Karin Slaughter - Broken

It was almost midnight.

Lena knew she had left the station around six. Jared would be wondering where she was. Or maybe Frank had gotten to him. Maybe Jared was on his way home to Macon right now.

Jared. The truth would lose him to her forever.

The punishment fit the crime.

Her jaw clenched. She closed her eyes, feeling another wave coming on. The tremble moved down her shoulders, through her arms and into her hands. Her feet kicked. She felt her eyes roll back. There were noises. Grunting. Screaming.

Slowly, Lena opened her eyes. She saw darkness. Her mind suddenly came back to her. She was tied up. She was gagged. Sweat covered her body. The stench of sweat and urine filled the air. She pressed the button on her watch. In the soft glow she could see the skin of her wrist. Red lines streaked up toward her shoulder, toward her heart. She looked at the display.

Eleven fifty-eight.

It was almost midnight.

SARA LISTENED TO THE KITCHEN CLOCK TICK AS THE HANDS moved past midnight. She had been sitting at the table staring at the pile of dirty dishes stacked in and around the sink for longer than she cared to remember. It wasn’t just lethargy that kept her rooted to the chair. Her mother’s kitchen makeover included two dishwashers that were so modern it was impossible to tell whether or not they were running, yet she still insisted on hand washing her china and all the pots and pans. Or, insisted that Sara do the chore, which made Cathy’s anachronistic ways even more outrageous.

The mindless task should have been a welcome end to Sara’s day. Working at Grady Hospital was like trying to stand still on a spinning merry-go-round. The flow of patients never ebbed, and Sara generally was juggling twenty cases at any given time. Between consultations and her usual workload, she saw an average of fifty to sixty patients during any twelve-hour shift. Slowing all this down, focusing on just one patient at a time, should have been an easier task, but Sara found that her mind worked differently now.

She realized that the constant pressure of the ER was a gift in many ways. When Sara had lived in Grant County, her life had taken on a far more leisurely pace. She usually ate breakfast with Jeffrey in the morning. Two or three times a week, they had supper with her family. Sara was the team doctor for the local high school football team. She helped coach volleyball in the summer. Her free time was infinite if she managed her schedule right. Going to the grocery store could take several hours if she ran into a friend. She clipped articles from magazines to share with her sister. She’d even joined her mother’s book club, until they started reading too many serious books to make it fun anymore.

By contrast, the fast pace of her work in Atlanta kept Sara from thinking about her life too much. Usually by the time she finished dictating her charts, all she could do was drag herself home and take a bath before falling asleep on the couch. Her days off were equally wasted with what she now saw was busywork. Her chores were something to get out of the way quickly. She scheduled lunches and dinners so that she didn’t have too much time alone with herself. Alone with her thoughts.

All of her usual crutches had disappeared in the basement of Brock’s funeral home. An autopsy certainly required a great deal of attention, but after a point, the motions were rote. Measure, weigh, biopsy, record. Neither Allison Spooner nor Jason Howell had left any remarkable clues in their deaths. The only thing that bound them together was the knife that had been used to kill them. The stab wounds were nearly identical—each made by a small, sharp blade that had been twisted before it was removed to ensure maximum damage.

As for Tommy Braham, Sara had found only one item that stood out: the boy had a small metal spring in the front pocket of his jeans, the type that you usually found in a ballpoint pen.

The hall light snapped on. Cathy yelled, “Those dishes aren’t going to wash themselves.”

“Yes, Mama.” Sara glared at the kitchen sink. Hare had come for dinner, but she guessed the spread put on was really intended for Will. Cathy loved cooking for an appreciative audience and Will certainly fit that bill. Her mother had used every piece of china in the house, serving coffee in teacups with saucers, which Sara thought was very sweet until her mother informed the table that Sara was going to wash every last piece. Hare had brayed like a donkey at the expression on her face.

“Try twitching your nose while you stare at them,” Tessa offered as she came into the kitchen. She was dressed in a billowing yellow nightgown that formed a tent over her belly.

“You could always offer to help.”

“I read in People magazine that dishwater is bad for the baby.” She opened the refrigerator and stared at the mountains of food inside. “You should’ve watched the movie with us. It was funny.”

Sara sat back in her chair. She wasn’t up for a romantic comedy right now. “Who called a while ago?”

Tess pushed around the Tupperware containers lining the shelves. “Frank’s ex. You remember Maxine?” Sara nodded. “He’s still refusing to go to the hospital.”

Frank had suffered a mild heart attack at the police station this afternoon. Fortunately, Hare was down the street at the diner or things might have been a lot worse. Five years ago, Sara would have rushed to Frank’s side. Today, when she had heard the news at the funeral home, all she could muster was sadness. “What did Maxine want?”

“Same as usual. To complain about Frank. He’s a stubborn old coot.” Tessa put a tub of Cool Whip on the table and went back to the fridge. “You all right?”

“I’m just tired.”

“Me too. Being pregnant’s hard work.” She sat down across from Sara with a leg of fried chicken in her hand. She scooped it into the Cool Whip.

“Please tell me you’re not going to eat that.”

Tessa offered her the leg.

Despite her better judgment, Sara tried the ungodly mix. “Wow. It’s sort of salty and sweet at the same time.” She passed the leg back to her sister.

“I know, right?” Tessa dipped it into the tub again and took a bite. She chewed thoughtfully. “You know, I pray for you every night.”

Sara laughed before she could catch herself. She apologized as quickly as she could. “I’m sorry. I just …”

“Just what?”

She thought now was as good a time as any for the truth. “I didn’t think you really believed in all that.”

“I’m a missionary, you dumbass. What do you think I’ve been doing with my life for the last three years?”

Sara struggled to dig herself out of an ever-deepening hole. “I thought you wanted to go to Africa and help children.” She didn’t know what else to say. Her sister had always enjoyed life. Sometimes it felt like Tessa was enjoying it for both of them. Sara had always had her mind on school and then work. Meanwhile, Tessa dated whom she pleased, slept with whoever struck her fancy, and never made apologies for any of it. “You have to admit that you’re not a typical missionary.”

“Maybe not,” she allowed, “but you’ve got to believe in something.”

“It’s hard to believe in a God who would let my husband die in my arms.”

“You can’t fall off the floor, Sissy. If somebody throws you a rope, then you better start climbing.”

Cathy had told Sara as much when she’d first lost Jeffrey. “I’m glad you’ve found something that gives you peace.”