Page 64 of Aftermath
Stone reappeared, carrying my purse I left inside. “I let them know your stomach wasn’t feeling so well, and that I would be taking you home to rest.”
I was still shaking. All I could manage was a curt nod. Stone wrapped an arm around me and led me back to the car.
The warmth of his body radiated with me tucked into his side. I imagined how comforting it would be to get used to it, a thought I barely allowed myself to even consider.
If he knew the truth, he would never touch me.
He’d stare at me with that same look I saw the day I told Jake.
All he’d done was protect me, stand up for me. It wasn’t fair to make the assumption. I knew that; I knew it wasn’t rational. Yet, every time I found myself wanting to give in, to see if I wasn’t imagining every small touch or glance he gave, I found myself right back in that moment and remembered the pain. It wasn’t a chance I was willing to take.
If Winston Beck broke my heart, I’d never recover.
14
STONE
I drove backto the rental, the drive completely silent. Len tucked her knees into her chest in the passenger seat and wrapped her arms around them. Her dress fell completely back, exposing more of her skin, but I kept my eyes glued to the road, knowing she didn’t realize.
It wasn’t hard to piece together what she had lost.
It was even easier to conclude that the man she was with before was an absolute despicable human.I saw the way he broke her, the utter sadness in her eyes when she realized her brother had the one thing she lost.
A new sense of rage built in me for what the Coastal Killer had done to her. I’d read the report, memorized every single wound inflicted on her. A stab to the lower abdomen. That was all it took. I didn’t need to be a doctor to understand what the consequences of that single wound could have been.
I helped Len out of the car, taking her hand and leading her into the house. She mindlessly followed, and I wasn’t certain she was even fully there.
We made our way inside, and she barely said anything before parting ways.
“Goodnight, Lenny,” I called after her as she dragged her feet up the steps.
“Goodnight,” her faint voice trailed back down to me.
I wandered into the kitchen, my mind far too awake now to sleep yet.
I found myself staring down the glass bottle that sat tauntingly on the counter in front of me. I brought it with me, and every second it sat there, I regretted it.
Beside the bottle, I noticed a new vase of flowers. Daisies sat in water, fully bloomed, a small touch of Len in the space.
The rage I felt at the Coastal Killer and the sadness I felt for everything Len lost was enough to trigger that horrible pit inside me trying to bury me in oblivion.
It was dragging up old memories I didn’t want to face.
Too familiar with the consequences of loss, my heart ached for Len. It wasn’t the same, but I knew that horrible feeling filling her, the same one that made me turn to alcohol and drugs when Blythe died in my arms.
I wanted to tell her that, to be there for her, but I saw the way she flinched at my touch.
She needed space, and I respected that, but as long as she kept showing up and letting me, I would continue to protect her, to keep her safe. And now, I vowed to myself as I turned away from the bottle glaring at me, I would make sure Len never felt the same excruciating pain I’d seen haunting her eyes tonight ever again.
* * *
The next few days, we set to work sorting through all the papers the sheriff gave us. Len helped without complaint, but I could tell she was going through the motions. I needed something to drag her out of it, distract her mind.
I was failing miserably.
My eyes glanced over the list of calls the sheriff’s office responded to at the pub in the months leading up to the killings. Bar scuffles, couple fighting after too many drinks, a few medical calls, but nothing close to standing out as significant.
“I’m finding a lot of discrepancies across each of these. Is that normal?” she asked, holding up the case reports I’d given her for half the victims.
