Page 23

CHAPTER 23

Max

I 've spent the better part of an hour since getting home from work trying to make myself look alive, even tried to take a nap to no avail. I haven’t slept well in days, and the dark circles under my eyes are proof of it. Giving up, I go into the kitchen and pour a bowl of water for Chubs and fill another one with a combination of dry and canned cat food. My head is pounding, I know I need some aspirin and caffeine. The day’s events were exhilarating, but now, after the adrenaline has flushed clear of my system, I’m dragging and feel like shit.

Should I cancel tonight or try and push through? I rub my temples and close my eyes. Nope, that didn’t work, the pain is still there. I reach into the cabinet and shake two extra-strength aspirin from the bottle and swig some water. I'm going to push through, even if it kills me.

I walk over and unlock the door and put the bowls out for Chubs before picking up the dirty ones from the day before and go back inside. That cat doesn’t know how good he could have it if he’d just give up a little independence and come live inside with me .

After tossing the bowls into the sink, I pour myself a delicious, aromatic, and much-needed mug of coffee. The warmth of the ceramic mug feels good in my hands. I walk into the living room and sit on the sofa. Another sip of coffee and I smile. The headache begins to ebb with each passing minute—the night might be salvaged yet.

I’d better call Ben and confirm. I pull out my phone.

“Hello?” Ben answers after two rings.

“Hey, it’s me.” I run my fingers through my hair as I make my way into the kitchen. “I wanted to double-check we were still on for coffee. I know how your schedule can be.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too. I’ll see you at the coffee shop on Western?”

“I do love that place,” Ben says. “It has the best mocha drinks.”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, trying to force a positive tone to my voice despite the feelings of impending doom. The idea of spilling my guts to Ben makes me a little queasy. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you there.” Ben disconnects the call before I can respond.

I can’t tell if Ben is being standoffish or if I am internalizing our last date. If roles were reversed, I’m not even sure I’d meet a guy again for coffee after a date where he got into a fight in the bathroom with a crazy person. But we’d left that night on good terms, and I owe it to him to be honest and forthcoming about my past.

Despite my rising anxiety about opening up to Ben, I can’t help but feel if anyone was going to be accepting and okay with what happened to me those years in the past, it would be him. He has such a calming sense about him. Like an all-knowing sage. Only, in a rocking hot body I would love to get to know in absolute detail.

It doesn’t take long to get ready; even my hair falls into place as if to say, good luck, buddy. I make my way into the living room and spot my backpack and lab coat. I’d forgotten to bring it back to my locker, but since I’d be working in the next few days, it’d be fine.

The car keys are in my coat pocket, and I reach in to grab them. My hand wraps around the package, and I freeze. How the hell did I forget about it being in there? That’s when I also remember the photos.

I take out my phone and begin looking through the images I’d taken. They are surveillance-style pictures as if someone was on a stakeout, following me. Who and why, I have no idea, but the creep factor goes up tenfold when I see one of me in the locker room.

I swipe through the pictures and zoom in to get a better look at something dark at the edge of the image. “What the hell is that?” I squint, rotating the image a little, but it won’t come clear. I look over at the laptop; it would be a lot easier to look at them on a bigger screen, but my watch buzzes indicating I need to leave, or I will be late. “Dammit,” I say, shoving the phone into my front pocket and taking one last look at the small package that had been delivered to the museum.

The little hairs on the back of my neck tingle, and I decide to leave the box where it is. I’ll open it with London the next time I see her. Maybe it will be something we need to investigate together. Grabbing my keys, I rush out the door, locking it behind me.

I steel myself against the rising nerves as I stride across the Coffee Bean and Me parking lot. I'm not anxious about the date—I have more self-confidence than that—but I'm worried about opening up and telling someone about my traumas. Ten minutes early, I pull the door open and step inside to find a nice place in the back where we can talk in private, and I can escape if things go south.

I look to my left, and there in the back, where I would have picked, is Ben. He stands and smiles, motioning for me to join him.

“You’re even earlier than me,” I say.

Ben chuckles. “If I’m being honest, I’m a little nervous, and when that happens I end up getting to places early.”

