Page 57 of Deja Who
THIRTY
Detective Preston was talking like this was just another day on the job. Which for him, it was.
“The way it looked... our crime scene guys say it looks like your mom was trying to stop him, or her, from leaving.”
Leah watched his face as he talked at her and knew that in 1941 his name was Aaron DeSalvo and he loved his big brother more than anything. His big brother protected him from their father; his big brother would goad his father into beatinghiminstead of Aaron. His father knocked out all of Mama’s teeth and his father broke Mama’s fingers and was capable of much worse and his wonderful brother would pull that rage towardhimself, his brother took beatings meant for Aaron and Aaron was so, so grateful.
And when his big brother killed neighborhood pets Aaron covered for him. And when his big brother started stealing and beating people Aaron covered for him, and when his big brotherstarted stealing cars Aaron covered for him, and when his brother started strangling old ladies Aaron covered for him, and when his brother started strangling young ladies Aaron covered for him, and when his brother was charged with rape Aaron defended him, and when his brother confessed Aaron defended him, and when his brother went to prison Aaron defended him, and when he was killed in prison by a person or persons unknown Aaron gave up, he gave up and eventually he died a lonely, dismal death and no one cared, or noticed.
And his beloved big brother was Albert DeSalvo, his beloved big brother was the Boston Strangler.
So here he was, life number two, Detective Preston, who has convinced himself he is an avenger, here he was atoning for a past life by investigating murders in this life and it wasn’t just a job, not to Detective Preston, and Leah knew these things about him and didn’t care.
Leah watched Detective Preston’s lips move and seriously considered hitting him,bludgeoninghim, with his past life, hitting him over and over again until he would shut up shut upshut upabout her, about her mother, about the dark moon of Leah’s childhood.
But she didn’t do that to him. And she wasn’t quite sure why. Archer, maybe? But maybe not. Whatever the reason, Detective Preston, né Aaron DeSalvo, was still talking.
Oh, God, let him soon stop talking.
“This is total speculation, but she maybe thought you were the next stop,” the Boston Strangler’s brother continued, “so she threw herself at him or her. The killer must have panicked or maybe she made more noise than he planned... he had to leave before he finished her. He probably thought it wouldn’t take long,he’d bludgeoned her pretty thorough—ah—” Preston cut himself off, remembering this was a civilian next of kin. He was, of course, used to dealing with Insighters in the course of his work. He had just forgotten, for a moment. Insighters experienced loss, sure. It was hard to think of them as victims, though. “She must have found her cell phone and...” He shrugged.
Leah heard a roaring in her ears
(how odd, the ocean? how odd, what is that?)
as the implication sank in. “She tried to warn me,” she managed in a voice that cracked and shook, a voice that made Archer’s eyes go wide with alarm, a voice that made him seize her arm. “While she was dying. She tried to warn me. And I wouldn’t take the call.”
And then the world went away for a while.
