Denna Hunter
CURRENTLY QUERYING
CHAPTER 1
Detective Brady had been with the Homicide Division of the Parker Police Department for over two decades, and this was the most brutal murder he had ever seen. He was fifty and experienced, but this scene almost brought him to his knees.
He was a large man with an intimidating presence, but at this moment, he was small and unnerved. He hadn’t come this close to getting sick at a murder scene since the beginning of his career as a police officer.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and saliva collected in his mouth, the kind that warned him he had better get to a toilet quickly. His palms were wet under the latex gloves, and his heart was beating so fast he could barely catch his breath. Vomiting was not an option. Not in front of his colleagues. Brady stood, staring, fighting back nausea.
It wasn’t only the gruesome scene. She looked about his daughter’s age—twenty, maybe.
His gaze fixed on her mutilated body, and he realized she had more stab wounds than he had ever seen. Her internal organs lay separate from her remains, her scalp was detached from her skull, and her hands and feet were removed but not missing. Her body had been arranged in a contorted position. It was overkill, possibly personal. The level of mutilation, hopefully postmortem, was beyond words.
Still, her face had not been touched below the hairline. Her skin was like porcelain. She was beautiful. Her eyes were frozen in an open stare toward the heavens.
Petechial hemorrhaging covered the whites of her eyes and the skin around them. It drew Brady’s attention to her neck. Between the stab wounds, he could see what looked like faint ligature marks. Had she been strangled?
It was evident that she had not been killed here. It occurred to him that her body had been washed. There was very little blood and a strong odor of bleach. There was no purse, no jewelry, no identification, and no clothes.
He was used to bodies thrown out like trash, but he knew someone had taken great care to make a statement with this crime scene. They took their time. They wanted her to be found in this place, in this position, on this day.
She was left on the side of a walking trail, and it didn’t appear that she had been there long. Animals and insects hadn't reached her. The cool spring temperatures in Colorado had allowed her to remain preserved.
He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face and neck. After a few minutes, he finally blinked. He snapped himself out of it and walked to one of the police officers who responded to the call.
“Who found her?” Brady asked.
“His name’s Todd Graham. He’s twenty-eight and runs here every day. He’s sitting over there.” The police officer pointed to a man in shorts, a T-shirt, and running shoes sitting on the cold ground. His head was down, resting on his folded arms, which were supported by his knees. He was curled into a near-fetal position. “He was out for a run and called it in. He’s pretty upset. We had the paramedics check him out, but he seemed to calm down. They’re getting ready to leave.”
“How long ago did he call it in?”
“About an hour ago.”
Brady looked at his watch. “So, about six this morning?”
“Yes.”
Brady turned to walk toward the man when the officer stopped him.
“Detective Brady?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been a police officer for seven years and have seen a lot of things, but this is bad.” The officer searched Detective Brady’s face as if seeking reassurance, comfort, or anything to make sense of what he had seen.
“It’s bad,” was all Brady could say as he walked toward the witness.
The man still had his head down, almost rocking back and forth, when Brady approached.
“Mr. Graham?” A few seconds passed, and Brady asked again. “Mr. Graham?”
The man slowly lifted his head and looked at Brady. His eyes were swollen and full of tears.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Graham, my name’s Detective Brady. I’m with the Parker Police Department, Homicide Division. I understand you found the body and called the police.” He showed Mr. Graham his badge.
The man looked at Brady in utter bewilderment. “The body? That’s not a body, Detective. That’s a head with God knows what else! Oh my God, that isn’t even a human being.” The man began to hyperventilate.
“I understand, Mr. Graham. I don’t mean to upset you. I need you to take some deep breaths, all right?”
“All right?” Mr. Graham looked at him in confusion. “No, it’s not all right! I don’t know what you see every day, but damn it, I was just out for a run. I’ve been trying to unsee what I’ve seen for the last hour, but it won’t leave my head.”
The man grabbed at the ground, searching for stability. His breaths became increasingly shallow. “I can’t breathe! Oh my God, I can’t breathe!”
Brady realized that, with one glance to his left and one step of his Nikes on a running trail, Mr. Graham’s life had changed forever. He knew it would affect his home life and work life and dominate his mind for a long time. Brady recognized that Mr. Graham would need to calm down before he could question him any further.
