J.T. Ellison - Where All the Dead Lie

She stood and signaled for Baldwin. Took him in her arms, and let him kiss her. She kissed him back. Felt all the earlier animosity slide away when his tongue touched hers. They were like vinegar and baking soda, a child’s science project. Mix the ingredients, put them together and boom, a volcano. Maybe she was softening, maybe she was just tired of fighting it so hard. But there was nothing, nothing in her world that could make her feel like this.

“I love you,” he whispered, and she said it back, surprised when the words slid from her mouth without a moment of hesitation. Baldwin walked her backward into the living room, to the couch. They didn’t bother with the niceties, simply shed the necessary garments and joined as quickly as they could, finding solace in each other.

They lay breathless, the food forgotten. She felt good. Stronger. More in control. She could handle this.

She must have fallen asleep for a moment, because she came to and realized Baldwin was playing with her hair. He looked down at her with serious eyes.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

She smiled at him, hugged his body closer. God, she missed this most of all.

Baldwin shifted his weight a bit. “Taylor, you weren’t really serious about going to Scotland, were you?”

She took a deep breath and blew it out. Sat up, found her jeans and pulled them on. Her notepad was on the table. She looked over her shoulder at Baldwin, lying on the living room floor, an arm crooked behind his head. He read something in her glance, sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees.

I want to go, Baldwin. I need to. I can’t take it here right now. Everyone staring and pointing, talking about me behind my back. It’s mortifying.

“But Taylor, you’re fighting hard. You’re nearly there. An other week with Willig and I bet you have your voice back.”

He scrambled up off the floor and came to join her at the table.

This is just something I need to do.

“So you’re leaving me?”

No no no. No! Not at all. I just think I need some time to myself to get better.

“And where will Memphis be?”

He’s working a case. He’ll get me up there, then head back to London. I’ll be alone, with his shrink friend. Understand, Baldwin, please. I can’t do this, therapy, whatever you want to call it, with people who know me. It’s just too much to ask.

He didn’t say anything. She watched his hand grasping the stem of his wineglass, could see the tension in his fingers. She hated hurting him like this, but it was for the best. She needed some space. No one was giving her any space.

He finished off his wine.

“Fine, Taylor. If this is what you want. Go to Scotland. I give you my blessing.”

I wasn’t asking permission, she thought, but refrained from writing it down. No sense in upsetting him more than he already was.

He stared at her for a moment, then stood and threw his wineglass at the sink. It exploded into shards, and he walked out of the room without a second glance.

So it was decided.

She was going to Scotland.

Taylor waited until Baldwin was asleep to send a message to Memphis. It was late in Nashville, past two in the morning, and her head was pounding, but she was wide-awake. She and insomnia were back on speaking terms after a disastrous bout with Ambien left her incoherent. She never responded well to sleeping pills, had the opposite reaction from most people. The Ambien made her frazzled and jumpy all night, then she crashed for ten hours once the sun came up. Turning into a vampire wasn’t really an option, even though the doctors said more sleep would help her throat heal faster. She’d managed for all these years already, so she rebuffed their attempts to drug her, stuck with the pain meds and her pool table.

She didn’t open her chat. She didn’t want to get into a discussion. Coming from sex and fighting with Baldwin to Memphis felt wrong. She just wanted to let him know what she’d decided. She realized she was smiling as she typed the words.

Hey, I hope dinner was great. Baldwin and I talked, and I’ve decided to come over. He has a case to attend to, so he won’t be joining me. I looked at flights; it’s simplest for me to fly into Heathrow. Can you meet me in London, then take me up to the Highlands? I’d love to meet your friend, too, and I really want to keep working on getting my voice back. If you can get me her info, I’ll have Willig send her notes.

This is going to be great, Memphis. Thank you for asking me. You knew just what I needed. You’re the best.

XOXO,

Taylor

Taylor was usually a good flier. She was in first class on British Airways, the red-eye, cuddled into the full-length seat, a glass of champagne at her elbow. She couldn’t get settled though. This whole trip had her anxious. She fidgeted, played with her hair, annoyed she couldn’t put it up-her normal ponytail seemed to make the headaches worse. It started that way. Now she kept it down to cover the scar on her temple.

Baldwin had seen her off at the airport with a bitter kiss. That had been enough to set her off, make her second-guess her decision. She’d never seen him so withdrawn.

But she had to do this. She had to get away. She was sick and tired of being the victim of the story. She was ready to get back to herself, and she truly believed some time alone, away from everyone, would help.

Her voice wasn’t coming back, but little bits and pieces of words seemed to find their way out. It gave her hope. She was horribly raspy, even in a soft whisper, her usually huskiness even more so, but somehow things felt…better.

She could have started healing a hell of a lot faster if she’d just given in and forgiven Baldwin sooner. The stress and pressure of being mad at him was certainly a culprit. She’d done one more quick session with Victoria Willig, too, which seemed to help. The horrors from November felt like they were fading a bit. She would get herself back all the way after her stint in Scotland.

For nontherapeutic reasons, she was looking forward to the week ahead. She’d been to the U.K. on a school trip in high school, a ten-day whirlwind around Scotland, Wales, Ireland and England. She’d been entranced by two places: the Lake District-she’d been deep into her Wordsworth stage-and all of Scotland. Wales had fared well in her memory, a late night at a pub in the wilderness, but it was Scotland that always came to mind when she thought back. The barren green-and-brown hills, the rocky crags, the lochs, nestled valleylike into the surrounding mountains, misty and fittingly mysterious, like they held the answer to a millennia of secrets. No wonder the legend of Loch Ness persevered. It was easy to believe that the still waters were a part of the land that time forgot.

Memphis had warned her that he wouldn’t be able to stay long. He’d been assigned to the case he mentioned: three missing girls. He could do some work from the estate, but the brass was the brass, which meant he would only be able to sneak away from London for a bit.

Taylor nursed a tiny bit of jealousy after hearing the stress in his voice. She never felt so alive as when she was working a breaking case. She could hear the worry and excitement in his words, feel his distraction, his desire to solve the mystery. She loved that feeling. She missed it.

The champagne had dulled the headache, but she took a pain pill just in case. She let her eyes close. One thing she knew for sure-she was going to be very careful around Memphis Highsmythe.