Outsiders. Part 13

"Yes?" Maybe a bit more hesitant now.

"My name is Norah, and I'd like to talk to you about Todd Bennett."

Her complexion immediately drains of color, and she tightens her grip on the door. Her smile doesn't falter, it merely drops right off her face.

"Please," I say, rus.h.i.+ng to rea.s.sure, but keeping my voice down. "Please, don't be afraid. I'm on your side."

Forever and a day go by as she studies my face, looking for...what? Sincerity? A trick? I can only guess and wait. Finally, she steps aside and lets me in, then waves me into the small eat-in area of her kitchen.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?" Ever the hostess, I see, and I bet she was raised that way, always to be polite even if she's so scared she's about to c.r.a.p her pants.

"No, thank you. I'm good." She motions me to the table and chairs, and we sit.

Her green eyes are just as friendly, just as kind in person as they are in her driver's license photo, and I know that she's easily liked. A person like Rebecca has many friends and tons of acquaintances. She is the kind of woman you want to be around, just hoping you can suck up some of her positive energy. I wonder how much of that Todd Bennett has sucked out of her over the years. I pretty much have my answer when I see the worry on her face. I rush to alleviate it.

"This is going to be very hard for you to believe," I begin. There's no standard, easy-to-absorb wording for something like this. I've done it more than once, and I always seem to stutter and stammer and fumble for the right words. "First, you need to understand that I know all about Todd Bennett, the troubles he's caused you, the police reports, the restraining orders, all of it. I know about all of it."

I give her time to absorb that. Her pale eyebrows furrow slightly, and I'm sure she's trying to figure out how I have all this information as her hands clasp and unclasp on the table between us.

"I'm not a cop," I go on. "I'm not a detective or in any kind of law enforcement. But I have sources, and I'm privy to information in cases like yours." I've found it best to leave the details vague. Most of the time, people are too stunned or confused to ask for them anyway. I've also found that it helps to get right to the point. "It's important that you know and understand that Mr. Bennett will never, ever bother you again."

At that, her eyes narrow, as if she's certain I'm lying to her, that this is a sick joke and she can't believe I'd do something so cruel.

I shoot her a half grin. "Told you it'd be hard to believe."

"I-I don't understand." It's the most common phrase uttered by my clients after I tell them such a thing. I don't do face-to-face very often at all. In fact, I prefer to stay behind the scenes, cloaked by shadows and unseen, like the Wizard of Oz behind his curtain, except way more competent, I'd hope. But in cases like this one, it's important for the Rebeccas of the world to know they can take a deep breath and go on with their lives without having to constantly look over their shoulders, without wondering if they'll have to flee their lives at any given moment...again. I feel I owe them at least an attempt at a conversation about it.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to go into great detail," I say, which is, of course, a big lie. "But let me a.s.sure you that I know exactly what you've been dealing with where Mr. Bennett is concerned. Exactly." I look her dead in the eye when I say this, and I think it helps my credibility. She's listening intently, her focus solid on my face despite the gentle trembling of her hands. I cover them with my own. "Listen to me. I'm sure you know you're not alone in the world, that many other women around the globe have been terrorized, stalked, afraid to be alone in their own homes, because of some sick pig like Todd Bennett. You also know that the authorities can only do so much to help, especially if the a.s.shole is familiar with the law."

"Or doesn't care about it," she adds softly.

"Or doesn't care about it." I tighten my grip on her. "Those extreme cases? The ones that seem hopeless? The ones like yours? That's where I come in."

Rebecca squints at me. "So...you're a private investigator or something like that?"

"Something like that. Let's just say Mr. Bennett is not the first of his kind with whom I've had...business dealings."

I sit quietly and let her examine my words, my thinly-veiled hints. She seems like a smart girl. She'll get there.

"But...how do you know about him?" she asks.

"I have sources."

"Did somebody call you?"

"I really can't say. I'm sorry."

She studies my face, searching for clarity. Her eyes narrow just a touch, then open a little wider as she puts the pieces into place. "You said he'd never bother me again."

"That's right. He won't."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Is he...dead?"

I hold her gaze for several seconds. I can feel her probing mine for the answer. "He will never bother you again, Rebecca. I promise you that. He will neverbother you again."

Tears well up in her eyes, and she lets out a little whimper-gasp. "Oh, my G.o.d," she whispers. "Oh, my G.o.d. It's over? It's really over?"

"It's really over."

"Oh, my G.o.d."

A combination of near-disbelief and utter relief takes up residence on her face, an uncertain smile topping off the expression. I've seen it before on other women, on Hayley. It's beautiful, and it makes every doubt that plagued me earlier absolutely worthwhile.

It takes a few minutes for belief to settle in completely, but I know when it does because Rebecca Ca.s.sidy is suddenly in my arms, great wracking sobs of relief tearing out of her body.

