Marrow

KYRIE

It’s been just over a week at Jack’s, and I already know that no amount of time would be enough.

I savor every moment. Meals next to one another at the dining table, a vase of blue flowers always standing as the simple centerpiece. Jack waiting at my office door so we can go home together after work. Running side-by-side along the river with Cornetto, following the winding path against the current as the gray water snakes by. Making love when we want, where we want. Some nights, I wake to whispers at my ear, Jack already sliding into me, his touch caressing my breasts, dipping down to paint my clit with the arousal gathered at my entrance, as though my body was ready before my mind was. The beautiful torture of biting down on the words I want to say, the love I feel that only deepens as these moments grow around us like vines.

I want to believe it could be like this.

That I’m happy.

But anxiety also breaks over me like a constant wave, always threatening to drown me in the swell.

I know this solution of staying at Jack’s is only temporary. Though Hayes still lurks at the campus daily, he’ll give up in time when we inevitably find a way to lure him away. And though Jack hasn’t said anything further about his plans beyond West Paine, I still know he’s intending to leave. The Canadian immigration documents that were in the kitchen drawer disappeared the day after I decided to stay.

I need to remain focused. Practical. Because I don’t know the difference between fantasy and reality anymore.

So, I try not to become embedded in this life. I try to change up my routine. Wake up early one day. Late the next. Work into the evening one day. Leave early the next. Add more time in the field studying the creatures that come and go. I manage to slip away for a few hours mid-week to replenish Colby’s supplies of MREs, the military Meals Ready-to-Eat rations that keep him fed, though he’s lost a little weight with the stress of captivity. As usual, he begs for his release, but I feel nothing for his pleas. I know the things he’s done and those he would continue to do if I let him go. Men like him don’t change. Some sickness can’t be cured. Some beasts need to be put down.

Other than my brief foray to the cabin, Jack’s protective gaze feels like a ghostly, watchful presence, though I don’t see him on campus any more than I did before. It’s hard to believe, given how long I’ve watched him, but perhaps I’m even more attuned to him now. But his presence is not suffocating. It’s actually strangely liberating. He never tries to tell me what to do or where to go, he’s just there, like an extra barrier between me and Hayes, even though I rarely run into him when moving from one class or building to the next.

And perhaps as a result of Jack’s influence, Hayes usually leaves me alone.

…usually.

As he stands in the back of my lecture hall, pressed to the shadows at the top of the stadium seating near the exit, I know that Hayes is starting to grow restless. I too am acquainted with the feeling of an obsession taking hold, how its roots grow too deep to dig out.

And his obsession isn’t truly with me. I know Hayes has an affinity for me. He still sees me as the girl I once was, the one who survived a vicious attack from a prolific serial killer. He still sees my mask, and maybe he’ll never get a hint of what lays beneath. But we’re all just animals in the end. How long can those virtuous ideals of capturing a killer withstand his obsession if I’m the key to unlocking his prize?

I pull my gaze away from him and onto my laptop, advancing the slides displayed behind me with the remote in my hand. The image is one of a badly decomposed body in an open field with no tree cover nearby. I click once more for a closer shot of the remains, the body skeletonized but the bones still present and articulated. My gaze passes over the second-year undergraduate Scavenger Behavior and Forensic Investigation class. “What could a Forensic Investigator infer from the body in this state, given the environment pictured?”

Several students raise their hands. I point to Maisie, a quiet but smart, thoughtful student seated in the third row. “The bones are all still in place, despite the open location. Avian scavengers would’ve had clear access to the body, but other vertebrate scavengers would too. The skeletal remains would likely be disarticulated and distributed over a wider area if animals had access. It’s possible the body was moved there after insect colonization was complete.”

“Good, Maisie,” I say, and she beams with the compliment. “Potential confounding factors to this theory?”Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

She thinks on it for a moment. “Clothing, though there doesn’t appear to be any… Umm, weather?”

“How so?”

“Weather affects the behavior of scavengers, making it less likely that they would interact with the body on days of heavy rain or poor conditions.”

“That’s right. They don’t like to get drenched any more than we do, in part because of the caloric expenditure required to stay warm. And also because it just sucks,” I say, advancing the slide to one of Sunny Bunny lying curled beneath the low-hanging boughs of some pines, her fur soaked from a heavy downpour. She looks miserable, and I smile when the class laughs.