Brady motioned for the paramedics, who were just about to pull away. Both EMTs came over, one carrying a bag.
“I can’t breathe!” Mr. Graham looked at them as if seeking reassurance that he would be okay.
While one checked his heart rate and blood pressure, the other returned to the ambulance for the stretcher. One of the officers helped the EMT bring it over and get Mr. Graham onto it. As they loaded him onto the stretcher and placed an oxygen mask over his face, Brady informed him that he would meet him at the hospital to ask some questions.
Mr. Graham looked right through the detective. Sedatives and a good therapist might help him get through the worst of it, Brady thought.
The coroner had arrived to start the process of removing the body. Forensics had been taking pictures and collecting evidence while officers spoke with potential witnesses. It appeared that Mr. Graham may have been the only witness at this point, and other than finding the body, he had nothing further to provide for now.
Detective Landry, Brady’s partner, walked up to him, watching the crime scene unfold. “Not a good day,” Landry said as he shook his head.
“I just can’t imagine the person who did this,” Brady said quietly.
Landry didn’t respond and began to turn away from the scene to walk back to his car. He put his hand on Brady’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go to the hospital. Forensics will let us know if they get an ID.”
Both detectives remained silent as they drove to the hospital. Brady did what detectives do—go over the crime scene, the potential suspect list, and the possible motive. He knew Landry was doing the same.
Whoever had done this had incredible rage. Brady considered how much time the killer had taken to be cruel, yet how precise they had been in cleaning and displaying the body. He could only hope that there would be something of evidentiary value. Anything under her nails, on her body, or in her body might lead them to the killer. He hoped in silence that they could obtain some usable DNA.
He wished this had been personal, maybe a boyfriend. Otherwise, the thought of a total stranger, a deranged maniac on the loose killing pretty young girls, was not something he wanted to consider.
There was silence except for the road noise as Landry drove. A seasoned investigator, Landry was only a few years younger than Brady. Brady often considered him the cure for his high blood pressure. Where Brady was serious and perpetually cranky, Landry was calmer and more optimistic, always trying to inject lightheartedness into even the worst situation. Brady appreciated him for this.
They walked to the hospital check-in desk and explained who they were and why they were there. A nurse walked them to Mr. Graham’s room. As they entered, Mr. Graham opened his eyes to see who had come through the door. His eyes were much calmer and a little glazed over. Brady knew why. They had probably given him some pretty good sedatives through the IV. He lay on a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown and covered with a blanket.
Sitting next to him was a young woman. She stood to greet the men.
“Hi. I’m Rebecca, Todd’s wife.” Her eyes were red from crying.
“Nice to meet you, Rebecca. I’m Detective Landry, and this is Detective Brady.”
“Nice to meet you. Todd is kind of out of it, but he’s doing better.” She reached over and touched his arm sympathetically. “Do you need to ask him questions now?”
“If Todd is able, we’d like to,” Landry said, taking out his notebook.
Rebecca nodded. “Of course.”
Landry confirmed Todd’s full name, address, and how long he had lived there before turning his attention to Todd.
Todd’s eyes darted between them. “I didn’t see anyone.”
“We’ll get to that,” Landry said. “Do you usually run that trail in the mornings?”
“Yes, most mornings.”
“Same park? Same time?”
Todd nodded. “Most of the time.”
“Have you ever seen anything that you considered odd or suspicious there?”
“No. Nothing. It’s a very safe park. Usually, there are other runners, parents with kids, and people with pets. It’s in a nice neighborhood. My wife runs there too, usually with me.”
Landry turned to Rebecca. “Do you usually run with your husband?”
“I do. I wasn’t feeling good this morning, so I didn’t go.”
“Was Todd home with you all night?”
Rebecca’s eyes widened as if she understood the line of questioning. “Yes. We watched a movie after dinner and then went to bed. I wasn’t feeling well most of the night, so I was awake quite a bit. He was there every time I woke up.”
“And you were awake before he went for his run?”
“Yes. He woke me up to see if I wanted to go. I told him no. He kissed me and left. He was at work the day before and came straight home. I hope that helps.”
“It does. Thank you. We’ll need to confirm his whereabouts with his employer, but we’ll do that later.”
Rebecca nodded.
Landry turned back to Todd. “How long were you on your run when you found the body?”
