Protector. Part 19

Emily crossed to the window and gingerly opened it. She strained her neck outside the window. Unfortunately, the large sycamore tree obscured her view. The air was sweet and slightly cool. She turned back to her closed bedroom door and considered her options. She had made that promise to Jane about never going outside. But all she wanted was to sit out on the roof outside her bedroom window. Technically, that wasn't "going outside," she convinced herself, since the roof was attached to the house. And those stars and that quarter moon were calling her.

The decision was made. Emily rotated the window open and quietly undid the screen, setting it onto the carpet and out of sight. She crawled out onto the damp roof and pulled the window shut. As she scooted her b.u.t.t across the wooden shingles, she looked up at the night sky. Emily watched the moon duck behind a bank of clouds. The sound of a car caught her attention. Looking down into the alley, Emily watched the high beams of the patrol car come into view. Even though the sycamore tree obscured her, she flattened her body against the roof until the car rolled past her house.

She sat up as a strong wind blasted across the backyard. Within seconds, the clouds completely obscured the moon's radiance. Several minutes later, Emily felt the plop-plop of fat raindrops falling on her head. Discouraged, she made her way back up the roof and pulled on the bedroom window. But the window wouldn't budge. This had happened several times before due to a defect in the window's rotation bar. The answer? She would crawl down the roof and grab hold of the large sycamore branch that rested against the house. Then, she could creep across the branch and make her way down the tree. Once on terra firma, she would cross to the kitchen door, lift the planter pot that sat by the door and pull out the hidden key. She'd unlock the door, replace the key, walk in, lock the door and sneak back upstairs to her bedroom via the slender kitchen hallway instead of through the living room. It was all so simple and a great plan in Emily's young mind. If she did everything right, she figured Jane would never know she snuck out of the house.

Crack!

Jane woke up with a start. The sound of an angry wind combined with the fast surge of rain greeted her. She was p.i.s.sed with herself for falling asleep and checked the nearby clock. Her best guesstimate was that she'd been asleep for less than ten minutes. The house was stonecold quiet-the ant.i.thesis of the fury that whirled outside the window. But something didn't feel right to Jane. Jane got off the couch and walked to the bottom of the stairs. She stared up at Emily's bedroom and the closed door before ascending the stairs.

Outside, Emily carefully inched down the roof and crawled onto the sycamore branch. Like a skilled climber, she maneuvered her body down the branch, slid onto the lower branches and finally jumped the few feet to the wet lawn. As she hit the earth, the sky opened up and released an enormous torrent of rain. Her denim jumper quickly became soaked as she crossed to the back door. The kitchen light was turned off. Emily craned her neck to see if she could detect Jane's location. Unfortunately, her diminutive height prevented her from fully canva.s.sing the entire area. She uncovered the hidden key from underneath the planter and quietly unlocked the door.

Jane arrived at Emily's bedroom door. "Emily?" she said softly. "Are you asleep?" No answer. Jane opened the door. She was immediately greeted by the eerie shadow play of cutout stars across the walls and ceiling that emanated from the bedside lamp. "Emily?" she said with an edge of concern. Jane flicked on the overhead light. "Emily!" Jane lunged for the closet and threw open the door. "Emily!" She dropped to the floor and looked under the bed. Her heart pounded and her breathing became labored. A million thoughts raced through her head, none of them pleasant. Her head spun so frantically that Jane failed to see the window screen leaning against the wall underneath the unruly window.

Crack!

Jane turned quickly toward the sound. She leaned her head outside the bedroom door. "Emily?" No response.

Emily made it through the kitchen in the darkness when she realized she forgot to replace the hidden key. Cautiously, she walked back to the door and turned the k.n.o.b slightly. It was at that exact moment that she heard Jane calling her from upstairs. Emily jerked backward, unlatching the door halfway. She panicked and crossed back into the shadows of the kitchen.

"Emily!" Jane stood on the landing outside Emily's bedroom. The wind howled outside, bending tree branches and slapping rain against the front windows.

Crash!

Jane spun around. She leaned over the staircase and yelled. "Emily!"

