Reaching for Reid’s arm, I complied without speaking—compliance by acquiescing.
As we stepped into the hallway, Reid reached for my shoulders. “I hate to leave you.”
My gaze went to the phone he was also holding. “But there’s a fire.”
“Or an iron in it,” Laurel said.
“Let us get you two back up to the apartments,” Reid said.
Once we were in the common area, both Reid’s and Mason’s phones vibrated.
“Go,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“I can come over,” Laurel offered. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know about the autopsy.”
I shook my head. “Not tonight. I’m reading a good book. I’ll get lost in there for a while and be ready for sleep by midnight.” As my gaze met Reid’s, he grinned.
Present time~
“You look real pretty, Lorna. You look like your momma.”
I woke from a scene, a nightmare. It wasn’t my mother in a Montana autumn storm. It was different.
What time was it?
The clock read twelve thirty and yet I was alone. I knew I was.
Throwing back the covers, I walked naked into our bathroom.
The incomplete puzzle of thoughts waged in my head. There were ones that seemed to be more recent and others that didn’t. My eyes met my reflection as I reached for the bottle of sleeping pills. I hadn’t taken one earlier, expecting Reid to join me.
My gaze went again to my reflection as I sprinkled three tablets into the palm of my hand. Hesitating, I retrieved one and put it back. The prescription said one an hour before bed. If I didn’t want to wait an hour, maybe two would do the trick. Popping them into my mouth and swallowing, I caught my own gaze.
Green to green.
At least I hadn’t seen her eyes.
“I don’t look like you. You’re old and dead. I’m not you.” My hand went to my hair. “I’ll never look like you again.”
Turning away from myself, I opened the shower door and turned the water to somewhere over warm to below scalding. Yes, I’d showered to rinse out the hair color, but now it was a need to feel the water over my skin, to let the spray wash away the dream.
Maybe if I soaked under the assault of the sizzling downpour long enough, the dreams would stop.
Reid
Araneae was having memories.
What memories?
How was she?
How was Lorna?
Was she too having memories?
Those were thoughts and questions that cycloned through my mind as I willed the elevator to move faster. It was only one damn floor. As the doors closed and the mechanisms activated, I cursed myself for not being back at her side an hour ago as I’d promised.
As soon as the elevator came to a stop, I squeezed my way through the opening doors and hurried to our apartment. Without hesitation, I threw open the door.
Our living room was dark except for the glow coming from the streets and buildings of Chicago. Such as a pillow of light lingering below us, we were suspended high into the murky night. Without illuminating the familiar obstacles, my shoes clipped upon the tile as I made my way to our bedroom.
Pushing open the door, I stared. The bed was messed. Lorna’s side of the covers was thrown back and her pillows held the indentation, yet she was missing. My heart sank as the sound of our shower filled my ears.
There was nothing wrong with showering or bathing, but in the last two weeks, she’d done it excessively.
Steam slithered from under the bathroom door as I opened it.
My eyes widened at who I saw beyond the glass under the spray.
“Lorna. What the hell?”
Quickly, she reached for the handles and turned off the water.
“Reid. I woke. I guess I...” She wrapped her arms around her breasts. “Can you get me a towel?”
Taking a large plush bath towel to the shower door, I opened the glass, still speechless over the woman before me. A mental battle ensued as the right words to say fought for their place on my tongue.
She smiled up at me as she reached for the towel. “Thank you.”
As she stepped onto the bath mat, water drizzled down her legs as she began to wrap the towel around her. I knew every inch of this woman inside and out. If I were a sculptor, I could knead and mold clay into her likeness. My lips had explored her soft cream skin. My fingers had found each crevice. My ears had heard her fill our home with sounds of pleasure. My body had molded with hers, taken and been taken. I knew what it was like to be buried deep inside her, to feel her body hug mine and the way it convulsed as she let herself go, riding the wave of climax. Over the years we’d laughed and cried. We’d celebrated and mourned. She was my other half and without her I was incomplete.
My gaze went to between her legs seconds before the towel obstructed my view. It didn’t help me. Lorna was obsessive about keeping herself shaved. Even there I couldn’t confirm the redhead I’d fallen in love with.
“Do you like it?” she asked with too much glee.
What could I say?
Lorna walked to the mirror and tilted her face from side to side as water dribbled from the ends of her now-short hair.
I stood behind her, wrapping my arms gently around her. With the top of her head below my chin, I feigned a smile. “Sweetheart, you’re always beautiful.”
She reached up and teased the ends again. “I think it will curl more now that it’s short.”
“Did you do it yourself?”
She spun in my arms. “Well, there aren’t a lot of salons open at midnight and besides, lockdown. Remember?”
“And the dye?” Beyond comprehension, I was trying to make sense of her dark brown locks.
“Oh, I texted the other women, and Madeline had a box of color. She said she won’t use it while she’s pregnant. Chemicals and everything.” Her tone was light and uncharacteristically, singsong.
“Lorna, have you been drinking?”
She waved her hand. “You know I hardly drink.”
“Hardly is some.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, her short bob swinging near her cheeks. “Nothing but hair dye. I didn’t drink it. I put it on my hair.”
“Madeline let you have it without questioning why?”
“I told her it was for a project.”
“And she believed you?”
Lorna stepped back, her smile fading. “You don’t like it?”
“I-I...” Words failed me.
Pulling her arm away from my grasp, Lorna walked past me and out to the bedroom.
“Lorna.”
“What, Reid?” She was in our closet. When she came out, she was wearing a long nightshirt. It was her way of saying sex was off the table. When we’d first found her after being taken, that had been my stance. Now it was hers.
“Lorna, shit. I’m shocked. Why would you cut and change the color of your hair?”
“Does it really matter? Are redheads your thing? You can’t get it up for a brunette?”
“Fuck,” I said, the one word filled with all the exasperation I felt. “No. Redheads aren’t my thing. You are my thing. Getting it up isn’t the issue.”
She was now sitting on the edge of the bed and moving her legs to the mattress. “You’re right. I’m tired. The pills are working, and I’m going to sleep.”