“Not long. I usually park on the southeast side of the park and run the trail’s full length a few times.” Todd motioned for his wife. “Can I have some water?”
“Let me check.” Rebecca let go of his arm and left the room to ask a nurse.
“I can’t believe I passed the body, but I must have. I can’t figure out how I missed it the first time, other than that it was somewhat dark when I started my run. I mean, it was right there, off to the side. It’s not like there were neon lights, but seriously, how could I have missed it?”
“Were there any other joggers on the trail?” Landry asked.
“Not when I was running. I usually go early. Sometimes there are other runners, but it was empty today. Thank God, I guess.” Todd’s words were slow, and he was much calmer than he had been at the park.
“Did you see anyone else?”
“There were a few people there with their dogs, but I think that was all as far as I can remember.”
“Can you describe them?”
“Not really. They weren’t near me, and I wasn’t paying attention. I was listening to music. They weren’t together. They all wore hats and coats. Caucasian, I think. I didn’t see them well enough to give you their hair color.”
“Were there any cars in the parking lots?”
“No. Just mine. So, I assume the others live in the neighborhood. I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of anything. There’s nothing I can think of.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Graham. We appreciate you trying to give us any information you can. But I need to ask what you did when you noticed the body,” Landry said.
Todd closed his eyes tightly and took in a large gulp of air. The sedatives seemed to help his anxiety. He took a few moments before he began to speak.
“I saw it out of the corner of my eye. It was right there. You saw it. That’s why I can’t get over why I didn’t see it the first time,” he said, taking in long, lingering breaths.
“Anyway, at first, I thought it was a mannequin or pieces of one. I slowed down and walked back over to it. And then I realized what I was seeing. It was horrible.”
Todd swallowed hard.
“I ran. I kept running. I dialed 911 on my phone. I think I was still running when I spoke to them because the next thing I remembered, I was in my car, and the police knocked on my window.”
“Was anyone around? Were the people with the dogs still there?” Landry asked, but Todd didn’t acknowledge his question.
“I didn’t want to go back. I told the police where it was, but they insisted I show them. They couldn’t find it at first. I told them I didn’t want to!” Todd’s eyes filled with tears as his wife came in with the nurse, who had a cup of water and a straw. “I told them, but they wouldn’t listen.” Todd began to cry.
“Excuse me, detectives.” The nurse slipped by with the water. “Here you go, Mr. Graham. Take a sip.”
As tears streamed down his face, she brought the straw to his lips and held it there until Todd could control himself enough to take in some water. He took a few moments to calm down as his wife held his hand, wiped the tears, and stroked his hair. The room was silent for a while.
“What was your question, Detective?” Todd looked at Landry.
“Did you notice if any of the people you saw earlier were still there?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember too much after I saw the body. I’m sorry.” Tears slowly streamed down Mr. Graham’s face.
Todd’s wife looked at the detectives. “I think that’s enough for now.” The nurse entered the room with another syringe and pushed the medication into the IV line.
“Absolutely,” Landry said.
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Graham. Mrs. Graham, if he thinks of anything else, and I mean anything, even the smallest thing, please have him call us.” Brady handed her two cards, his and Landry’s.
“I will.” Mrs. Graham walked over to the sink to wet a washcloth and began to wipe Mr. Graham’s face as the detectives exited the room.
“We’ll give it a couple of days before we meet with him again. I don’t think we’ll get anything more from him. Do you?” Brady asked Landry as they walked out of the automatic hospital doors and into the clear, cool morning.
“I don’t either. I don’t think he saw anything relevant other than discovering her body. One thing’s for sure: this has messed him up. I don’t think he’ll ever be the same,” Landry said.
“Can you blame him? It’s just disappointing that he didn’t see anything else and couldn’t describe the people at the park. No cars in the parking lots. No other runners. Here’s hoping forensics has something.”
“Here’s hoping.” Landry reached for the car door handle. “You hungry?”
“Starving!”
CHAPTER 2
Eric stood center stage beneath the bright lights, basking in the applause. “Some call money the root of all evil,” he began, his grin flashing under the lights. “If that’s the case, call me the devil!” The crowd erupted, cheers and applause mixed throughout the room.