Crack!

Jane felt beads of cold sweat inch across her neck. "s.h.i.t!" she exclaimed. She leapt down the staircase, hitting the bottom with a hard skid.

Slam!

Jane turned toward the sound. It came from the kitchen.

Tat, tat, tat, tat, tat!

Jane stiffened. She looked down the hallway that led into the kitchen and saw only darkness.

"Emily!" she yelled, her voice filled with terror. The wind came up again.

Bam!

Jane unsnapped her shoulder holster and carefully pulled out her pistol. She positioned herself against the living room wall, sliding her body toward the kitchen entrance. Upon reaching the light switch, she flicked it off, leaving only the dim lamp by the couch to illuminate the house. When she was about three feet from the open doorway that led into the kitchen, she stopped and listened. The wind and rain sounded closer.

Slam! Tat-tat-tat!

Jane quickly realized the source of the sound. The back door had swung open and was banging against the kitchen wall. But how could that happen? Jane thought. She locked it. Jane steadied herself, then curved her body around the doorjamb, stretching her Glock in front of her. The room was pitch-black. The kitchen door slammed hard against the wall as another powerful gust of wind blew through the house, sending in a flurry of leaves and debris from the backyard.

Jane waited, Glock outstretched. She tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness but it was useless. Nothing made sense. Her head pounded and her stomach churned with the ominous possibilities. The sound of cracking and crashing reached deafening levels. She could stand there with her pistol forward or she could make a bold move. Jane opted for the latter and reached over to the light switch.

Flick!

The kitchen shone with light. Suddenly, there was movement to her right and Jane lowered her gun to the target, pressing her finger against the trigger.

"No!" Emily screamed.

Jane caught herself a millisecond before pressing the trigger. Still in a state of shock and confusion, Jane kept the pistol outstretched toward Emily, who stood paralyzed with fear, dripping small puddles of rainwater from her soaked clothes onto the kitchen floor.

It took Jane a good second or two to sort out the scene. Her heart was beating so rapidly that she was sure Emily could hear it. Jane lowered her Glock, never taking her eyes off of Emily. The silence was thick against a backdrop of chaos from the wind and rain. Jane secured the pistol in her holster as a growing rage swelled inside her. "I could have killed you!" Jane seethed. Emily stood still, staring at Jane. "What in the h.e.l.l are you doing?!" Jane screamed. Emily tensed up. "I asked you a f.u.c.king question!" Jane yelled as she reached out and grabbed a clump of Emily's hair, pulled her head back and got into her face. "What is wrong with you?" Jane exploded. She pulled harder on Emily's hair. "I told you never to go outside and what do you do!"

"I . . . I . . ." Emily stumbled on her words.

"I, I, I what? What part of 'don't go outside' do you not understand?"

"I'm sorry-"

Jane let go of Emily's hair and held her hard by the shoulders. "Sorry, my a.s.s! I called out to you and you said nothing! I could have killed you! Do you understand? Do you understand?"

And that's when it happened. Those three words ignited an inferno within Jane that separated her from her body. She slammed Emily against the kitchen wall. "Do you understand? " Jane pulled Emily away from the wall and pushed her backward toward the open kitchen door. Emily regained her balance and walked backward as Jane moved toward her. "Do you understand?" Jane lunged toward Emily, pushing the child near the open kitchen door. Emily fell against the wall as Jane came straight at her. In an instant, Emily fled to her right into the living room.

The child quickly walked backward through the living room, b.u.mping into chairs and tables. Jane stood in the doorway that led into the living room. "Don't you walk away from me!" Jane hollered above the roar of the punishing storm. She raced through the living room after Emily. The child stumbled, allowing Jane to get closer. She snagged Emily by the straps of her soaked denim jumper and shook her. "I'm not f.u.c.king done with you! You understand me?"