I half-smile and take my seat. Ben follows suit and joins me in a few moments of silence.

“Should I just go ahead and start? Or do you want to ask me a few questions first?” I say. “I’d really like you to get the answers you deserve but just know this isn’t going to be easy for me.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Ben reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Even though we shared that kiss and embrace the other night, if I’m being honest… I didn’t expect you to call me. I’m nervous to hear what you have to say, not because I would ever judge you, but because learning painful and traumatic experiences about those I care about, affects me.”

“But you’re an ER doctor.”

“Another reason doctors often don’t treat their loved ones. It’s much easier to keep the necessary walls in place with those you don’t know well.”

“Makes sense,” I say. “Where should I start?”

“I’d like to know what happened the other night at Delicate Seas… and why.” His wide-eyed boyish expression of concern softens my self-imposed, hard-coated exterior even further and I fight back tears. Years of pent-up emotions are knocking on the door.

“Okay,” I say. “It’s a long-ish conversation, but I’m going to condense it for ease of telling and to protect us both from having to hear and relive some of the grittier details. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“It was a few years ago. My partner, Officer Dominique and I had been pursuing the L.A. Butcher for months.”

“The serial killer?”

I nod. “That’s the one. He always seemed to be one or two steps ahead of us no matter what we did. We’d find his victims anywhere from a day to just a few minutes after they’d been killed.”

“Damn.”

“Exactly, so we received an anonymous tip of his whereabouts, and we were sure we would catch him in time to save the latest victim… a young girl from East Los Angeles—taken right off her front porch, middle of the day with family home.”

“Wow,” Ben says, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms. “It’s crazy how fast something like that can happen. Were you able to save her?”

I shake my head. “We drove in the middle of the night to an abandoned warehouse where we were told he would be—where the victim could be saved. When we got there, the Chief said we had to wait for backup, but we were twitchy. If we could save the little girl, we were going to do it. Fuck backup.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Ben sits up straight and puts his elbows on the table, not looking away from me for a second.

“We went inside and came to a T in the building. It was a tough decision, backup wasn’t there and we should have stayed together. But that is all in hinesight. Instead, we split up… we had to.” I shake my head. “I still stand by that decision. If we could save a life, it was worth the risk. But the farther I went into the facility, the sense that I wasn’t alone grew stronger. The only thing I convinced myself in that mo ment, was that it was the little girl. She was just a few more feet ahead, tied up and waiting for me to find her.”

Ben reaches for my hand, but I pull away and put my hands on my lap.

“It’s at this point that my memory gets a little fuzzy. I recall hearing a sound like a rubber sole from a tennis shoe scraping against the concrete floor, but as I turned, I was struck from behind… or at least that’s what the egg-sized knot on the back of my head indicated. When I regained my faculties a few hours later, gagged and my hands bound by duct tape, I knew I was as good as dead. None of his victims who’d been successfully kidnapped to that point had been able to escape. Why should I be any different, right?” I clear my throat and try to swallow despite the emotions choking me with each word I speak. “Anyway, I could tell I’d been drugged by the way my muscles felt—heavy and weak.”

“Where were you?”

“I was in an abandoned meat processing plant near East Los Angeles.”

“How’d you know? Were you familiar with the place?”

“I was hanging by my wrists on a meat hook suspended from a rusted-out assembly-line track they used to slaughter cows and sheep.”

Ben shakes his head as the color drains from his face. He swallows and then opens his mouth to speak, but no words come. It’s the same reaction I get from the very few people I’ve told this story to other than my fellow officers.

“Long story short,” I say. “He hurt me pretty bad, but my partner shot him dead on the Sixth Street Bridge. I watched as he toppled over the guard rail and disappeared into the raging L.A. River.”

“Holy shit, Max,” Ben says with a gasp. Then, almost as an afterthought, he says in a low voice, “Can I ask, how did he hurt you? ”

I shake my head. “I was carved up. Let’s put it this way, the sick bastard left his mark on me—permanently. If it hadn’t been for the wonderful doctors, nurses, and therapists at County… I wouldn’t be here today.”