“In advance of class next week, I want you to read Haglund’s Stages of Canid-Assisted Scavenging papers from the syllabus and be prepared to discuss what the lack of skeletal remains can tell us about a decomposition site and potential time of death,” I say as the students start packing up their things to rush to their next classes. “And I almost hate to remind you, but final exams are in just a couple of weeks, folks, so start studying now. I’ll be extending my open office hours from two to four on Tuesdays and Thursdays until then.”

Students shoot me grateful smiles. A few hang back to ask probing questions about finals, but I only give them enough information to point them in the right direction. The rest is up to them and their own drive to succeed.

When the last students filter out of the lecture hall, it’s just me and former agent Eric Hayes.

“Agent Hayes,” I say, testing his reaction to the moniker. He gives none, which I find a little worrying. His lie comes too easily. “Enjoy learning about scavengers?”

“Please, call me Eric,” he says as he lands on the final step. His expression warms with pride. “And it was fascinating, but I enjoy seeing you thrive more.”

I give him my winning smile, this one sweet and a little demure.

Smiles sell, baby!

“What can I do for you today, Eric?” I slip on my coat and pack my laptop into my bag, casting him a cursory glance as he takes a few steps closer to the podium.

“I wanted to check in, find out how you were doing. I’ve seen you around but we haven’t had a chance to talk properly in a while. How’s the hand healing?”

“Fine now, thanks,” I say, glancing down at the red slash, the flesh still tender beneath the scar. Jack removed the stitches earlier in the week and I almost miss them, the way they’d tug at my skin and catch in my hair. Between their removal and Jack’s reacquisition of his lighter, I feel somehow bare. Exposed.

“I followed up about the broken award that Dr. Sorensen replaced. That was…surprising.”

I give Hayes a furrowed brow, tucking my papers into my laptop bag and zipping it closed. My fingers stay looped through the small handle to give myself camouflage for controlling my simmering rage. “How so?”

“From what I heard, there was animosity between you and Dr. Sorensen.”

I tilt my head, trying on a pensive expression. “I wouldn’t say animosity…”

…we only wanted to kill and potentially frame one other for murder some of the time…

Hayes gives a chuckle that sounds too much like a father trying to dig out information on his daughter’s bad boy love interest. “Well, it seems to have eased now. From what I’ve heard, you’re staying at his place…is that correct?”

“Word travels fast on campus,” I reply with a shrug.

“Then perhaps you can enlighten me as to Dr. Sorensen’s whereabouts the weekend before last.”

My heart pumps crystals of ice through my veins. Gooseflesh prickles across my arms, the frozen kiss of alarm tingling in my skin. “What’s this about, Eric?”

Hayes takes in a heavy lungful of air, pushing it through his thin, pursed lips. He wants to make it look like whatever he’s about to say is unfortunate news, but I can see the truth in his eyes. He’s excited.

“There was a body recovered last week, not far from state lines. It’s officially a murder investigation,” Hayes replies as he takes a step closer. “The man had a link to another victim of the Silent Slayer. But he’s from Lakeport, Kyrie. That’s not even an hour from here, in the Tri-City region. Disturbingly close to where the Slayer’s only survivor lives, don’t you think?”

I cackle an incredulous laugh, letting it die as though I’m astounded. “And your theory is what, exactly?”

“Where was Dr. Sorensen that weekend, do you know?”

There’s a long pause of silence. My shoulders tense. My brow furrows. I catch the fleeting glimmer of pity in Hayes’s eyes. “You think…you think Jack has something to do with it? Fucking Jack Sorensen, who has spent his entire renowned career improving techniques for catching criminals?”

My act is effortless. So convincing that I almost buy it.

And though Hayes might buy it too, it’s only endearing him to me, not to Jack. He looks at me as though I’ve been fucked out of my senses.

“Do you know where he was, Kyrie?” Hayes asks, his voice soft as he steps closer. I have to dig my nails into the red slash on my palm around the handle of the laptop bag to keep from strangling him with the strap.

“Do you know where Brad Thompson was?” I counter. “Since you’re so curious about my colleagues, perhaps you should start with the one who was recently arrested.”

“Dr. Thompson has an alibi for that weekend. I want to know about Dr. Sorensen’s whereabouts.”

“He was with me,” I reply, struggling not to infuse my words with venom. “We were both in the lab late on Friday. You came by my place Saturday morning. I was with him again Saturday evening, into the night. He left early in the morning to visit his mother on Sunday, and I heard from him on his way home.”

“So…you weren’t with him the entire time that weekend, correct? There were periods when you were alone?”

