“It’ll be fine,” he said, sucking in the pain as he sat on the soft bed.
“Yep,” said Maurice, shutting the door behind him.
Randall fought the urge to try the door, reminding himself that he was no longer in prison, but a guest in his brother’s house. Still, it was hard staying in the room. There was a peculiar, unnerving silence, Randall straining his ears to hear anything beyond the hum from the bare light bulb above the bed.
Had they visited here once before? Him and Annie? It seemed like the kind of thing they may have once done, but he’d be damned if he could remember. How I wish she was here now, he thought, picturing her smile, her long red hair swept behind her shoulders, before a second picture came to mind. Annie’s body close to the stagnant water, the strange way her body had been positioned almost as if she were running, the cruel breaks that had been made to her legs.
“Dinner’s ready.”
The sound of Maurice’s voice jolted Randall. He couldn’t tell if he’d fallen asleep or not, his mind still in its fugue-like state as he pushed himself off the mattress. He swore he could hear the sound of his knee creaking as he made his way along the wooden floorboards of the hallway to an ostentatious dining room, where Maurice was already sitting behind a table large enough to accommodate ten or twelve people.
“You live alone here?” he asked, taking the nearest seat to his brother.
“I have to entertain,” said Maurice, with a smirk. “Bible study class, church association meetings, that sort of thing.”
Randall lifted his flatware and was about to start eating when Maurice stopped him.
“May we say grace?”
“Sorry, sure,” said Randall, heat reaching his face. Like so many things in his present life, grace was now an old concept. Although he and Annie had rarely visited church, saying grace was one thing she’d insisted on. “It’s good to give thanks,” she’d say. “Even if we don’t know who exactly we’re thanking.”
Maurice grabbed his hand and prayed, his palm surprisingly soft and smooth. “Please begin,” he said, after he’d finished his words of thanks.
Randall nodded, and picked up the flatware again. The last time he’d eaten a meal with anyone else had been in prison and he felt just as uncomfortable now as he had back then. The room was too big, too empty for the two of them. A giant crucifix hung on the wall behind Maurice like a warning, Jesus’s eyes glaring down on Randall as he ate, full of either accusation or pity.
“Why did you bring me here?” he said, after an interminable period of silence where each was forced to listen to the other chew his food.
“I’m your brother, Frank.”
“I know.”
“I want to help you.”
“How, exactly?”
“I want to offer you salvation.”
Maurice had beaten him on a regular basis until the day Randall turned sixteen. The beatings had never been particularly brutal, but were enough for him to live in a constant state of fear. Why he’d stopped when Randall had turned sixteen, Randall didn’t know. Maybe it was because he was getting stronger, or maybe it was because their father had stopped the belt on Maurice at around the same age. Maurice had left for college not long after, and when he’d returned, he’d found God in a big way.
“I don’t understand, Maurice.”
“Why didn’t you ever let me come see you in prison?” said Maurice, taking Randall by surprise.
Randall dropped his knife, his eyes glancing up at the accusing Jesus as he tried to recall any such request. “I didn’t see anyone in prison,” he said.
“I tried and I tried but always the same response. Why do you think that was?”
“Stop talking in riddles, Mo,” said Randall, a familiar weariness coming over him.
“You’ve paid your debt to society, brother, but not to God. I can help you. Repent of your sins and it doesn’t have to be too late for you.”
Randall crossed the flatware on his plate. For the life of him, he still couldn’t remember Maurice ever making contact with him at the prison, but one memory had returned, strong and unwavering. He and Annie had indeed visited this place once before, and although he couldn’t recall sitting in this ridiculously decadent dining area, he did remember one thing.
Annie had hated Maurice after that stay, and had never once told Randall why.
Chapter Six
The irony was not lost on Laurie. Here she was, a senior detective in the major cases division, yet she had no idea why her husband had been meeting in secret with a woman she didn’t know. Three days had passed since Laurie had found David at the coffee shop, and she still hadn’t confronted him about it. She realized now, she’d immediately rushed to a number of conclusions and by the time he’d arrived home late that night she’d convinced herself he was having an affair. He’d gone to bed as if nothing had happened and that had been almost harder to accept than the perceived deceit itself. How could he be so relaxed about what he’d done, what he was doing? He could have at least acted guilty, or tiptoed around her. That he could carry on as if everything was normal had made her question everything about him and their relationship.
Her certainty that David was having an affair had faded the following day, but still she didn’t confront him about his meeting with the woman. Part of her feared what he would have to say, and she still felt a little guilty for having spied on him at the coffee shop in the first place. Chances were high it was all innocuous, but why hadn’t he mentioned it to her? He was about to leave for three weeks to work over in Texas City and still nothing had been settled.
They both hated these partings, or so she’d thought. She allowed David to envelop her in one of his bear hugs and for a few seconds it felt inconceivable that he would ever betray her. As she grabbed him back, involuntarily taking in the smell of his deodorant through his sweater, she came close to asking him about that night but didn’t want to reignite the argument from three days ago.
They eased apart, and as she watched him leave the apartment she wondered when it had become acceptable for them to keep secrets from one another.
Work was always a distraction and today was no different. Lieutenant Filmore ordered her into his office as soon as she arrived.
Filmore was a short, squat man, his balding head dotted with patches of uneven hair. He had been her direct boss for over ten years now and they had a strong relationship. Filmore had an easygoing way about him, and rarely played the boss card.
“Missing girl case for you,” he said, handing her a printout. “Probably nothing, but wanted to send my finest.”
“But they weren’t available so you settled for me?”
“Something like that,” said Filmore, with a grin.
Ten minutes later she was driving toward Offatts Bayou with her partner.
“Haven’t even had a coffee yet,” Remi groused, as they sped along Seawall Boulevard.
“Should have got to work earlier,” she said, smiling as he scowled, thankful she’d grabbed a cup before leaving that morning.
She’d been working with Remi Armstrong for the last three years, since his promotion to detective. Like her, he was an IBC—Islander by Choice—having moved here with his family as a teen from the Midwest. He was hardworking and diligent, and despite his youth Laurie trusted him implicitly.