“Most of you know me. For those who don’t, you’re about to learn what real success looks like. My name is Eric Stetson, and I am the founder and President of Stetson Real Estate. You may know us as one of the largest real estate investment firms in the world. And the future has never looked brighter!”
The annual spring gala was one of Eric’s favorite events. His piercing eyes swept across the crowd like searchlights, lingering only long enough to keep them hanging on his next word. The crowd leaned forward, captivated. Employees, investors, business rivals, admirers—he fascinated them all the same way. Eric fed off admiration the way most people fed off oxygen.
From just offstage, in the darkness, Jared watched his brother do what he did best. Jared was dressed in his finest suit, picked out by Rachael, Eric’s stylist-turned-assistant. Tom, the CFO, stood next to him. Without turning to face Jared, he began to speak.
“I need to speak with Eric tonight.”
Jared swiftly turned his gaze toward Tom. “I—I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Tom continued to watch Eric. “Good idea or not, he’s got to listen to me.”
“But he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to discuss it. Please don’t talk to him tonight.”
Tom slowly turned his head and focused on Jared. “I have no choice. He has to listen to me.” He stared at Jared intently for a few seconds before walking away.
Jared froze in place, knowing that Tom was determined to bring up the Hamilton property deal, but that Eric was even more determined not to. He took in a long, lingering breath, held it, and then released it. He redirected his focus to his brother, who was savoring the glory like an emperor among men.
Eric’s performance on stage was like an operatic masterpiece. He stood at six-foot-two with dark hair that never seemed out of place. To Jared, Eric looked as if he’d been created for rooms like this. His perfectly straight white smile flashed beneath the lights, effortless and completely natural. Jared had always admired the idea of one person having that much presence. Watching him, Jared sometimes wondered if somewhere along the way, Eric had truly made a deal with the Devil.
Eric paced the stage, speaking into the microphone attached to his earpiece, his hands moving freely for emphasis. “Tonight, I’d like to point out a special guest. Senator Miller has decided to join us, which is interesting because he voted for the Anti-Trickle-Down Act. Which means we all now must find creative loopholes to avoid the higher tax rate. Let’s make sure we let him know how we feel about this.”
The crowd instantly began to boo and hiss in Senator Miller’s direction. A few napkins flew his way.
Jared lowered his head slightly, embarrassed for the senator. Eric could be cruel, but Jared had learned how to live in his shadow. Since childhood, he’d watched him achieve everything he’d wanted in life.
While the crowd applauded, Jared found himself calculating the cost of the evening in his head—venue, catering, security, staff. Eric saw the spotlight. Jared saw numbers. Equations, patterns, and probabilities came naturally, though he kept this to himself.
Listed as the company’s COO, Jared held the title in name only. It was well known that his duties were really those of Eric’s assistant. He loved his brother for giving him an assistant position and putting up with his mediocre performance.
He had run-of-the-mill looks and a hatred of the spotlight. Jared did not inherit Eric’s good looks. Standing at five-foot-nine, with a receding hairline, he wasn’t bad-looking, but he knew he blended into the background.
As he watched Eric, he noticed something he hadn’t realized before. The stage lights had to make it over a hundred degrees there, yet Eric didn’t sweat.
Suddenly, his internal voice began to whisper. Who doesn’t sweat onstage? Oh, yeah, Eric, that’s who. Stop it! One bad thought could take root and grow into a lifetime of resentment. Jared pushed it away, as he always did.
Although attendance was mandatory for most, Eric thanked the audience and encouraged everyone to reach their full potential at Stetson Real Estate. He held up a glass of champagne, followed by more applause and a few random whistles. He removed his earpiece and made his way across the stage to an entourage of personal assistants, a few yes-men, and Jared.
The music began to play as Eric reached his brother, who handed him a bottle of Evian water, the cap removed. Eric downed the whole bottle and gave it to Jared as he walked backstage toward one of the green rooms, where he could have a drink and a quick cigar before mingling with the commoners.
Eric was always a man on a mission. Jared habitually tried to keep pace with him, but he rarely matched Eric’s stride. He always seemed a few steps behind, eternally chasing his brother’s pace.
While he raced to keep up, Tom approached Eric.
“I need to speak with you,” Tom said with urgency.
Without glancing in Tom’s direction, Eric replied, “Not now, Tom. I don’t have time for this.”
“But—” Tom started.
“I said not now, Tom!”
