Erica Spindler - Copy Cat

It was about her.

And it was healing.

“We had the same beliefs. About life, its beauty and sanctity, about the afterlife. About the things that truly mattered. Love. Family. Faith.”

As she spoke, memories came flooding back. Good ones. Of times she hadn’t thought about in years.

Of laughter. Making love. Sharing their successes. And fears. Celebrating the birth of their daughter. Of Joe’s hand curled around hers as the doctor informed them Sadie had leukemia.

Memories she had locked away, in a strongbox deep inside her. Why was that? How had she allowed the pain to swallow the joy? Bad memories to overshadow good?

Thunder rumbled again, sounding closer this time. The leaves began to rustle. She shivered.

“So what happened?” he asked. “When did your dreams change?”

“What?” she asked, surprised.

“You had the same dreams and beliefs. And you loved him. Why did it all change?”

She’d changed, she realized. Her dreams, her beliefs.

“Because Sadie died,” she said softly. “I lost faith. The ability to dream. To love.”

“Yes,” he said. “Life is cruel. It preys on the weak. The idealistic. Those who love deeply. Better to crush than be crushed.”

“No,” she said, “you’re wrong.”

“Am I, Kitten?”

“And I was wrong. To give up. To turn away from love.”

“I think I’m going to puke.”

Tears filled her eyes. Ones of joy. She had loved Joe from the first.

She loved him still.

She told him so.

He laughed. “You’re a fool. He’s engaged to another woman. He doesn’t love you.”

“Only a fool doesn’t love.” The rain started then, a drop, then sprinkle. The heavens preparing to open up.

“The name,” she said. “I gave you what you wanted. It’s your turn. Who’s the Copycat?”

“Look at the victims again. The victims are talking to you.”

“No! That’s not-”

He hung up. A crack of thunder shook her. She jumped to her feet, grabbed the bag and darted onto her porch just as the sky unleashed a flood.

Shivering, she watched the rain. He’d played her for a fool again. Tricked her into doing what he wanted, giving her what he wanted.

Kitt unlocked her door, stepped into the dark house. She still had the latex gloves on, she realized. She set the paper bag containing the bagged lock of hair and the phone on the top of her console, then removed the gloves.

She curled her fingers around the empty gloves, a laugh bubbling to her lips. He had tricked her, but she had won.

He’d given her something she had been unable to give herself.

Forgiveness. Healing.

Love.

Her thoughts filled with Joe. Her heart filled. She looked at the phone, started toward it. No. She had to apologize. For today. Yesterday. Everything.

She had to beg his forgiveness.

Snatching up her keys, she ran out into the storm.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

1:30 a.m.

The rain came down in blinding sheets. Kitt pulled into Joe’s driveway, threw open the car door and darted for the house. Already wet, she was drenched by the time she reached his door.

With the storm, the temperature had dropped. Her teeth chattered. Her hands and feet were numb.

She didn’t care about the rain. Or the cold. Only Joe. Sharing what she had learned tonight. Begging his forgiveness. Even if it was too late for them to make another start, he deserved her apology.

She had been so wrong. About everything.

She rang the bell, then pounded on his door. “Joe!” she shouted. “It’s me! Kitt!”

The house remained dark. She rang the bell again. And again. “Joe! Open up!”

A light snapped on inside. Then above her head. He peered out the sidelight. She nearly cried out in relief when she saw his face.

“Let me in! I have to talk to you!”

He opened the door and she stumbled inside. “I had to tell you,” she cried. “Now. Tonight.”

He recoiled slightly. She supposed she would, too, if a crazy person was pounding on her door in the middle of the night, soaking wet and wild-eyed.

“About the case?” he asked.

The case? She blinked, confused, then realized that of course he thought that. He had spent most of his day either being interrogated or watching his home and business be searched.

“No.” She shook her head. “This is about me. And you.” She clasped her hands together. “I’m sorry. For pushing you away. For shutting down after Sadie died. You needed me and instead I-”

She broke down and sobbed. In the way she hadn’t allowed herself to before now. After several moments, he drew her stiffly into his arms.

She clung to him until her tears stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She swiped at tears with the back of her hands. “I didn’t cry after Sadie. Instead I drowned myself in the Sleeping Angel investigation. When I didn’t have that anymore, I turned to the bottle.”

She drew a tear-choked breath. “If I didn’t grieve, I didn’t have to let go.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I could have turned to you. I should have. I see that now.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“No, Joe, it’s not. I still love you. I’m still in love with you.”

For long moments, he simply gazed at her. What was he feeling? she wondered, unable to read his expression. Was he angry? Happy? Relieved? Annoyed?

Or after all this time, did he feel nothing at all?

Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. He caught one with his index finger. “It’s going to be okay, Kitt. I love you, too.”

It took a full ten seconds for his words to sink in. When they did, a cry rushed to her throat. She threw herself into his arms, cheek pressed to his chest.

His arms went around her. “You’re trembling. And so cold.” He rubbed her back, then eased her out of his arms.

She saw that his T-shirt was wet and made a sound of distress. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Come.” He led her into the house, to the master bathroom. He gave her a fluffy bath towel and his white terry-cloth robe. “Take a shower, if you like. I’ll be in the other room.”

She couldn’t find her voice and nodded. The intimate surroundings felt both odd and invigorating. When he had exited the bathroom, she started the shower. She removed her clothes, laid them over the side of the tub, then stepped into the shower.

Within moments under the hot spray, she was warm. She quickly washed; the shower filled with the scent of Joe’s shampoo and soap. After drying and slipping into the big, soft robe, she padded out to the bedroom.

And found Joe sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

A lump in her throat, she crossed to him. Kneeling in front of him, she gathered his hands in hers. He met her eyes.

He had been crying.

She wanted to ask him whether they were tears of joy or despair, ones for the past or the future.

Instead, she cupped his face in her palms and kissed him. Softly at first, then deeply, with growing passion. That passion drove them to want more, to take more.

To make love.

Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms. Kitt felt at peace for the first time since Sadie died. She pressed her face to Joe’s chest, breathed in his familiar spicy scent.

He stroked her hair. “Not that I care, but what brought all this on?”

Brian. Her psychotic caller. The investigation. “I don’t think I should tell you. Not now, anyway.”

He tipped his face down to hers and frowned. “Why?”

“Because it’ll ruin this.” Her throat closed and she cleared it. “And I want to hang on to now, this moment, as long as I can.”