Lisa Gardner - Alone

Catherine was very aware of the uniformed officer standing fifteen feet away and listening openly.

"Funny, I don't remember calling you with the news."

"No need. One of my colleagues let me know. Dreadful business, of course. I've always said I didn't think it was a good idea to go with foreign nannies. Poor girls. They simply can't handle the pressure. Nathan must be horribly distraught. Let me talk to him-" He made a move to step forward; she blocked his advance.

"Nathan's sleeping."

"Amid all this chaos?"

"He's very tired."

All the better reason to let him come with me. We have a positively gargantuan suite at the LeRoux. Nathan can have his own bed; he'll get plenty of rest. Maryanne will be delighted."

I appreciate the offer. However, given that Nathan's already asleep, I think it would be a shame to disturb him."

Catherine…"James's voice remained kind, patient. He said, as if speaking to a very small child, "Surely you're not considering letting your son spend the night at a homicide scene." "No. I'm considering letting my son spend the night in the comfort of his own room."

"For heaven's sake, there is fingerprint powder everywhere How are you going to explain that to a four-year-old boy? Let alone the smell!"

"I know what's right for my son."

"Really?" James gave her a smile.

"Just as you knew what was right for Prudence?"

Catherine thinned her lips.

There was nothing she could say to that, and they both knew it.

"I hate to state the obvious," James said now, "but perhaps you don't know what's going on in your own household as well as you think. Prudence was obviously deeply upset about what happened to Jimmy. God only knows how Nathan is feeling."

"Get out."

"Now, Catherine-" "Get out!"

James still wore that horribly paternal smile upon his face. He tried to clasp her shoulder; she whirled on the policeman still in attendance.

"I want this man gone."

"Catherine-" "You heard me." She pointed a finger at the officer, who was blinking his eyes in shock at being dragged into the middle of this scene.

"This man is not welcome in my home. Escort him out."

James was still trying.

"Catherine, you're upset, you're not thinking clearly-" "Officer, do I need to call your superior? Escort this man from my home!"

The young man pushed away from the wall, belatedly springing into action. As he stepped forward, James's voice dropped to a low octave, heard only by her ears.

"I'm running out of patience, Catherine."

"Out!"

"Mark my words, things for you are only going to get much, much worse. I have so much power, Catherine. You have no idea "I said get out!" She was screaming. The noise woke Nathan. He started to cry.

The officer finally crossed the room. He put his hand on James's elbow, and the judge had no choice but to comply.

He said out loud, for the officer to hear, "I'm dreadfully sorry to have upset you, my dear. Of course, Maryanne and I only want what's best for our grandson. Perhaps in the morning, when you're thinking more clearly…"

Catherine pointed stiffly toward the open door. James tilted his head forward in chilly acknowledgment. A moment later, she stood alone, listening to the sobbing hiccups of her hysterical son.

One battle at a time, one battle at a time… She entered the parlor and picked Nathan up from the pile of pillows. He flung his thin arms around her neck, gripping hard.

"Light, light, light," he sobbed.

"Light, light, light!"

"Shhh… shhh…"

The foyer wasn't going to work anymore. Too dark, too strange. Her son needed deep, undisturbed sleep in an overly bright room where all the lamps could chase the demons away. Where he could finally relax. Maybe she could, too.

The police officer had already returned. No doubt James had told the man there was no need to walk him out. He'd go, not make any trouble. He was merely trying to help his family. His daughter-in-law was not quite stable, you know. "Catherine took a deep breath. With her arms wrapped tight around Nathan, she looked the officer in the eye and announced, "I'm taking him to his room. I'm closing the door. He's going to sleep. I'm going to sleep. Whatever else you people need, it can wait until morning."

"Yes, ma'am," the officer said, sounding only slightly sarcastic.

Catherine turned away from him and, before she could lose her courage, mounted the stairs.

The smell was dissipating now, probably carted off with "Prudence's body; she had seen the girl's corpse roll out the door on a metal gurney. Her mind hadn't come to terms with it yet, hadn't reconciled the image of Prudence sitting on the floor reading to Nathan with Prudence zipped up in a black body bag. The concept of Prudence dead remained abstract to her. It seemed more like the girl had gone out on her day off and had simply chosen not to return. It was easier for Catherine this way. Not so much because she was attached to the girl-in all honesty, she'd cared for Prudence no more and no less than the others. But the nature of the killing-, neck snapped, body hanged from the rafters of Catherine's bedroom-led to horror beyond imagining. It implied an intruder in Catherine's home. It implied a man targeting her and the people around her. It implied that if she didn't surrender Nathan as her father-in-law demanded, she would be next.

She thought of James's soft-spoken threat. That he would make life miserable for her. That he had all the power. That she was nothing.

She thought, almost bitterly, he should tell her something she didn't know.

Right before she'd met Jimmy, she'd sunk so, so low. Her mother was dead, her life empty. Day after day she spent standing in a department store, spritzing perfume and trying not to flinch as man after man hit on her. She would study all the male faces, wondering which ones touched their children inappropriately and which ones beat their wives. Then she'd go home to her cockroach-infested apartment and dream of a darkness without end.

There came a morning when she just couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't stand the thought of spending one more day in a state of such perpetual fear.

She'd crawled into the tub. She'd gotten out a razor. She'd started to slice her paper-thin skin. And the phone rang. Without giving it a second thought, she'd crawled out of the tub to answer it. Ironically enough, it had been a telemarketer. Someone asking her if she wanted to buy life insurance, which had made her laugh, and that had made her cry, and while she'd stood there, sobbing hysterically into the ear of a very flustered salesperson, she'd seen the ad flash across her TV screen.

Feeling alone? Feeling like there is no way out? Feeling like no one cares?

A suicide hotline number had scrolled across the screen and, driven by a survival instinct she didn't even know she had, she'd slammed the phone down on the telemarketer, then dialed the number.

Thirty seconds later, she was listening to the calmest male ice she'd ever heard. Deep, soothing, funny. She had curled up on he floor and listened to him talk for an hour.

That's how she'd met Jimmy, though she hadn't known it then.

Hotlines had protocols. Handlers were not to give out too much personal information. But they could ask questions, encourage heir troubled callers to talk. So he did, and so she did, about her dead-end job, her apartment, her mother.

It wasn't the next day, that would've been too obvious, or even the day after that.

But Jimmy came to the department store where she worked. He found her, he flirted with her, he wooed her. And she found herself strangely moved by this charming young man with his incredibly calm voice. He'd asked her out. Much to her own surprise, she'd said yes.

It wasn't until months later that he admitted to her what he'd done. That he'd been so moved by her call, he'd felt compelled to find her in person. Please don't tell anyone, he begged prettily. Oh, she could get him in so much trouble-At the time, she'd found it romantic. This man had moved heaven and earth to find her. Surely it was a sign. Surely it meant he loved her. Her life was finally looking up.