Michael, another assistant, held out papers for Eric to sign as they walked. A Brown University graduate with an economics degree, he fit perfectly into Eric’s world: professional, discreet, and good at keeping secrets. Michael was practically Eric’s second shadow.
“Nice shiner.” Eric looked at Michael’s black eye, poorly covered by makeup.
Michael took the papers from Eric’s grip. “Yeah, I tripped over my dog, and I hit the corner of my nightstand.”
Eric looked at Michael with suspicion. “You don’t have a dog.”
Michael didn’t respond.
Rachael stopped Eric to straighten his tie and fix his hair.
Jared thought Rachael was exquisite. She was not opposed to keeping Eric on his toes and calling him on his bullshit. Jared felt she was clever that way, as she knew which battles to pick with Eric and which to deflect. Even when calling him out, she remained respectful and caring.
Jared often wondered if that was why Eric appreciated her. Perhaps in her, he had found his equal in someone far more loving. He felt that, whatever the dynamics of their relationship, they worked well together.
Eric sat on the couch in the green room, reaching for the remote. Flower arrangements sat upon tables throughout the room. The air was filled with the aroma of flowers and high-end cologne. Jared, Rachael, Tom, and Michael joined him.
This was his quiet time. His cigar smoking, vodka drinking, and decompressing time. Jared knew Eric needed these moments, or he could easily snap at any unsuspecting victim.
Tom sat next to Eric while Eric changed the channel to the local news and placed the remote on the table. A news anchor reported a car rollover on I-25, a dog found two years after it went missing, and a female body found in Parker.
Jared glanced at Eric as the news announced the murder of a young woman.
Eric leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and rested his chin in one hand. He studied the anchor as if nothing around him existed. Jared glanced between Eric and the TV.
Suddenly, Tom broke the silence.
“We need to talk about the Hamilton property purchase,” Tom said.
Eric remained silent, expressionless, and focused on the news coverage. Jared quickly reached for the vodka to make Eric a drink. All Jared could think was, Don’t do it, Tom!
“Eric, you can’t keep ignoring me. You’re going to sign the papers soon, and I don’t think you—”
Instantly, Eric broke his gaze from the news report, slammed his fist on the table, and walked away from Tom toward the wet bar. Jared scrambled to put a vodka tonic in Eric’s hand.
“I know what you think, Tom! We’ve been over this a million times. It’s my company. It’s my decision!” Eric grabbed the drink from Jared’s trembling hand.
Jared looked at Rachael as she sat on one of the velvet barstools, awaiting the battle. He watched as she sipped her drink. She gave him a look that was all too familiar—the look of buckle up, buttercup.
“Eric, we have investors. We have a board of directors, all of whom question this venture.” He paused, watching Eric carefully. “Profits are down. The company isn’t doing as well as it had been, and you know this.”
“Oh my God, Tom. If I’d made most of my decisions based on caution, there wouldn’t be a business. I know what I’m doing!” Eric gulped the liquor and slammed the glass down on the bar. “Who the hell are you to question me? Know your place, Tom! Do what I tell you to do and nothing else!”
Tom looked Eric straight in the eye. Usually a passive and agreeable man, he did not appear to be backing down.
“You understand the risks? Do you know that if this venture isn’t astronomically profitable, our company is in jeopardy? We’re not talking about small change, Eric. You’re putting all of us at risk. I know my place, and it’s my job to tell you when you’re threatening this company financially.”
Eric took another large swig of his drink and glared at Tom. “Are you done, Tom?” He scowled at Tom and took another mouthful of his vodka. “I still control the majority of the stock in this company. Who has a greater chance of suffering the consequences than me?”
Defeated, Tom stared at Eric. Jared had witnessed this conversation many times. Tom’s face relaxed. His eyes lowered as he let out a long exhale, revealing the same acceptance Jared had seen many times before. Tom wasn’t going to get through to him.
With the resolve of a man about to jump off the Empire State Building, Tom took a deep breath and headed toward the door.
“You’ve never suffered a consequence a day in your life, Eric!” Tom walked out of the room and slammed the door.
Eric threw his half-filled glass, and it smashed against the door frame.
“Bastard! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about! What the hell have I been doing all these years? How did I build an empire if I didn’t know what I was doing?”
