Page 17 of Finding Our Reality

“This is what they pay you the big bucks for? The obvious?”

I slap my hand on the table. “They pay me because I’m good. Excellent. Better than most. You asked me what I see. I see Trash. Glaring at me like a damn spotlight in the dark. He’s a lying, filthy bastard.” I point at his brother’s picture with the tip of my ink pen. “And he will be the first person we question. Do you understand?”

If I thought my outburst would disturb him, I was wrong. If I thought he would defend his brother, I was wrong. If I thought he would take me seriously, I was apparently wrong. He tries to hide the smirk on his face, but he fails miserably. “So help me, Ryland Joseph Crutchfield, if you don’t wipe that smirk from your face, I will claw it off permanently with my fingernails. How can you think anything pertaining to your brother is entertaining?”

“It’s not that. I can’t get used to you cussing. It’s unnatural.”

Are you kidding me? I’m trying to find my sister and he’s concerned about my potty mouth. He’s comparing the new me to the old me. I can’t be the old me, ever again. Too much has changed. Too much happiness has been ripped away.

I can’t help it; I have to rub my scar before I collapse. As soon as my fingers find it, my mind starts to calm.

He clears his throat, frowning to wipe the smile from his mouth. “Sorry, I agree; Trash should be our first interview. Please continue. What else do you see?”

I take a deep breath, studying the horrible images. “They seem to be sequential. Same night. I think she’s dying to get high in the first one and then she’s high in pictures two and three.” My thoughts race around, trying to connect all the dots. “It’s Trey’s house. The furnishings are the same as the picture you gave me years ago. The date at the bottom shows that it’s about six weeks before Carrie disappeared. In addition, the letters in the digital timestamp are the same on these pictures as the one you gave me. So, my question would be: did Christina take thesepictures? Was she there? Was this her camera? Did she have the pictures developed? Did she give the pictures to Carrie?”

He nods, eagerly watching me. “That’s perfect. Give me more, tell me more.”

“I think everyone left the room. Most likely, they left the trailer. I don’t think all these people were present when Carrie was getting raped. I think it was just Carrie, the rapist, the cameraman—or woman—and…”

“And?”

“Trey. I think he was watching. I don’t think he would leave his own house. He wouldn’t let someone have that kind of control over him.”

Ry seems completely mesmerized. He’s watching me, just casting a glance downward every so often to make sure his notes stay on the notebook page. He seems almost… proud.

Is Ry proud of me?

“Keep going. Don’t slow the momentum,” he says, encouraging me.

“Why is the rapist dressed like that? Like a businessman? Was he there buying drugs? Trying to buy a hooker? Or was it something more? Is he the supplier? If Trey always made everyone leave when the supplier was showing up, that would answer the question of who all was present during the rape. Everyone left, but Carrie couldn’t move; she was passed out. Maybe Trey took the picture. Maybe Trey took the picture, and Christina found it and gave it to Carrie.”

I tap my fingers on the table. “But why take the picture in the first place? If Trey wouldn’t even let Christina take a picture with some pills in the background, why take a picture of a felony sex crime taking place in your house? Blackmail? Sexual arousal, maybe?” That thought churns a violent spasm of disgust in my stomach, making me want to throw up.

“He has a scar or something on his upper left thigh, shaped like the letter J. We need to run that through all the databases. We need to find out if there is anything special about his clothes. Can we tell what kind of belt that is? Pants, shoes? Even underwear?”

I bite my lip. “We need to look at the date. Were there any police calls in the area on that night? What about speeding tickets near Trey’s mobile home? Was that night anything special for me? Where was I when my sister was getting raped? And what about the pregnancy test? Did Carrie take the pregnancy test after she received the pictures? Or did she already know she was pregnant? And is there any possibility that the pregnancy isn’t related to the rape? When’s the last time Carrie and Caleb were intimate?” Rolling my shoulders to ease the tension, I take another drink of water.

Ry raises his eyebrows. He bites the corner of his lip, trying to stop his smile, but he can’t. It’s a sweet smile, a proud smile…a smile that lovers share.

I don’t smile back. I can’t. I wasn’t lying when I said being in the same zip code with him was upsetting. It’s terribly upsetting. Because just looking at him makes mewant. Makes me need, makes me desire. It makes my body betray my mind. And just when I get my body under control, my mind decides to double-cross me as well.

I can’t even look at him and hold onto my sanity. I’m going crazy.

Why on earth did I think I could work with him?

He slowly removes the gloves from his hands and reaches across, grabbing my bottle of water. Tipping it to his perfect lips, he downs the rest in one gulp. He nods at the notebook page filled with his handwritten notes. “Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Seriously, Ry, isn’t that enough?

Chapter 8

CRUTCH

Isn’t that enough?

Why do all her questions seem so loaded?

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