Emily jerked free of Jane's grip and jumped onto the couch. Jane tried to grab her but Emily was able to swing her body over the back of the couch, avoiding Jane's grasp. "You want to play hardball?" Jane yelled. "Is that what you want?" Emily shot around the couch to her right. Jane was way ahead of her. As Emily rounded the corner of the couch, Jane caught her by the back of her jumper. "You think you can run from me?" Jane screamed as she jerked Emily back toward her. Emily's back fell against Jane's chest. Jane held tightly onto the back straps of Emily's jumper, wedging her white-knuckled fist into the girl's spine. "What the f.u.c.k is wrong with you?" Jane kept her fingers wrapped around the straps as she forcefully pushed Emily forward, first several steps and then again, shoving her abruptly two and three feet at a time. "You think you're so smart!" Jane pushed Emily forward, edging her closer to the staircase. "Huh? You think you're so f.u.c.king smart?" Another sharp jab in Emily's spine forced the child another several feet. "Well, you're not smart! Do you hear me?" The two were now at the foot of the stairs. "I asked you a question!"

With that, Jane let go of Emily's straps and angrily turned her around to face her. "I asked you a question!" she screamed. Emily said nothing. With that, Jane shoved Emily backward. The child fell on the inclining stairs. Jane leaned down, grabbed Emily by her shoulder strap, inadvertently also clutching the small squeezable flashlight that was attached to the strap. Jane raised her right fist into the air and was just about to slam it into Emily's face when her left hand squeezed the flashlight. The pinpoint light shone directly in her eye.

Everything stopped.

Jane's fist froze in the air as the piercing light yanked Jane back into her body. She still felt anger but it was quickly tempered by a sudden awareness of what she was about to do. Jane lowered her fist and pulled away from Emily. As the moment crystallized and the realization of what just transpired sunk in, Jane began to shake. Emily reached out her hand to Jane. "Don't!" Jane said, her voice trembling. "Leave me alone!" Jane stood upright. "Go upstairs, Emily," she said, almost in a whisper. Emily sat up, deeply concerned for Jane. "Go upstairs," Jane whispered. "And stay there."

Reluctantly, Emily stood up and climbed the stairs, looking backward every so often before retreating into her bedroom and closing the door.

Jane closed her eyes, in shock by what occurred. After five minutes, she walked into the living room and pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket. Slumping onto the couch, she dialed Weyler's home phone number. After two rings, he answered.

"h.e.l.lo," Weyler said.

"You need to come over here," Jane said almost inaudibly.

"Jane? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"I'm no good," Her voice was choked with emotion. "I'm no d.a.m.n good."

And then she hung up.

Chapter 14.

Jane knew it was all over.

The career she had worked so hard for was about to end. Once Weyler found out from Emily that Jane had violently shoved her around and came within seconds of punching her in the face, it was only a matter of his signature on an official page of Department letterhead that would seal her termination. What else could he do? Jane was already on shaky ground. For Weyler to try and figure out another Department loophole or ask for another favor from Bra.s.s would only make him look ineffective.

Jane sat in the stone-cold silence, staring into the void. There was an eerie, pervasive calm within her. It was as though the rush of rage that welled up and exploded had perversely nourished her soul. Her hands were no longer shaking. Her breathing was back to normal. She felt strangely composed.

Was this what it felt like to go mad? Was this what it felt like to be evil? What was the next step? How completely would the darkness embrace her and drive her deeper into the black hole? When would the voices start telling her to do things to herself and to others and at what point would she comply? Those questions ran through Jane's mind as she sat on the couch waiting for Weyler. All she knew for sure at that moment was that the apple did not fall far from the tree. For better or worse, she was her father's daughter.

The kitchen door that led to the backyard was still wide open. The wind and rain had subsided, replaced by a sinister stillness. Jane checked the living room clock and figured it would take Weyler about ten minutes to arrive. She looked down at the overturned coffee table and the scattering of Emily's drawings and colored pencils strewn across the floor. A choice had to be made. She could turn the table upright, replace the drawings and pencils, close the kitchen door and make the place look presentable or she could leave everything as it was. What was the use? She was doomed anyway. She stood up and lit a cigarette and then for some reason, righted the coffee table. A few minutes later, she gathered the drawings and pencils. Another quick look at the clock. Weyler would be arriving in five minutes. It was like waiting for the judge to show up and declare your sentence.