Ben’s expression changes from one of concern to determination. He looks away and palms back his short dark hair. “When you were at my home, I saw part of the scar on your belly.” He gestures vaguely around his own torso for a visual.

I nod. “Yep, he’s quite the artist, isn’t he? Decided to mark me as his… add me to his tally of kills.”

Ben sighs. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“There’s not much you can. My own police-issued psychologist didn’t know quite what to say either when I showed her the scars.”

Ben remains silent for a while. Long enough to process what was being said, but too long for my comfort. “Can I ask you something?”

I chuckle, but there’s no mirth. “Sure, why not?”

Ben clears his throat and shifts in the chair. “When I saw the scars, it looked like an ankh.”

It feels like a gut punch. It’s not like I'm trying to hide what the image carved into my flesh is, but to hear someone else say it for some reason really hurts. Made me feel disgusting. I nod. “Yep.”

Ben doesn’t respond, simply looks out the window and sighs.

“You, okay? Doc… you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

His eyes dart back and forth as if he's remembering something, but then he shakes his head. “Sorry, I was thinking back to when this all happened to you… I was working at County during that time.”

“Hmm, maybe our paths crossed while I was there.”

He rubs the back of his neck for a few seconds. “Yeah, that must be it. ”

“Ben,” I say. “Are you okay? I probably shouldn’t have shared so much, so soon.”

It looks like the good doctor is rendered speechless. His jaw works a piece of gum with such vigor the muscles ripple under the flesh of his cheeks. Finally, he breaks his silence. “It’s not that, Max. I simply can’t imagine someone… you, going through this. It hurts me to think of you being treated like this. Makes me sick.” He looks down at his coffee and doesn’t speak for a few moments. It probably wasn’t long, but to me it felt like forever. Then, he looks up and says, “What happened at the restaurant? Did you have a flashback? Did something trigger you?”

“I’m not entirely sure. If I’m being completely honest, the last few days have been like I’m seeing ghosts.” I’m not about to tell him who I think was behing the break-in. Not yet anyway. Better to have things solved before talking about them. “You remember how someone at the bar sent me a drink?” Ben nods. “Well, I thought it looked like Viktor, the L.A. Butcher.” I shake my head. “The really crazy thing about it though, is I watched him die. Felt the bullets tear through his body as he tried to cling to me, hiding behind me as if I was no more than a fleshy, human shield for him. And yet I saw him at the restaurant. Against all odds and everything that seems possible, he was there.

“Then who attacked you in the bathroom?”

“Good question. Some guy… didn’t recognize him. My guess is he was a fan of the notorious L.A. Butcher. Maybe a copycat killer?” I shrug. “For all I know the guy could be his protégé. He did mention that he wasn’t going to let me escape, not like I had before. I think since I was the only one to ever get away from the famed serial killer, his followers are probably hell bent on correcting history.” I look into Ben’s eyes and search him for a sign as to if I should continue. Should I tell him about the break in? The stalking ?

“Damn, I’ve heard of things like that happening. Crazy people falling in love with serial killers in jail, but never when they’re supposed to be dead.”

“First time for everything, I suppose.” I shrug. “Honestly, there’s more to tell you, but I think I’ve revealed enough about myself for one coffee date. Speaking of dates, I’m sorry for ruining our big romantic dinner that night.”

“I hope you were able to enjoy the takeout. And trust me, you didn’t ruin anything.” He blushed and covered his smile with his hand.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Ben shakes his head. “I’m just really happy to hear you say it was romantic.”

My face flushes hot. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

He nods.

“Enough about me,” I say. “Didn’t you say you had something important to talk about?”

Ben shifts in his chair and nods. “I did say that, didn’t I? After everything you revealed today to me, I think I should wait a little to discuss work and potentially interesting things happening in my career.”

“No,” I say and cock my head to the side. “I really want to hear about you.”

Ben takes a sip of coffee. “I’ve been approached about a possible temporary transfer.”

“Oh, cool. So, no more Emergency Room. How do you feel about that?”

