Page 93 of Pose for Me
I sold my practice to the doctor that filled in for me while I was on my vacation, and I packed everything I wanted to take. After I removed the bars for the cell in my basement, removed the dental chair, and cleaned the room from top to bottom, Jacob helped me remodel the room into a finished basement. By the time we were done with it, it didn’t look remotely close to the dungeon I had it made into all those years ago. I put the house on the market, and it sold within a month.
When I moved to North Carolina, I bought into a practice with two other oral surgeons. I only work three days a week and only do one lengthy surgery a week.
Brock nods and agrees. “The steak is delicious. Lane has always been a good cook, but with us being so busy with cases, I didn’t get to taste his food as much as I wanted to over the ten years I’ve known him.”
It took a while for Brock to grow on me. He was too close to my boyfriend, too eager to want to hang out. Lane told me that Brock was straight and wasn’t trying to date him, but I didn’t like Brock taking my boy’s time.
After Lane gave me the cold shoulder for a few days, I told him I would stop growling at Brock whenever I saw him.
I see why Lane hated when I ignored him—not having Lane’s attention was hell.
I wouldn’t say Brock and I are friends, but I don’t wish him dead anymore, so that’s progress.
Alayna cuts her steak, glancing up at Brock. “Lane never tells me much, so I’ll ask you. How was it, being in the FBI? It had to be scary, right?”
Brock shrugs, and the woman he brought with him looks at him with excitement. Lane told me that he thinks she’s a badge chaser, someone that likes to fuck or date cops or anyone in lawenforcement. I see what he means. She’s practically vibrating as Brock starts speaking.
“It was, and it wasn’t,” he says. “Sometimes, it was boring, other times, it was like we were consumed with chasing down our perp.”
His date leans into him, giving him fuck-me eyes. “Is there a case you never solved? One that you think about often?”
“Plenty. But the one that will always nag at me is The Poser,” Brock says. Lane lets out a soft gasp only I hear. “I feel like we were so close to apprehending him, then poof, he’s no longer dropping bodies. We think he either died or went to prison. No one that prolific just stops killing.” He stares off into space, shaking his head. “I wish we had caught him before I took this job, but it’s all good.”
Jacob peeks at me from the corner of his eye, and Lane squeezes my leg under the table. I simply smile and kiss Lane on the cheek, making him blush.
Clearing his throat, Lane says, “No more talking about serial killers at the dinner table.” Brock’s date looks put-out. “Besides, we don’t do that anymore. We’re instructors now.”
The day after I came back into his life, Lane went to work and asked to transfer to the academy. With his track record of closing cases and well on his way to solving another few in the cold case unit, they were eager for him to teach incoming FBI agents.
When his SSA asked if he might know someone else that would like a job as a secondary instructor, Lane immediately called Brock, who readily accepted.
Lane continues with, “I like it better over there. The things we saw…I don’t think I’ll get a lot of it out of my mind.”
I thread my fingers through his, rubbing against the back of his hand.
While I don’t care about seeing dead bodies in any state they’re in, Lane isn’t like me. So when he said he wanted to seea therapist after a few weeks of us living together, I helped him look for the best one they had in the state. We found one, Dr. Blu York, and Lane has been making tremendous strides under his care.
Though…there is something about Dr. York. When I met him one night after a session between him and Lane ran late, I noted a sort of empty glint in his eyes. The same glint I see in my reflection and when I look at my brother. He must have recognized it in me as well because we immediately took a liking to each other, when I usually hate every man that’s around Lane.
Brock nods in agreement. “You ain’t wrong.”
We’re all silent for a second, the normal people reflecting on the fragility of life, me and Jacob exchanging a glance. It’s hard sometimes to replicate the appropriate feelings.
Alayna saves us from our awkward silence. “Lane, please give me the name of the restaurant before I forget. Jacob would love to go with me.” She stares at Jacob meaningfully, and my brother smiles, nodding once.
For the rest of dinner, we stay away from conversations of murders and serial killers that got away.
I haven’t stopped killing since I’ve been here. That would be insane. But since I sketch Lane and only Lane, I stopped leaving bodies in the open to be found. I also changed my routine. I no longer keep any captives; Lane would draw the line at building a dungeon in the basement. Though, he has enough money for one.
After the death of his parents, he was awarded their entire estate, close to fifty million dollars. He didn’t necessarily want it, but after all they did to him, he felt owed. As well he should.
When I brought up a dungeon just once, Lane got that watery look in his eyes, so I dropped it. I was able to kill in Europe without keeping any captives and didn’t get caught. Hell, someof the bodies haven’t even been found, so if I need to get my fix, I can, and Lane would be none the wiser.
After we eat dinner and talk for a few more hours, the party breaks up. Jacob gives me a one-armed hug, and we plan to have lunch the next day. Lane embraces Brock and his date—reluctantly—and gives Alayna the name of the restaurant before wrapping her into his arms. My sister-in-law hugs me and whispers, “You’d better treat him right.”
“Don’t have to worry about that,” I tell her honestly. I’d never do anything to hurt my boy.
After we see everyone out, Lane collapses on the couch, his eyes drifting shut.