Outside, Jane heard the patrol car roll down the back alley. She crossed into the kitchen and watched as the headlights bounced off the back fence before disappearing. Jane closed the kitchen door, locked it and started back into the living room when she turned back again. With an att.i.tude of indifference, she secured the bolt on the door, took a look around the kitchen and flipped off the light.

Minutes later, Weyler knocked on the front door. Jane took a hard drag on her cigarette as she walked across the room and opened the door. Even though Jane was sure she had roused Weyler from a comfortable night in front of PBS, he looked as dapper as ever in his suit and silk tie. She regarded him briefly, saying nothing and walked back into the living room. Weyler entered, looked around the entry hall, closed the door and followed Jane.

"What happened?" Weyler said, concerned.

Jane couldn't look him in the eye. Instead, she puffed on her cigarette and kept her head bent toward the floor. "It's bad, boss," she said, humiliated, in a half-whisper.

Weyler tensed. "What is it?"

"I . . . I f.u.c.ked up."

He closely observed Jane. "Did she reveal something to you?"

Jane let out a snort of contempt. "Oh, G.o.d. Are we back to that bulls.h.i.t?"

"Jane," Weyler replied, irritated. "What happened?"

"Why don't you go upstairs and ask Emily that question." She turned away from Weyler, taking nervous drags on her cigarette.

"I'd rather hear it from you."

"No. You need to hear the whole mess from her." Weyler weighed the situation before turning and walking up the stairs. Jane heard him knock on her bedroom door, announce himself, then open her door.

It was just about over for Jane. Thirteen years of hard work. Thirteen years of clawing her way into homicide and it was all going to be over in a matter of minutes. She heard the upstairs door open and close and the sound of Weyler's feet descending the staircase. He stood on the landing, staring at Jane. She flicked her cigarette into the fireplace and turned to Weyler. "So, how does this play out?" she asked.

"How do you mean?" Weyler said stonefaced.

"What's the protocol?"

Weyler casually crossed into the living room. "Protocol?"

Jane observed Weyler. He was far too calm. "What's the Department protocol to determine my removal?"

"Removal?" Weyler said confused. "If I removed detectives for yelling at their witnesses, I wouldn't have anyone left!"

"Yelling?" Jane was stunned and not sure what to think.

"Look, I'm not saying I approve of your shouting at the child for walking outside in the rain and tracking debris in the house-"

"Shouting at her? Wha-"

"Emily explained everything. She asked you if she could go outside and look at the stars. You said 'no' and she bolted off anyway. You ran outside, brought her back in, yelled at her and sent her to her room. Frankly, I don't know why you called me."

Jane was shocked. Weyler continued to talk but his words melted into white noise. She wandered across the living room and stood by the front door. Jane felt two eyes watching her and turned to the upstairs landing. There was Emily, standing in the shadows. She had ditched her soaked jumper, dried off her hair and changed into her pajamas with the star design. As Weyler's voice droned in the distance, Jane looked up at Emily. The child stared at Jane with a look of utter forgiveness and unconditional love. Jane couldn't make sense of any of it. How could anyone feel like that toward her after what she did? Emily ducked back into the darkness and retreated to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

"I understand this job is taking its toll on you." Weyler's voice bled back into Jane's consciousness. "And I'm aware that you're not used to working with children. But you must be doing something right. The child obviously has kind feelings for you. She said over and over how it was her fault that she went outside and that she doesn't blame you one bit for yelling at her. So, if that's all you need from me, I'll be on my way." Weyler started toward the front door.

"I can't stay here," Jane said quietly. "I can't do this anymore."

"Jane, the child isn't holding any grudge! Let's move on!"

"Boss," Jane reached out and grabbed Weyler by the arm. Weyler stopped, realizing she was serious. "I'm not asking to leave. I'm telling you that I'm leaving. Call her aunt and uncle in Cheyenne and take her up there."

"Tonight?"