"Thank you," she says in my ear with such emotion that I feel the surprise of a lump in my throat. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

I hold her tightly, relis.h.i.+ng the moment, and in that snapshot of time, I don't care what anybody says or how harshly you might judge what I do. For Rebecca Ca.s.sidy, the balance has been restored, and for that, I am proud.

Chapter Ten.

I open my eyes and squint in the pre-dawn gray of the bedroom. A smile spreads its way across my face as I realize I slept all the way through the night. No two o'clock wake-up. No nightmares. No flashbacks. I release a deep, relieved sigh. It's been six weeks since my return from North Carolina, and last night was the first night my sleep hasn't been disrupted by my guilt.

Don't misunderstand. I'm not asking for or expecting your sympathy. I know that I walk a very fine line of ethics and morals and right and wrong. But until I-or you, for that matter-can come up with a better way to help the women I help and save the women I save, I do the best I can. If it takes my sleep, my appet.i.te, my sanity, so be it. The balance must be kept. Of that, I am certain.

Hayley stirs next to me and opens her eyes.

"Why are you awake?" she mutters.

"Because I slept," I tell her. She gets it immediately and grins at me.

"That's great babe. No scary dreams?"

"Not a one."

She snuggles close to me, her gaze focusing beyond my body. "We've got another one."

"I know." I've sensed the presence of the name on the nightstand since I opened my eyes, but I wanted to savor the peace and warmth of our bed for just a little while longer.

"Have you looked?" Hayley asks.

"Not yet." Her naked heat presses against me, and I revel in it. Both of us drift along in that luscious, warm, half-asleep haze for several long moments. Hayley's patience runs out first.

"Okay, let's look." She stretches across my torso-I nip at her as she does, and am rewarded with a cute little squeak-and grabs at the paper. "Who have we got here? The winner is Candace Murphy of Poughkeepsie, New York. Candace Murphy, come on down!" She flops back onto the bed. "Your old stomping grounds, right? Honey?" She gets back up on an elbow and looks me in the face. "Norah? What's wrong?"

I can barely hear her. The sound of her voice has gone fuzzy, like she's talking to me through wet gauze. I blink rapidly, squeeze my eyes shut, blink some more, trying to bring her into focus.

"Norah. Norah." She shakes me, and the fog suddenly lifts, as if it was never there, save for the acidic taste of bile in my mouth. "Are you all right? What the h.e.l.l just happened?"

"What-" I clear the fear from my throat and try again. "What was the name again?"

She makes a show of reading carefully. "Candace Murphy in Poughkeepsie." My expression is scaring her; I can tell by her expression. "Do you know her?"

I nod slowly, not wanting to.

"Who is she?" When I meet Hayley's eyes, her voice softens to a frightened whisper. "Norah, who is Candace Murphy?"

My voice is equally low as the reality hits me full force.

"She's my mother."

The End.

Triskelion.

By JD Gla.s.s.

There is a secret that no one knows, but everyone lives. There is more to us than the body, more to the mind, more to our emotions. There is above and below, and there is also without and within. And in the middle, there is something different. Therefore, things are never simply easy or hard, hot or cold, right or wrong. In that between place, there is a third state of being and it is in that state-the place that is neither completely one nor the other but shares the qualities of both-where we find balance.

"Arigato," I said into the mouthpiece, the sum total of the j.a.panese I'd absorbed in the last few months, and hung up the phone. I stared at it for a long second as it rested, charging in its cradle, before glancing up to see humor-filled eyes gazing back down at me.

"Hey, Steph...you think this'll work?" Bear asked me with a nervous grin.

"It better," I said fervently, not certain if I was hoping or praying. "If this doesn't help, I don't know what will."

Three years. It has been three years of working together and with them, learning each other and the personalities. Bear and I have been friends since high school, and we both were in Nina's first band, so that part was easy. Fran, we thought we knew, but learned better, and over time, learned better again. Samantha had, in the beginning, been the newcomer, but again, three years later, that wasn't the case anymore.

It was also possible to see, after all this time, the toll everything has taken on mine and Bear's buddy, our pal, the reason we still worked together in the first place-Nina.

Yeah, sure, we observed that there was some tension for a while, but nothing that couldn't be handled, something we even very occasionally teased Nina about. I mean, hey, it's not every person that has two people in love with them and each other and everyone being oh-so-polite about the whole thing and, in Nina's case, maybe even deliberately ignoring it.

Until about two or so weeks ago. Something happened, something that took the smile from Nina's eyes, and weighed Samantha's shoulders down whenever she thought someone couldn't see. Even Fran, who was spending a lot more time lately in the New York office, was affected.

At first, Bear and I thought we knew what it was. It wasn't a secret, at least not to us, since we knew Nina so well. Caught still between Sam and Fran, she was either unaware that she had options, or unable to get to that place to think about them. The way she and Fran looked at each other, or Fran and Sam...and now it was worse than ever.