Jared scrambled to make Eric a new vodka tonic. At the same time, Rachael exited the room with as much dignity as anyone could in the situation. Michael followed. Both had remained silent and out of the line of fire.
Eric shot back the vodka, straightened his suit and tie, and walked out the door.
Jared cringed, knowing Eric hadn’t even gotten the chance to light a cigar! He took a few swigs straight from the vodka bottle and followed behind.
It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER 3
A few days after the gala, Jared came home from a long day at work and eased out of his alligator-skin Carminas. He loved those shoes. They were comfortable, expensive, and chosen by Rachael. She had a way of making him look less ordinary.
Eric’s other stylists had dressed him in fads and uncomfortable suits, but Rachael considered his comfort as much as his appearance. There was elegance in what she chose and compassion in the fit. It was one more reason he needed her in his life.
He had very few relationships and no close connections. He had no parents. His father had made sure of that when they were kids.
Placing his keys and phone on the side table, he picked up the stereo remote and pressed the power button. Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons: Spring resonated through the apartment like a concert hall. He closed his eyes and moved his hands as though conducting an orchestra. The harmony of the strings carried him into a world all his own. His breath slowed as he was transported to an imaginary stage. The quickening tempo guided his hands as they danced through the air.
These classical pieces gave him a sense of control he didn’t have in his life. For once, he was the conductor—unchallenged.
When the piece ended, the sharp notes of Vivaldi’s Winter began to play. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his suit jacket, letting the music guide his movements. His eyes opened as he removed his jacket and walked into his bedroom.
He placed his jacket on the bed, removed his tie, and laid it neatly on top. The quickening tempo of the violins followed him to the dresser, where he grabbed a change of leisure clothes. His head swayed to the rhythm of the music.
Inside the bathroom, the shower valve turned, quickly filling the room with a thick wall of steam that softened the sharp notes of the violin strings. Freshly showered and dressed, he stepped back into the bedroom, drying his hair with a towel as the music resonated through the apartment.
In the kitchen, the snap of an opened bottle of sparkling water sliced through the melody. The violins intensified, engrossing his soul with perfection.
The entry closet opened to a shelf neatly arranged with a tool bag, lightbulbs, and a tattered old shoebox. His fingers curled gently around the shoebox as he lifted it. With the towel now around his neck, he sat on the couch and placed the shoebox on the coffee table. He slowly lifted the lid, revealing a stack of old, frayed pictures. Each one held a world that had long since ended.
The first photograph, his most treasured one, came free from the stack. His mother’s face stared back at him. Bent corners framed the faded image, which had a slight tear at the top. She was young, wearing a flowered dress and a decorative pink summer hat. Her smile radiated through the old photograph. As he studied her face, her striking beauty rose from the image.
His finger pressed gently against the photo, slowly tracing her face as if he were touching her. His heart softened as the violins slowed, pulling him into quiet reflection.
Tenderly placing the photo onto the coffee table, he reached for the next fragile picture, one showing his mother and father later in life. His heart sank. Neither parent smiled. They held drinks and cigarettes; their eyes were red and glossy. This version of his parents was not worth remembering. He held the brittle photo tightly as the music’s tempo quickened, slightly bending it in the center.
The smell of cigarettes and dirty clothes came back, bringing with it the shame he had felt as a child.
To Eric and Jared, Mr. and Mrs. Stetson, aka Mom and Dad, were horrors of the darkest kind. They were both controlled by addiction. The only emotion the boys ever saw from their father was rage, especially when he drank, which happened almost every night until their mother’s murder.
The boys stopped referring to him as dad long ago. Their mom had retained the parental title a little longer than Mr. Stetson.
He was an accountant, and she was his punching bag, his dog to kick, and his enabler. From what the boys had been told, their parents had truly loved each other until Mrs. Stetson became pregnant with Eric. Mr. Stetson changed, and he made damn sure Mrs. Stetson paid heavily for her boy’s existence. She had died long before her actual death.
The day after the brothers were taken from their home, they were allowed to go back and pack a few things. Jared was only ten, but he made sure he grabbed the tattered shoebox with all the family photos. He had been keeping this box under his bed, afraid his dad would find it and burn it.