"Yes! Tonight! It's a ninety minute drive. She'll be up there before midnight."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Yes. Actually, I have."

"No one is driving that child anywhere tonight. You talk about protocol? I can't suddenly call up her aunt and say 'Make up the bed in the guest room. I'm bringing up your niece.' She is still in our protective custody and that's exactly where she's going to stay until we solve this d.a.m.n case or I feel there's a justifiable reason to release the girl."

"Then take her to the foster home-"

"Jane. I have broken every G.o.dd.a.m.n rule with this case. I have stretched my leveraging as far as it will go. I am not going to be sashaying this child around Denver tonight and plopping her in some foster house."

"Fine. Go out there and get Martha and tell her she's spending the night on the couch. I'm going home." Jane opened the front door and walked into the darkness, leaving Weyler alone and stunned.

Jane did not say a word to Weyler during the ten minute drive back to her house. The Sat.u.r.day evening traffic was a bit heavier than usual due to the Memorial Day Weekend events. As she stared out the window, Jane wondered if Emily had crept downstairs yet and found Martha sitting on the couch. Martha arrived at the door with a bag of oranges and apples, saying something about "It's my dinner" to Jane as they pa.s.sed on the front porch. Perhaps Martha had made a beeline up to the child's bedroom to soothe Emily and ask her in a roundabout way the real reason Jane left. But she knew down deep that no matter how much Martha pried, that kid would never say a word about the physical altercation earlier that evening.

Jane was staggered and frustrated all in the same moment. Emily purposely covered up the violent event to protect Jane. Amazing. But why? It wasn't like they were friends, Jane thought to herself. There wasn't any kind of connection. Connection? It was too much for Jane to allow.

Weyler rolled up to Jane's front door but kept the motor running. He stared straight ahead, silent and etched with disappointment. "Okay," was all she could manage as she got out of his car. He drove down Milwaukee and disappeared into the darkness. After fishing her keys out of her leather satchel, she maneuvered her way up the short walk to her front door. Once inside, she dropped her satchel to the wooden floor and stood in the pitchblack. Within the threads of darkness, she felt herself coming apart bit by bit. There was nothing left to her life. After all the work and the years of struggle, she considered herself a total failure. Singlehandedly, she'd destroyed herself and her life with such precision that to bring back any semblance of order was impossible.

Feeling her way across the living room, Jane stumbled into the kitchen and tapped on the light over the stove. She swung open a cupboard door, brought out a fifth of Jack Daniels, twisted off the cap and took a long swig. At first, the liquid burn was comforting; a warm reminder of what it felt like to be numb and pain-free. She knocked back another swallow. Jane closed her eyes and waited to detach. But suddenly, she felt herself choking. Seconds later, she started to cough. She got her head over the sink just in time to spew the whiskey down the drain. Her body arced in violent waves as she threw up every drop of Jack Daniels. Once nothing was left inside of her, Jane sunk down to the floor, bottle in hand. She stuck her finger in the neck of the bottle, saturated it with whiskey and sucked on it. But moments later, the same gag reflex took effect. Jane threw the bottle across the floor and stared into the semi-darkness. Was this the way it was going to be from now on? If so, there was no good reason to stick around.

Jane unsnapped her holster and drew out her Glock pistol. It would be so easy. Just wrap her mouth around the tip of the barrel, tilt it at a forty-five degree angle and pull the trigger. One, two, three. No big deal. No one to mourn her. Well, maybe Mike. But he'd get over it with his new girlfriend by his side.

Jane brushed her finger against the barrel of the pistol as an eerie sensation descended over her. She didn't hear voices-it was more like she felt them. They were coaxing her, encouraging her, goading her into doing the deed. No more pain. No more torment. No more guilt. No more regret. Just lift the pistol and do it.

Do it. Go on . . . do it, they urged.

Jane felt herself slipping into the warm, distant comfort of the intensifying voices. It's easy. Do it! She lifted up the Glock as the chorus of encouragement grew. Her finger touched the trigger. The barrel was less than an inch from her mouth when one, solitary voice yelled out among the din.

"Jane!"