Bear and I had had it. If Nina couldn't figure it out, we already had, and this time, we were in a position to help. Because really, she needed it, a little help, a little push in the right direction, and after all, when everything was said and done, well, me and Bear? We were Nina's friends...and we had her back.

"You're kidding!" It was under her breath, but Samantha heard Nina's exclamation anyway as she stepped through the door. Samantha hefted her instrument case from where she'd leaned it against the frame moments before, then followed and took in the sight before them. A small corridor, with another door for the bathroom on the right, ended several feet ahead. From there, the room opened to the right, the bed completing the corridor with its head set against the wall of the bathroom, a sofa perpendicular before it.

Nina put her guitar case down at the other end of the sofa, and walked past the standing mirror to peer out the window. "At least it's not a bad view," she observed. "Not that we'll probably get to see much of it otherwise." She turned and gave Samantha a bright smile. Too bright, Samantha considered, forced. What they had discovered in Fran's apartment, not two weeks ago, the shock of it- Fran b.u.mped up behind her, tumbling Samantha's thoughts. "So...I'm either next door or...oh. Sorry."

"It's okay," Samantha grinned as she turned, then glanced down at the key Fran held. "Uh...not next door-the same door."

Nina stepped across the s.p.a.ce and examined the key Fran gave her. "The place must have-"

"Double booked," Fran finished as Nina handed it back.

"All right, we'll just pile our stuff here and work the rest out. It's only for a few nights, anyway," Samantha said into the awkward silence as the porter arrived and wheeled the rest of the luggage into the room.

"Yeah, I'll just take the sofa-not that I'll probably be here much, anyway," Fran added with a cheer that matched the smile Nina had given Samantha earlier. "It's a full schedule, and Ren's here. I'm sure we'll spend time catching up."

This time it was Samantha's turn to force good humor. "Hey! That's right," she agreed heartily. She hated the way her voice sounded. She busied herself with rummaging through her travel bag, hands buried between s.h.i.+fting layers of silk, cotton, and leather, unsure, unaware, and uncaring of what moved where. "It's been, what? Three, four years?"

"Five," Fran answered quietly, her eyes focused on the items she removed from her own case. "We haven't seen each other in five years."

"Long time," Samantha commented in a noncommittal fas.h.i.+on, but mentally she winced. She really should have known better, she chastised herself. Five years ago meant Samantha had been, albeit briefly, in New York. Thatwas when she'd "officially" met Ren, which meant Samantha's arrival and Ren's departure were probably- A drawer slammed abruptly, shocking both Samantha and Fran. Eyes drawn by the sound, they stared at Nina as she straightened. "I'm going to the venue," she announced, guitar case already in one hand as she swung her jacket over her shoulder with the other, then strode past them to the door.

Samantha didn't have to ask if something was wrong. As tightly reigned as Nina kept herself, the discord she felt was a haze that surrounded her, and the connect that existed between them carried it as well, despite what Samantha knew were Nina's best attempts to prevent that. What had caused it, some of it she thought she knew, but the rest, however, she could only guess. While she did have some good ideas, ideas they would remain until Nina was ready to tell her. Samantha would never force her for the answer.

"We've got sound check in three hours. Hang a bit, and I'll go with you," Samantha offered to Nina's back.

"'S'all right," Nina answered, her hand on the door latch. "This"-she waved about to indicate the room but kept her gaze focused directly ahead-"got messed up. Gonna check if our sound setup's okay. Three hours is notenough time if something's missing." She swung the door open and stepped through.

"But-" The door closed with a click of finality on Samantha's protest. She shook her head and stared down at her bag again. This time she noticed that she'd severely mixed up her clothing. "f.u.c.k," she muttered softly.

"Is she angry with me?" Fran asked in a low tone as she removed the contents of her luggage and claimed a spot in the closet.

"No." Samantha breathed the word out as she carefully untangled her things, then pushed behind her ear a stray dark lock that had fallen across her sight. Samantha just as carefully worded her answer. "She's a little nervous, which is pre-show normal...mad at herself, probably...and at life, definitely. I know for a fact that, crazy as it sounds, she's still hurting. But mad at you or with you? No."

There was a slight rustle as Fran shook her head. "I don't..."

Samantha could hear the breath Fran took as the full meaning hit her.

"Sam...Sammer?"

The warm weight of Fran's palm came to rest on Samantha's shoulder, and Samantha smiled gently at the sound of her old nickname.

"What do you mean, she's still hurting? Hurting over what?"

"Are you telling me you really don't know?" Samantha countered as she folded the final item and placed it in her drawer. She closed it methodically, before she finally turned her gaze on her friend, the friend she loved as much as she loved Nina. She found Fran's eyes golden on hers and as warm as the hand that rested on her shoulder.