Almost every picture he had saved of his mom from her younger years was of her laughing or smiling. These pictures were proof of a happier time. Unfortunately, this was not the mom that he remembered. By the time he began forming memories, she had virtually no life in her. These faded images seemed to chronicle his mother’s decline.
As a child, Eric took the brunt of Mr. Stetson’s blows. Eric took the blows because as long as he took them, Jared and Mrs. Stetson didn’t. Eric had been a very good brother to Jared. He remembered times when Eric played with him, protected him, and snuck him food when they weren’t fed. Eric had a kinder heart back then. Jared loved his brother and found comfort with Eric as a child.
But things would never be the same after one particular night.
Jared remembered that night when Eric’s beating was so brutal that Eric begged his mom for help, which wasn’t normal. Eric had learned not to ask his mom for help; it was pointless, but this night was different. This night, Mr. Stetson wasn’t getting tired quickly, even though he was drunk. Jared could barely recognize Eric’s voice as the beating progressed. The screams were so high that he sounded like a young girl. Eric was a fifteen-year-old boy with a deepening voice, but not this night.
As Jared peered out from under his small bed, through his open bedroom door, and into the hallway, he saw his mom slowly walking to her room. But as she passed him, she turned and looked at him while tears ran down Jared’s face. She stopped for a moment as Eric’s cries for help ravaged the house. Then she slowly turned, walked into her room, and shut the door.
Jared closed his eyes, covered his ears, and slid as far under his bed and against the wall as he could. In his little mind, he prayed and begged for Eric’s screams to stop when, finally, they did.
Jared waited for what seemed like an eternity without movement. Then he removed his hands from his ears and opened his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest. Sweat was dripping from his forehead, and his body ached with intensity. He knew what it was like to be beaten by Mr. Stetson, and he wanted so badly for his brother to climb under the bed with him.
The bedroom was getting dark as night set in. He slowly crawled toward the end of the bed to see if he could see anything. The house was silent. His eyes scanned the quickly darkening room and hallway. He didn’t dare go any further out from under his bed, fearing that his father would see him. The refrigerator door opened, and he listened as his father pulled out the remaining six-pack and opened one of the cans. He listened to his father swallow an entire beer in an instant, crush the can, and open another.
Then, outside his room, he heard his father clear his throat in the hallway. Suddenly, his father’s belt flew across the hall to the other side. It hit the decorative table at the end of the hallway. He knew this had been his father’s choice of weapon used on Eric just moments ago.
His body shrank back under his bed with just enough room to see the floor as his father drunkenly stumbled past his room. Looking up as high as he could, he saw his father’s bloody hand wrapped around a vodka bottle. Mr. Stetson was too drunk to notice him. The door to Mr. and Mrs. Stetson’s room slammed shut. He let out a slight gasp, covered his mouth, and waited.
Time passed, and he hadn’t seen his brother. He was only ten, but he wasn’t a baby anymore. Eric needed help, he told himself. Keeping as quiet as he could, he crawled out from under his bed and started down the hallway, begging God not to let any floorboards creak. One sound and he was dead. Each step was soft and slow, while his heart raced.
Moving slowly from his room and down the hallway, he entered the family room. Eric lay on the floor, his back to Jared. Blood splattered on the walls, pooled on the floor, and covered his brother. Jared watched and waited for movement. The pounding of his own heart was all he could hear.
Eric moved slightly, and Jared exhaled. He rushed around Eric and knelt in front of him.
Eric’s right eye was black and blue, swollen shut. Through the narrow opening of his injured left eye, he searched Jared’s face, begging for help. Blood seeped from his mouth. His shirt was torn from his body. Cuts covered his small frame, and dark bruising spread across his skin.
Jared went to the kitchen and got a washrag. He slowly turned on the faucet to wet the rag, but not enough to make the pipes rattle.
With the wet rag gripped tightly in his trembling hand, he began to wipe away the blood. His brother groaned and gently moved the rag away. Eric slowly forced himself up and pushed away from Jared. Hunched over with his hands on his knees, he tried to catch his breath before standing upright. Jared watched his brother struggle. Tears streamed down Jared’s face, and his chin quivered. He covered his mouth to muffle his cries.
As Eric fought for breath and balance, he stumbled to the front door. Wrapping an arm around his chest, he made his way outside, the screen door slamming behind him. Jared raced back to his room, praying that his father wouldn’t see him. He crawled under his bed just as Mr. and Mrs. Stetson’s bedroom door flew open.