“Are you really doing this? Asking me if Dr. Sorensen is the fucking serial killer who murdered my family?”

Agent Hayes sighs, and to his credit, he does an admirable job of keeping his frustration in check. “Isobel—” I shoot him a death glare, realizing too late his use of my old name might have been a tactic to unnerve me and not a benign slip “—Kyrie, you need to understand there might be more to his interest in you than you think. He was in Ashgrove when you lived there. I know he came to West Paine before you, but Dr. Cannon said that Dr. Sorensen had plans to move at the time when you arrived. He wasn’t going to renew his contract with the university. And then you showed up, and that very same week he decided to change course and stay.”

“Surely you had a profile of the killer you were looking for,” I say, using every ounce of self-control to sound genuine and not sarcastic. “Does Jack have anything to do with that profile whatsoever?”

“Profiles are not built and set in stone, Kyrie. They are refined with the evidence that comes to light as the case evolves.”

“I can’t help but notice that you didn’t actually answer my question, Mr. Hayes. Since we’re not beyond making assumptions, it seems, I’ll assume that Jack does not in fact fit the parameters of your profile for the Silent Slayer. Instead, you’re inferring Jack’s viability as a suspect on the fact that we lived in the same city and that he happened to visit a chronically ill relative in the same state as a murder victim.”

Hayes leans forward, just a little, as though he’s imploring me to see something that I’m blind to. “You could be in significant danger. You said in your police reports that the Slayer was wearing a mask when he attacked,” he presses, not knowing I lied so easily to authorities to protect my angel of vengeance. “Can you be sure it’s not Dr. Sorensen?”

“Yes, I can be sure. It’s not the same man.”

“You suffered an extremely traumatic event that has negatively impacted your mental health, and he could be using that to his advantage. Is it possible you’re being manipulated?”

I’m seething. Burning. I want to tear his trachea from his throat, but I can’t eliminate the only leverage I have. The one where Hayes believes I could only ever be a victim.

Hayes takes one step closer. There’s a steely determination in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A predatory gaze.

I take a step back.

“What you went through back in Ashgrove was exceptionally difficult, Kyrie. It must have had a significant and lasting impact on your psychological well-being.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you. You’ve read the evaluations I was forced to undergo until I aged out of state care.”

“Of course I did. It was my job.”

Was.

I catch my tongue between my molars to keep from spilling my thoughts. Blood threads across my tastebuds.

“You can tell me, Kyrie.”

“Mr. Hayes, this is a dangerous leap of spurious claims—”

“You must feel very alone and confused,” he says, inching closer. “If you just tell me the truth, I can find a way to help you. We can—”

“Good afternoon, Agent Hayes,” a voice says from the doors, the timbre deep and smooth.

It’s pure menace disguised beneath a thin veil of civility.

Hayes and I both look toward the back of the room where Jack emerges from the shadows, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he slowly descends the first few steps of the aisle between the tiered seating. “I certainly hope you’re not cornering my girlfriend alone in a lecture hall,” he says.

Jack gives me a devastating grin, and my heart tumbles through my chest.

He’s as beautiful as sin. As lethal as a sword.

And sometimes, his timing is complete shit.

I can tell by the way Jack’s gaze slides between me and Hayes that he only caught part of the conversation, the part where it sounds like Hayes is trying to get me to confess to murder. He looks ready to eviscerate Hayes and smear his entrails across the lecture hall.

Hayes clears his throat and straightens, lifting the pressure of his encroaching presence. “Dr. Sorensen. Good to see you again. I would never do anything to make Kyrie feel threatened in such a manner.”

“Really…” Jack keeps glancing at me as though asking a question, but it’s not for confirmation of Hayes’s assertion.

It’s as though he’s asking me permission to kill.

And I know in that instant, with absolute certainty, that he would do it.

He would revel in it. He would never take his eyes from mine as he sliced through flesh and spilled blood across the floor. He would fuck me in the sticky warmth. He wouldn’t stop until I was screaming his name.

The power to command one of the most lethal predators on the planet rests in my scarred palm. And the temptation is intoxicating.

I press my nails harder into my skin and give Jack a nearly imperceptible shake of my head.

Jack’s eyes narrow as they sharpen on Hayes and remain there. “Did you ask Kyrie if that’s how she felt? Or did you just assume she was comfortable being alone with an unfamiliar man in a soundproofed room?”

