Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

And then her bloodless face came up. Her lifeless eyes turned vibrant, snapping blue, and her cheeks filled with a color that was frightening to behold.

“Better? Better? You ungrateful little bastard! He put a roof over your head, he put food on the table. And what did he ever ask for in return? A little respect from his wife and kids? Was that too much, Frank? Was that really too goddamn much?”

“No, Mama,” he tried to say, already frantically backing up from the table. His nervous gaze darted to his equally nervous brother. They had never seen her like this.

She rose from the table, too pale, too thin, too bony, and stalked her older son across the room.

“We have no food!”

“I know, Mama-”

“We have no money!”

“I know, Mama-”

“We will lose this house.”

“No, Mama!”

But she would not be placated; closer she came and closer. And now he had backed up all the way across the room, his shoulders pressed against the wall.

“You are a bad boy, you are a filthy boy, you are a rotten, ungrateful, selfish little boy. What did I ever do to deserve a boy as bad as you!”

His brother was weeping. The broth grew cold on the table. And the man-child realized now that there truly was no escape. His father had gone. A new monster had already arisen to take his place.

The boy lowered his hands. He exposed his face. The first blow didn’t even feel that bad, nothing like his father’s. But his mother learned very quickly.

And he did nothing. He kept his hands at his sides. He let his mother beat him. Then he slid down, down, down to the hot, dusty floor while his mother went to get his father’s belt.

“Run away,” he told his brother. “Run now, while you still can.”

But his brother was too terrified to move. And his mother was back soon enough, snapping the strip of leather through the air, and already getting a feel for its cutting hiss.

The man woke up harshly. His breathing was ragged, his eyes were wild. Where was he? What had happened? For a moment, he thought the black void had taken over completely. Then he got his bearings.

He was standing in the middle of a room. And in his hands, he held a box of matches, the first match already clutched between his fingers…

The man gently laid the matches back on the table. Then he quickly stepped away, grabbing at his head and trying to tell himself he wasn’t yet insane.

He needed aspirin. He needed water, he needed something far more potent than that. Not yet, not yet, no time. His fingers clawed his rough-shaven cheeks, sinking into his temples as if through sheer force of will he could keep his skull from shattering apart.

He had to hold it together. Not much longer. Not much more time.

Helplessly, he found himself staring at the matches again. And then he knew what he must do. He retrieved the box from the table. He held the precious sticks in the palm of his hand, and he thought of things he had not thought of in a long, long time.

He thought of fire. He thought that all things of beauty must die. And then he allowed himself to remember that day in the cabin, and what had happened next.

Lee County, Virginia

1:24 A . M .

Temperature: 94 degrees

“THIS IS THE MOST IRRESPONSIBLE HANDLING OF A CASE I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s inappropriate and, frankly, it’s goddamn criminal! We lose this man, Quincy, and I swear to God I will spend the next two years making your life a living hell. I want you off this property as fast as you can drive. And don’t bother heading back to Quantico. I know about your little chats with Special Agents Kaplan and Ennunzio. So much as step one foot onto Academy grounds, and I’ll have you arrested at the gate. Your work on this case is over. As far as I’m concerned, your whole fucking career is over. Now get out of my sight.”

Special Agent Harkoos finally wrapped up his tirade and stormed away. His navy-blue blazer hung limply in the heavy heat. His face, covered in sweat before he’d started yelling, was dripping. In other words, he looked about the same as the other FBI agents now swarming the abandoned sawmill.

“I don’t think he likes you much,” Rainie said to Quincy.

He turned toward her. “Be honest with me. Do I look that ridiculous in a navy blue suit?”

“Most of the time.”

“Huh. The things you learn thirty years too late.”

They started walking toward their car. Their light tones fooled neither of them. Harkoos’s dressing-down had been thorough and honest. They were fired from the case, banned from the Academy, and once word of this disaster spread, probably finished as consultants in the tight, incestuous world of high-profile law enforcement investigations. Reputations were built in a lifetime, but ruined in only a matter of minutes.

Quincy had a hollow, sick feeling in his stomach, one he hadn’t had in ages.

“When we catch the Eco-Killer, they’ll quickly forget about this,” Rainie offered.

“Perhaps.”

“Irresponsible is only irresponsible if you fail. Succeed, however, and irresponsible quickly becomes merely unorthodox.”

“True.”

“Quincy, those guys had the same body and same evidence we did last night, and they weren’t even in the area when you gave them a call. Frankly, if we hadn’t gone off the deep end, that girl would still be floating in a cavern, and the fourth victim would be no closer to discovery. Harkoos is just mad because you beat him to the punch. There’s nothing more embarrassing than being upstaged, especially by a bunch of outsiders.”

Quincy stopped walking. “I’m sick of this,” he said abruptly.

“Politics is never fun.”

“No! I don’t mean this damn case. Fuck this case. You’re absolutely right. Failure today, hero tomorrow. It’s always changing and none of it means a thing.”

Rainie had stopped moving completely. He could see her pale face in the thin moonlight. He rarely swore, and the fact that he was driven to it now had her both fascinated and frightened.

“I don’t want things to be like this between us, Rainie.”

Her expression faltered. She looked down at the ground. “I know.”

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me, and if I don’t tell you that enough, then I am a total idiot.”

“You’re not a total idiot.”

“I don’t know about kids. I’ll be honest: the very thought scares me to death. I was not a great father, Rainie. I’m still not a great father. But I am willing to talk about it. If this is what you really, truly want, then I can at least explore the notion.”

“I want.”

“All right, then you have to be honest with me. Is it only kids you want? Because I tried… I thought… Rainie, each time I’ve asked you to marry me, why have you never said yes?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Because I thought you’d never stop asking. You’re not the idiot, Quincy. It’s me.”

He felt the world spin again. He had thought… Had been so sure… “Does that mean…”

“You think you’re scared of kids? Hell, Quince, I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of commitment and I’m scared of responsibility. I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you and I’m afraid one day I’ll physically harm my child. We all get a little older, but we never completely outgrow our past. And mine is looming behind me now, this big giant shadow I want so desperately to leave behind.”

“Oh, Rainie…”

“I tell myself to be happy with what I’ve got. You, me, this is a good gig, better than anything I thought I’d have. And we do important work and meet important people, and hey, that’s not bad for a woman who used to be a human punching bag. But… but I get so restless now. Maybe happiness is like a drug. You get a little, then you want a lot. I don’t know, Quincy. I want so badly not to want so much, but I think I can’t help it anymore. I want more you. I want more me. I want… kids and white picket fences and maybe tea cozies, except I’m not sure I know what a tea cozy is. Maybe you’re frightened. But I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my mind.”