“Er—ic!” his father slurred as he staggered down the hallway toward the front door.
Jared heard the front door slam and the lock turn. His father stumbled back down the hall. Once more, Mr. Stetson went to his room and slammed the door. Jared curled into a ball and cried quietly with his hands pressed tightly over his mouth as his mother begged for her life.
Her screams slowly faded, leaving only the faint sound of their television. Still cowering under his bed, he wiped his face with his shirt and began to crawl out. Tiptoeing to his door, he peeked down the hallway toward their bedroom. He saw no shadows moving under the door.
Taking a deep breath, he gently set each foot on the hardwood, avoiding any noise as he walked. Pressing his ear against their bedroom door, he listened. Crouching down on all fours, he looked under the large gap between the door and the floor. He saw his father’s feet resting below a chair. Then came the sound of snoring.
After a few minutes, believing that his father had passed out, he looked for his mother. He squinted as the television illuminated the room. Scanning the floor, he finally saw her hand covered in blood.
Knowing she needed help, he stood up, reached for the door handle, and slowly turned it. His father always slept deeply after drinking, so he crept into the bedroom. His mother was on the bed, her hand touching the floor. Her face and body were bloody and bruised. He sat next to her as she remained motionless.
The television’s glare danced across her face as snoring filled the room. Taking her hand in his, he held it as she tried to speak. He leaned in to hear her final words. Words he never repeated. Time passed, and eventually so did she.
There was loud banging on the front door. Jared was cradling his mother’s lifeless body while tears streamed down his face.
The front door crashed open, and he gripped her tighter.
“Clear!” a voice shouted through the home.
He pressed his cheek to hers.
“Clear!” yelled another voice.
The doorway filled with movement.
Jared looked up to see two police officers with guns raised. He looked back down at his mother, kissed her forehead, and let her go.
Jared was removed from the scene and taken immediately to the hospital, where his brother was in serious condition. His injuries were severe: a broken jaw and ribs, and a punctured lung.
Mr. Stetson was charged and convicted of second-degree murder. The conviction came easily. He was an abusive alcoholic who passed out holding the knife after a brutal attack. Eric had no hesitation in testifying against him. The prosecution didn’t make Jared take the stand. Mr. Stetson received a sentence of twenty-five years to life in prison.
Mr. and Mrs. Colby, old friends of the Stetsons, became the boys’ foster parents and raised them as their own. Jared loved and admired them. They were attentive and kind in ways that his parents had never been. Mrs. Stetson had done one good thing in her life: she had taken out a secret life insurance policy that Mr. Stetson didn’t know existed. She gave the paperwork to the Colbys, just in case, and named the boys as beneficiaries.
Maybe she had known Mr. Stetson would kill her one day, and perhaps this was one final act of love. Whatever it was, it was too little, too late; the damage had been done. Her life insurance paid for their cars, college, and Eric’s startup.
For a while, Eric had been the brother Jared needed, but eventually, that love seemed to curdle into resentment.
A knock at the door woke Jared from reminiscing as he sat on the couch. Removing the towel from around his neck, he put it on the arm of the couch. He carefully placed the pictures back into the shoebox, put the box in the closet, walked over to the door, and opened it.
A smile spread across his face as her arms wrapped around his neck. She kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?” Rachael asked, reaching down to take off her high heels.
“Of course.” He closed the door behind her.
She set her heels on the carpet next to the door and headed for the bar to make herself a drink.
“Would you like a drink, babe?” she asked, smiling.
“I would love one. Thank you.” Leaning against the counter, he watched her make the drinks. The curve of her smile, the softness of her eyes, the glow she exuded held his attention. Loving her had become as natural as breathing.
After making the drinks, she handed him his. “I’m so glad tonight is over.” She sighed. “So many egos, I can hardly stand it. Thank God I have you!” Lifting her glass, she touched it to his in a toast.
“Even though we have to keep it a secret?” he asked.
“Even though we have to keep it secret.” She took a step forward until they were nearly touching. Without her heels, she had to stand on tiptoes to meet his eyes. “What we have is far too special to share with the rest of the world. Besides, your brother would make our lives hell.”
“I love you.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately. “I’ll take you any way I can have you. Even in secret.”