Hayes glances at me as I slide my laptop bag off the table and take another step back. “In case you need a reminder, Dr. Sorensen, I am a law enforcement agent. I was doing my job, asking her details related to a recent murder investigation,” Hayes replies, avoiding the question of my comfort altogether. As Jack descends the last steps and rounds the podium to stop beside me, Hayes puts his hands on his hips, pushing back the hem of his brown suit jacket in a purposeful display of the gun holstered at his side. “She tells me she was with you the weekend before last, is that correct?”

“Yes. It is.”

“The whole weekend?”

“Nearly.”

“Except for when you crossed state lines on Sunday morning.”

“Correct.”

“What reason would you have to do that, exactly?”

“To visit my mother at Hope Springs Medical Institute.”

“And Kyrie didn’t go with you?”

“No.” Jack’s eyes darken for a flash but he knows better than to lie, even if he hates this truth. “I called her on my way home. She’d just gotten in from a run with her dog.”

Actually, I’d just gotten home from taking Cornetto to check on Colby at the cabin, but I’m not about to correct him.

There’s a moment of taut silence, stretched thin until I’m desperate to fill it, a void where there should be voices. I know better than to give a man like Hayes more answers than he’s asked for, but the silence still claws and burrows into my brain like vermin.

“I will endeavor to take Kyrie with me next time, if that appeases you,” Jack says in his cool, confident tone, as though he knows I can’t stand the quiet much longer. I resist the urge to groan at how Hayes might take his words.

The former agent advances a step and I slide my hand into Jack’s, the motion snagging Hayes’s attention. “If you’ll excuse us, we have a budget meeting in the Bass research building in ten minutes,” I say as Jack pulls my bag from my grasp, his other hand tensing around mine. “Have a good day, Mr. Hayes.”

Hayes gives a tight nod but says nothing further as we stride away.

I don’t look back, but I know he’s watching.

Jack and I remain silent as we exit the building, our hands still clasped, even when we’re outside and the blast of icy air hits our exposed skin. All pretense could be swept away by the wind. But I hold on, at least until I can coil my newly forming plans around myself, the wisps and threads of spinning thoughts as fine and strong as spider silk.

I look up at Jack as we walk, staring long enough for him to meet my gaze. His eyes narrow at my beaming smile. “I’m your girlfriend?”

His eyes sharpen further. “Really? That is what you take away from that conversation?”

I shrug as my smile blooms brighter. “It’s the only unexpected thing from it, really. I’d hoped the Sebastian idea would work, but it was a gamble.” I focus on the path ahead before Jack can delve too deeply into the details of my expression. “Not an ideal result, but not our last resort.”

“Not ideal…Your ability to see on the positive side of certain situations is…distressing.” Jack lets go of my hand, but only long enough to drape his arm across my shoulders and pull me into his side. “He thinks you’re unhinged,” he says against the shell of my ear, keeping his voice low as we pass a group of unfamiliar students.

I snort a laugh. “He’s not wrong.”

“He obviously has concerns about both of us if he’s asking about my trip.”

“And you did such a good job making yourself look like the picture of innocence by saying you’d take me along next time. That didn’t sound threatening at all.”

“I need his attention off you, elskede.”

I look up and meet Jack’s eyes. The moment I do is the one that confirms that I need to act now, while I have the advantage with Hayes. Because fury isn’t the only fire to brighten the mercury surrounding Jack’s dilated pupils.

Excitement. A thirst that burns. For our kind, killing is not just a desire, but a need, and once it takes hold it will not let go.

Jack is going to hunt him. And my instinct tells me that Hayes will be ready if he does.

Jack’s jaw tics as his gaze rakes across my face. He manages to subdue his predatory craving, but not fast enough. “We need to get Hayes out of the picture soon, before he stumbles on something viable to follow. The longer he remains, the greater the risk.”

He’s right, of course. Hayes is not all that different to us. Feral. Unpredictable. Hayes is beholden to no process, to no master but his obsession.

I give Jack a sparkling smile, letting it touch my eyes before I turn my attention to the building in the distance.

“Don’t worry, petal,” I reply, patting Jack’s hand. “I’ve got a plan.”

There’s a lengthy pause as we continue down the winding path.

“Care to share?”

“Not yet, no.”

Jack grumbles something in Danish but doesn’t let go, not even as we fall into silence, nor as we pass a trio of forensic students who greet us with grins that are ready for gossip. It’s only once we’re in the research lab that any space grows between us, and for the first time, the distance is a relief.

A breath of air before the plunge into an abyss.