Cody McFadyen - Shadow Man

"Hang on for a moment."

A minute later, Elaina comes back on the phone. "She's here. I'm going to hand her the phone now."

Fumbling sounds and then I hear the faint sound of Bonnie breathing.

"Hi, honey," I say. "I know you can't talk back, so I'll just talk to you. I'm really sorry I didn't come get you last night. I had to work late. When I woke up this morning and you weren't here . . ." My voice trails off. I hear her breathing. "I miss you, Bonnie."

Silence. More fumbling noises, followed by Elaina's voice. "Hold on, Smoky." She speaks away from the phone. "You have something you want to say to Smoky, sweetheart?" More silence. "I'll tell her." Talking to me now: "She gave me a big smile and hugged herself and pointed to the phone."

My heart clenches tighter. I don't need a translation for that one.

"Tell her I just did the same thing, Elaina. I have to go, but I'll be by this evening to get her. No more sleepovers if I can help it. Not for a while, at least."

"We'll be here."

I sit for a moment after hanging up, staring at nothing. I am aware right now of all the layers of emotion I am feeling, the obvious and the subtle. I have strong feelings for Bonnie. Feelings of protectiveness, tenderness, a burgeoning love. These are fierce, real. There are other feelings whispering around, though. Tumbling through me like dry leaves, padding on quiet, shadow feet. One is annoyance. That I can't just be happy about my night with Tommy. It is faint but has its own strength. The selfishness of a very small child who doesn't want to share. Don't I deserve some happy time, it whispers, petulant?

And there is the voice of guilt. It is a smooth voice, oil and snakes. It asks only one question, but it's a powerful one: How dare you be happy when she isn't?

Recognition shivers through me. I've heard these voices before, all of them. Being Alexa's mom. Being a parent is not a one-note thing, a single-act play. It's complex, and it contains both love and anger, selflessness and selfishness. Times you are breathless and overwhelmed at the beauty of your child. Times you wish, for just a moment, that there was no child at all.

I'm feeling these things because I'm becoming Bonnie's mom. This brings a new guilt voice, one of rebuke and misery: How dare you love her?

Don't you remember?

Your love brings death.

Rather than bringing me down, this voice makes me angry. I dare, I reply, because I have to. That's being a parent. Love gets you through most of it, duty gets you through the rest.

I want Bonnie to be safe, and have a home, and that feeling is real. I dare the voices to respond. They don't.

Good.

It's time to go to work.

The door to the office flies open, and Callie enters. She's wearing sunglasses and clutching a cup of coffee.

"Don't talk to me yet," she growls. "I'm not well caffeinated."

I sniff the air. Callie always has the best coffee. "Mmm . . ." I say.

"What is that? Hazelnut?"

She moves away, clutching the coffee close. One side of her mouth raises in a snarl. "Mine."

I walk over to my purse, reach inside, and pull out a package of small chocolate donuts. I see Callie's eyebrows shoot up. I wave the donuts.

"Oh, look, Callie. Yummy chocolate donuts. Mmm, mmm, good."

Emotions war across her face in something just short of a nuclear conflict. "Oh, fine," she says, scowling. She grabs the cup on my desk, filling it halfway with her coffee. "Now give me two of those donuts."

I pull two out of the wrapper, moving them toward her as she pushes the coffee cup toward me. When the two meet, she snatches the donuts as I grab the cup. The hostages have been exchanged. She sits down at her desk, gobbling the donuts, while I sip from the cup. Heavenly.

Callie sips her coffee and eats her donuts, and I feel her gaze on me. Thoughtful and piercing at the same time, even through the sunglasses.

"What?" I ask.

"You tell me," she murmurs, taking another bite from a donut. Jesus, I think. Is that old myth true? About it showing if you got laid?

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She continues to look at me through her sunglasses, giving me a big, Cheshire-cat smile. "Whatever you say, honey-love."

I decide to ignore her.

Leo, Alan, and James all arrive fairly close to one another. Leo looks like he's been hit by a truck. James looks like he always does.

"Gather round," I say. "Time for a coordination meeting.

"Leo and James--where do we stand on the user name and password search?"

Leo rubs a hand through his hair. "We reached every company, and all are cooperating." He checks his watch. "I actually spoke to the last one a half hour ago. We should have all the results within an hour."

"Let me know the moment you have anything. Callie, where did we end up on the DNA?"

"Gene really put some feet to the fire, honey-love. He told me he'll have results by the end of the day. Meaning, if there is DNA and he's on file, we'll know who it is by dinner."

Everyone pauses at this, considering. The idea that we could have the face of one of our monsters before it gets dark. Could have one or both in custody before the day is over.

"Wouldn't that be a hoot?" Alan murmurs.

"No kidding," I reply. "In the meantime, when did Dr. Child say he'd be ready to see me?"

"Anytime after ten," Callie replies.

"Good. Callie and Alan--follow up with Barry and see what's happening with CSU processing the rest of the Charlotte Ross crime scene."

"Sure thing, honey-love."

"I'm going to see Dr. Child." I look around at everyone. "We are now officially hot on his trail, people. Let's keep moving. Speed and momentum are everything." I look at my watch and stand up. "Let's go."

It's time to cast another net.

I knock on Dr. Child's door before opening it. He's seated behind his desk, reading a thick file. He looks up when I poke my head in and smiles.

"Smoky. Good to see you. Come in, come in." He indicates the chairs in front of his desk. "Please sit down. I'll just need a moment to refer to my notes. Fascinating case."

I sit, and I watch him as he reads the papers in front of him. Dr. Child is in his late fifties. White-haired, with glasses and a beard. He looks like he is in his sixties. He always seems tired, and his eyes have a haunted look to them that never goes away, not even when he laughs. He's been peering into the minds of serial killers for almost thirty years. Will I look like that, I wonder, twenty years from now?

He's the only person I trust more than James and myself to have useful insights on what drives the monsters. He nods to himself and looks up. Leans back in his chair. "You and I have collaborated before, Smoky. So you know that I tend to natter on. I imagine I'll do a fair amount of that now. Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Doctor. Please."

He steeples his fingers under his chin. "I'm going to address this as applying to a single individual. The 'Jack Jr.' persona is our primary, and dominant, personality. Do you agree?"

I nod.

"Good. What we have here can be one of two things. The first is possible, but, I feel, improbable. That he is faking all of it. That his claims of being a descendant of Jack the Ripper are a part of an act, designed to throw you off his trail. I feel this view is overly paranoid and unproductive.

"The second is the most probable and is highly, highly unusual. What we are talking about is a case of nurture versus nature. A kind of longterm brainwashing. Wherein someone spent a very long time imprinting our 'Jack Jr.' with the identity he has assumed. In my opinion, this would have to have started from a very young age to be this successful. It's probable that this was done by one, or both, of his parents.