Because I love you.”

  A subtle question remained in her eyes—was she worried about his thoughts on her craziness?—but she kissed him hard and turned to the car to strap Evie into her car seat. “When we get home, I’ll be back to work and we’ll both be struggling to get on track. Enjoy this little reprieve from diapers and making dinner.”

  “I won’t miss the diapers.”

  She hugged him again, her breath faster than usual. “Screw the diapers,” she said but there was a tremor in her voice he didn’t like.

  “Shannon?”

  She met his eyes.

  “I know you’re nervous,” he said, quietly enough that the breeze around them might have drowned out his voice.

  Her gaze slid to her shoes and back up to him. “It’s just hard, you know? After … how bad things got, sometimes I just feel … weird I guess.” Her eyes were hard, determined, but her lip quivered almost imperceptibly.

  “You’re going to be fine, Shanny. You haven’t had any of those thoughts in a long time.” At least he hoped that was true. Then again, she had kept her desire to move from him—what else might she be hiding?

  She nodded, but her silence unnerved him.

  Don’t beg her to stay. She’ll think you don't trust her. McCallum was clear the last time they’d spoken—she needed to know she had his support, his trust. “I know how much this means to you, to see Abby this weekend.” Why wouldn’t she be nervous about her first trip with a baby? He might have wished they were going somewhere else—there was still a part of Morrison that resented Dr. Alex Coleman, though he had no logical reason for this disdain, only the image of Shannon’s tear-stained face the day she found out Alex was leaving with Abby, her surrogate daughter. As if losing her brother to liver cancer hadn’t been bad enough.

  “I knew you’d understand.” Shannon smiled but her eyes stayed tight. “I’m nervous, but I need to do it. Maybe just to prove to myself that I can. I was always so headstrong, and to think that I needed a crutch, even if that crutch was just having you home with me—it’s ridiculous, right?”

  Shannon had called the medications a crutch too, but thankfully she’d taken the pills anyway. And she was damn right about being headstrong. Even at work, she had never met a defense attorney she couldn’t take to the mat.

  “You’ve got this, Shanny. You don’t need the house to feel safe. You don’t even need me. But I’ll be here whenever you call.”

  One more hug and she was in the car, buckling her seatbelt, adjusting the rearview so she could see Evie. “I’ll call when I get settled into the hotel.”

  “I’ll be waiting by the phone.”

  She side-eyed him. “Maybe I’ll wait until I get to Alex’s to call, just to prove that I can make it there without sobbing on your shoulder.” She smiled like she was joking. Was she kidding? Morrison appraised her as Shannon opened her mouth like she was going to say something else, then closed it.

  “Drive safe, Shanny.” He slammed the car door for her.

  “I will. I love you.”

  He watched the taillights disappear down the drive and headed back inside to get ready for work. Every room felt empty, the silence stretching before him as though he’d lost them forever, but he knew that wasn't his real fear. It was what the absence of sound meant—the stinging blank in his eardrums screaming at him. Idle time. He’d never used it well. But this time he had a case to work, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find something to do.

  He climbed into the shower, the rushing water filling his head with white noise. Better. Today would be a good day. Today he’d make headway on the Acosta case. Besides the reliable chaos of his family, there was nothing that silenced the whispers in his brain more effectively than catching a killer. And a killer this depraved would demand that much more of his energy.

  He lathered his hair with shampoo and considered their most recent lead, the hideous clown tattoo. The image made his stomach turn, not because of the free tendons dangling from the horse’s teeth, resembling bloody strands of yarn, but from what the pictures represented for someone who tattooed them onto their abdomen. Did this pedophile like fringe music, the sadism of the group? Or was he more into the images of creepy clowns, a child’s nightmare come to fruition? Fear of clowns was pretty common, and if the guy liked scaring people, it would fit with the sadism. Or maybe … maybe he was into the circus shit because kids liked clowns—not that most kids would be impressed with the demonic variety. Would he have used friendlier clowns to get closer to Acosta? To any child? To have a whole clown tattooed on your body, you’d have to be pretty in
to them, right? Unless you were a clown yourself. Or maybe the clowns had nothing to do with anything. Maybe it was just a stupid tattoo.

  By the time Morrison shut the shower off, the silence was bearable. He whistled his way through toweling and dressing and shaving and shoes, shrugged on his jacket, and reached for his gun. He froze.

  The dresser was clean except for a bottle of antidepressants—Shannon’s name on the label.

  Shannon didn’t answer the phone. Maybe she was trying to avoid using him as a crutch, like she’d said, but more likely she was just driving and couldn’t hear it over some little kid nursery rhyme CD she’d put on for Evie. He tried again. Voicemail. Morrison resisted the urge to hit redial. She’d think he was stalking her, or worse, that he didn’t trust her.

  He slipped the phone into his pocket, got into his own car and headed to the precinct. The neighborhood was still hushed, the birdsong muted in the morning fog. Morrison squinted through the haze, trying to see the creatures, but they were hidden in the gloom. He inhaled deeply and maneuvered onto the main road, then exhaled with such force he was half certain the birds would hear it and disappear for good.

  This is ridiculous. He stopped at a light and sent a text.

  “Just wanted to let you know you left your pills at home. But don’t worry, I’m sure McCallum will call them in. Miss you already.”

  She’d call when she got free. And there was no point in having her turn back an hour into the trip, since McCallum could call in a prescription for her to pick up near Alex’s. He climbed the stairs to the bullpen, finding his calm, picturing ocean waves and practically tasting salt. Shannon would be fine. Evie would be fine. He arranged and rearranged his current files, ignoring the stack of delinquent paperwork in the corner.

  Morrison had just opened the Acosta file for the second time when Petrosky appeared, pulling a fast food sandwich from a paper bag.

  “The guy at Zachary Reynolds’s school was a dad of one of the other kids,” Petrosky said. “Found it in the file. Ran him just in case, but he and the family left town last year for his job as a tech executive. Living in China now. He’s clean as a goddamn whale fart.”