“To be honest, I think the change could be good for me. The ER can drain the soul right out of you. So much heartache, death, and pain.”

I nod. “I guess in a way it’s the same as being a police officer sometimes. We never get called to come enjoy a party or wedding, unless someone gets out of control and hurts someone. ”

Ben laughs. “Life is crazy sometimes.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

“I’ve got some thinking to do about it all still. I initially agreed to the switch in position, but now I’m second guessing myself.”

I reach over and grab his hand. We look into each other’s eyes. A sense of calm washes over me. “I support whatever decision you make. Any place would be lucky to have you.”

“I’ll keep you posted on what’s going on with that. In the meantime, we should set up another date. Maybe this time there won’t be any psychopaths following you.”

I smile. It feels good that he could make this little joke, he isn’t taking it so seriously that it affects our relationship. “Should we try Chinese food this time?”

“I love Chinese.”

“No matter where we go, I think the company makes it better,” I say with a smile.

“Me too,” Ben says. “Let’s do this soon.”

Ben’s cellphone buzzes. He checks it and sighs.

“Hospital?” I ask.

“I’m on call. Please believe me it’s not always like this.”

“Hey, I get it. I was a cop, remember? I didn’t always work a regular shift either.”

Ben stands.

I push back from the table and stand as well. “Walk with me to my car?”

He reaches out his hand. I take it, and we walk hand in hand to my car. Opening the door, I turn to him and say, “I’m really glad we had this chat. It feels great to be able to talk about it without weirding people out.”

“For the record,” he says. “You can tell me anything and I won’t judge you for it.”

Somehow, I believe you.

We embrace and I feel his strong warm hand slide down by back, coming to rest on the small of it, just above my ass. I swallow hard and feel my tummy tighten as I imagine what it would feel like to kiss him. Quickly, my thoughts progress to tearing this gorgeous doctor’s clothes from his body, me dropping to my knees and filling my mouth with his thick cock.

He pulls away slowly, looking down into my eyes. Leaning in, his lips touch mine and my heart begins to race. My lips seem to part under their own will as his tongue slips between them and meets mine for the very first time.

As if dissociating entirely, I step back, catching my breath. “Wow,” I say outloud even though I didn’t want to.

He smiles and wipes dry his bottom lip. “Yeah… wow.”

We remain quiet for a few moments, but before we can resume our moment, the one I’ve been wanting to happen since Taco Caliente an older white lady walks past and says, “Get a room.”

We both chuckle and look about the ground avoiding eye contact until she’s out of sight. “Did that seem like we just got caught with our pants down?” I ask.

He nods. “I wouldn’t mind that so much.”

My face flushes and I can feel the back of my neck grow hot. I reach out and grab his hand. “Call me this week and we can set plans for a make-up dinner. If you’d like?”

“Definitely.” His eyes sparkle as he says so.

I get into the car and close the door. As I back out of the parking spot and put the car into drive, I can’t help but look back at Ben. He is a truly caring man, and we’d finally had a nice date, albeit short. But there’s something Ben isn’t telling me. The cop part of my brain where I detect liars and those not being forthcoming is twitchy.

My cellphone pings. At the stoplight, I check the text message. It’s London.

‘ You won’t believe what I found! Call me! ’

A few minutes later, I pull into a gas station parking lot and call her.

“Dude,” she answers on the first ring. “What took you so long?”

“I was driving.”

“Okay, whatever. You won’t believe what I found.” Her voice is high-pitched and excited.

This must be good. “Tell me. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Weird,” London says. “Do you hear that?”

I listen for a few seconds. There are a few soft clicks, but I wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t mentioned it.

“Yes, I hear it.” I say. “We need to get off this line.”

“I think you need to see this for yourself. Meet me at my house in an hour.” London hangs up the phone.

I look out the window for a minute. London never sounds stressed when it comes to computers and hacking. She’s in her element when gallivanting around security systems and firewalls. I check the time on the clock, it’s getting quite late, and I need to work in the morning. There’s enough time to go home, grab some clothes, and make it to London’s place. I put the car into gear and speed toward home.