Page 18 of The Broken Places

She conceded what he’d said with a nod before clicking her belt into place and then turning toward him. “Answer me this. If there are places like the Cellar, why would people need to break in to an abandoned motel without electricity? Why not just go in some back room set up for anything-goes trysts?”

He gave a small shrug. “Looking for even more privacy, an assurance that no one would interrupt?”

Or hear screams and respond. Only ... in a place such as the Cellar, wouldn’t screams be expected?

She let out a small grunt of agreement as she pictured the three dead bodies from the last crime scene, blood puddled around them.“What’s weird is that both Myrna Watts and Darius Finchem remarked on what a sweet guy Anthony Cruz was, despite his obvious problems. Doesn’t seem like the way a guy who was looking to fulfill a pedo fantasy would be described.”A gentle soul.Wasn’t that what Myrna had called him?

“You don’t always know people,” Ambrose said. “Drugs warp people, and predators hide in plain sight.”

“I guess. But those two don’t seem like people who would be easily fooled. How could you be, working in a neighborhood like this?”

“You’re also assuming it was the male in the scenario fulfilling the pedo fantasy. Maybe it was one of the women.”

Lennon chewed on the inside of her cheek.Sadly true.She’d been thinking statistically, but making assumptions like that was a mistake in a murder investigation. “Any thoughts on the so-called miracle treatment Anthony Cruz mentioned to Myrna Watts?”

Ambrose shrugged. “Like she said, those looking for lifelines will grab for anything. The government funds a drug trial involving human subjects, people like Anthony Cruz are the first ones they go to.”

“Those who need money and have a sketchy sense of body sovereignty?”

He nodded, his expression morose. “Yeah. Or it could have been hope based on nothing. Who knows what he was referring to.” Ambrose gave her one last troubled look before he turned toward the window so she could no longer see his face.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Seventeen Years Ago

Patient Number 0022

Jett reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes, attempting to tap one into his hand before realizing the pack was empty. “Motherfuck.”

Some dude had dropped the almost-full pack last night coming out of a bar, and Jett had been just a few steps behind him. He’d scooped it up, and the guy had been none the wiser.

A lucky son of a bitch.That was him.

Something rose in his chest that might have been laughter, except that most times, he had a hard time telling a laugh from a scream. He swallowed whatever it was down, not trusting his body to know the difference.

He’d seen an old homeless woman shrieking with laughter at a bus stop a few months before. People around her had looked terrified, giving her a wide berth as they walked by on the sidewalk. After a few minutes, her laughter had morphed into sobs and then wails, even though a smile still stretched across her cracked lips. Jett had watched her, feeling nothing except a vague understanding.

Eventually the woman had fallen asleep—or into a drug-induced stupor—and slunk to the ground in a heap. Jett had searched her pockets and come away with three crumpled dollars and some change. Itwasn’t enough to buy any dope, so he’d taken it to the McDonald’s up the block. All the money would buy him was a hash brown that he wolfed down in two bites before opening the paper pack and licking the grease off the inside.

But now he had fifty bucks in his pocket from sitting on a velvet sofa and answering questions about his shitty life.

Physical or sexual?

Jett tripped on the curb, almost falling but catching himself. Something hot and acidic shot through his limbs, making them feel both energized and singed. He shuddered and stuck both hands in his pockets and then removed them almost as quickly. Maybe he’d call that interviewer dude and tell him he’d changed his mind. He didn’t want that interview aired. But in any case, he’d answered the guy’s questions and gotten paid for it. He needed some smack, and he had the money to buy it. A few droplets of relief cooled the inner burn. He could practically taste the illegal mix of chemicals that he’d snort or shoot the minute he had them in hand.

“Hey, Jett.”

He turned to see a prostitute named Dawn, wearing a silver sequined dress that barely covered her crotch, wobbling toward him on her ridiculously high heels. “Wanna party?”

“No.” He had no interest in what Dawn was offering, and he didn’t have time for her bullshit either. He’d smoked with her a couple of times, and she’d gone on and on about how she got left some money from a relative and then had it stolen from her. She never stopped talking about that. She was like a broken record that just kept replaying the same fucked-up song over and over. It was boring as shit and gave him a headache.

What he wanted to tell her was that it didn’t matter that someone had stolen her money. If that someone hadn’t, she would have lost it anyway. People like them didn’t know how to keep good things. That money never had a chance in hell of saving her or changing her life or whatever she imagined it might have done. People like them squanderedanything of value. Knowing didn’t help him change it, and he couldn’t have even expressed those thoughts in words. But he knew it was true. He fucking did. And yet he still wanted. Still craved. And maybe if he’d have ever had anything of value and lost it, he’d be talking about it constantly too.

Jett picked up his speed, easily ditching Dawn, and turned the corner, onto the street where he knew he could score. A car backfired, and Jett startled, blood pressure spiking as he almost tripped again. A little boy in a faded red T-shirt appeared from behind a dumpster at the entrance to an alley. Jett sucked in a breath and jerked to a stop.Oh no. Oh no.The kid’s eyes were glued to him, expression somber, as he walked toward the street where cars were whizzing by. Their eyes held, and Jett stood frozen, his muscles seized up.No!“No,” Jett whispered, but he wasn’t sure if he’d said the word or not.No, no, no!His nerves vibrated and then burst into flames. He yelped, and a woman walking by him on the street jumped aside and then hurried on.

The boy was almost at the curb, about to step into moving traffic.No, please.Jett flung himself forward and ran into the street, arms outstretched as a car swerved, brakes screeching, as Jett barely avoided being hit.

The world grew unbearably bright so that Jett could hardly see. His nerves flamed, scorching the underside of his skin, and he raised his arm to shield his eyes.

---