Page 57 of Death in the Family
I woke up reeking of beer. Ran my hands down my body in search of pain. The room was dark with a seam of light visible under the door. I crawled to it and rattled the handle. Locked.
Then came Bram. He carried an oil-soaked sack of takeout, set it on the dirty cement floor, and flicked on the light. From his messenger bag he pulled a water bottle that dripped with condensation. My mouth was cotton-dry and tasted vile. I wanted that water so bad I could feel it splash over my tongue and numb my teeth, but one at a time the memories scrambled to the surface. Our banter. The drinks. He’d drugged me. Bram drugged them all.
“You hungry?” he said, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The smell wafting from the paper bag provoked a gut-twisting reaction in me, a feeling dangerously close to carnal. He knew I’d be starvingand had picked the most fragrant dishes he could think of, so the part of my brain wired for survival would compel me to eat. What if he’d drugged the food, too?
“Don’t be scared, Shay.”
Without a second’s hesitation, I lunged. Threw my weight into the strike and landed it on his jaw. I’d trained for this, hours upon hours of self-defense and martial arts. No sooner did I feel my knuckles connect than he was on me, his hands tight around my throat.
“That was uncalled for,” he said as he pulled me down to his level. I hit the floor with a thud and a groan. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again. We know each other, remember?” He knelt beside me, and his finger traced my scar. “Soon we’ll know each other better.” Bram sat back down and cracked his jaw. “Here, look, I’ll start. I love Thai food and long walks in the park. Your turn. Where are you from?”
The Ninth Precinct, you fucker, and my squad’s going to tear you apart. “Vermont,” I croaked, my throat agonizingly raw. “Swanton.” I searched his face for something recognizable that went beyond our time at the pub. I tried to see past his features, to parse the characteristics he couldn’t easily alter and compare those to the high school boys I’d known back home. Looking at Bram lifted the hair on my neck. I felt it when we met at O’Dwyer’s, and here it was again. No question about it. I knew him.
“Swanton. What do you know,” he said evenly. “That’s where I’m from, too.”
Careful, Shay. This was early days, no telling what he’d do. He had issues with women, that was a safe bet. But what, if anything, did those other girls do to set him off? What if I did the same thing? It was dawning on me, what this meant. I’d been taken ona Friday night and wasn’t due back at work until Monday. I didn’t have a boyfriend or a roommate and talked to my folks only once a week. Bram had time enough to act out whatever sick fantasy he had planned. Monday was way too late.
Keep him talking, I thought frantically.
Make him forget why he brought you here.
“You’re from Swanton?” I said it with as much surprise as I could muster. Recalling our conversation at the bar repulsed me. A little attention from an attractive man was all it took for me to let down my guard. I’d been the easiest of targets.
“You said we know each other. Did we meet at school?” I asked.
“No.” He smiled a little. “I wasn’t in town for long, but I don’t see how you could forget me.”
“You moved?”
“I left.”
“Oh.” Did I know any runaways from my childhood? The question quickened my pulse.
“Why did you leave?”
“I had to. My mother wouldn’t let me stay.”
It was ludicrous, talking like we were still at the bar swapping stories and smiles, but the detective in me was desperate to figure him out. If I got away, I could weaponize his candor. Prosecute and put the bastard where he belonged. For the time being, my body was free of harm; I had the luxury of skin without lacerations, bruises, pain. When the moment was right, I’d try again. Next time, I’d thrust my thumbs into his eye sockets and press until he crumpled to the ground. One way or another, I’d get out.
But I wasn’t just a detective anymore; I was a victim—of kidnapping right now, but later maybe something worse. I couldn’tlet that side of me take over. One weak moment, one more failed attempt, and I’d be added to his list.Becca.Lanie.Jess.
Shay.
“I don’t recognize your name.”Blake Bram. Was it an arbitrary choice? A reference to someone or someplace in town? What?
Bram chuckled. “That’s okay. I recognized yours.”
Hours upon hours I’d spent leafing through reports about those three dead women, looking for a pattern I could leverage. They were in their late twenties or early thirties, and all used that dating site, but jobs, leisure activities, the way they looked—those couldn’t be more dissimilar. I’d long since concluded that Blake Bram dropped a lure and took whatever he could reel in. But I was no random selection. A year ago my sergeant put everyone’s names and photos on the precinct website. He thought it would help create a sense of community. I was the only detective in Nine, and Jess was found on my turf. Bram knew it would be me on the case and what was on my mind when I sat down, wiped and frustrated, at that bar. All he had to do was follow me from the station house, to the park, to the pub. By stopping in there alone, I’d given him the opening he was waiting for.
“Not school, then,” I said, and his smile stretched wider. Bram was enjoying this game. I had to keep it going. “Were we neighbors?”
“We were way more than that.”
A frisson shot up my backbone. In a way, the realization of what he was saying was worse than any I’d had so far. This psycho wasn’t just a random person from my hometown. We had history. Again I scrutinized his face and Bram watched me with amusement as I flipped through decades-old images in my brain. I rarely thought about my high school days, didn’t keep in touch with old friends. After I left for the city, I left Swanton behind.
When I took too long to speak again Bram said, “I’m hurt. You really don’t remember?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, swallowing a hot gob of bile.
