“Rape is only when there’s forced sex. That’s what my mother said.”
The small hairs at the back of my neck stood to attention. “Why would your mother tell you that?”
“Because as long as a man doesn’t put his penis inside you—there—nothing happened.” She sat up. “Your mouth doesn’t count.”
What the fuck?
“Your mother said that?”
Lorna nodded, again curling against my side. “I wasn’t raped.”
The temperature of my blood rose as I tried to connect the pieces of the puzzle. “Lorna, who is Anna?”
“Mom said it isn’t bad if you are okay with it. Anna was okay. So I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about her either.”
“Fucking Christ.” I sat up. “Lorna, how old were you when your mother told you that?”
“Ten.” In the darkness, her eyes glowed with a hint of fear. “Don’t tell Mason. I promised I wouldn’t.”
A million images I couldn’t stomach came to mind, yet the woman in my arms was no longer distressed. She’d shared her concern with me and moved on. Her muscles relaxed and her lips parted as she slipped into slumber.
Time ticked away as the numbers on the clock moved.
“Reid?”
I startled as I wrapped my arm around her. “I’m here.”
“Good. Please don’t leave.”
“Never, Lorna. Never.”
Reid
Sleep was difficult to come by. My thoughts were dominated by the beautiful woman in my arms. Psychology wasn’t my thing. Give me numbers, codes, and computer programs. Give me a trail, just a small piece, and let me work on finding where it goes.
This was different.
I tried to recall Dr. Dixon’s warning. It completely contradicted what Lorna said she’d been told. Dr. Dixon said, “It’s a misconception that only the act of penetration is psychologically harmful. One day, she may remember. On that day, that minute, that second, she will need to know that even if it wasn’t what most refer to as rape, her trauma is real and she may express it any way that will help her deal.”
As Lorna lay in my arms, I struggled with what was happening in her head. It was as if once she made the connection that only penetration was rape, she was fine, unaffected, and asleep.
Why would I want to tell her otherwise and risk the opposite?
My eyes closed for a moment, only to open with an earlier thought.
Give me a trail, a small byte of information.
Easing my way out of bed, I messaged Mason.
“SLEEPING?”
As I stepped into my blue jeans and slipped my feet into canvas loafers, my phone vibrated.
“Reid?” Lorna’s sleep-filled voice called through the near darkness.
I knelt on the bed. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m going to go down to 2. Will you be okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I-I...still tired.”
“That’s all right. You sleep.”
“Those pills...worked...”
“I love you.”
Her words were mumbled. “Come back.”
My lips brushed the top of her head. Even in the dim light of our bedroom, I saw her new hairdo, the way her shorter locks framed her face in dark brown ringlets. Unable to resist, I smoothed a stray strand between my fingers and watched as it sprang back to a curlicue. “Who hurt you, Lorna?” The question wasn’t voiced loud enough for her to hear or disrupt her sleep.
My gut told me that this new hairdo wasn’t about Andrew Jettison. If I could make an undereducated psychological jump, what happened with him, combined with seeing her mother’s body, brought back something she’d hidden away from Mason, and if it was possible, even from herself.
I needed a small bit of information to figure this out. Whether my goal was revenge or something different, I needed a scattered crumb. With that, I’d find another and another until I’d created a trail. There was one person who could give me that crumb.
I picked up my phone. The message was a response from Mason.
“NOT ANYMORE. LORNA?”
I texted back.
“MEET ME ON 2.”
I hadn’t considered the time of night until after my second text. It wouldn’t matter. This was what we did, all of us. When the calls or text messages came, we answered. It wasn’t as unique as a bat signal or some other form of communication, and yet it was secure. Our phones and means of communication were secured by the best firewalls and virtual networks on the planet.
The clock on the bedside stand read 3:17 in large red numbers.
Two hours of sleep should be enough.
It would have to be.
I let out a sigh as I covered Lorna with the blanket, laid another kiss to her head, and walked quietly through our apartment. The canvas soles aided in my quiet escape as I walked down our tiled hallway. In the living room, I stopped for a moment to peer out the giant walls of windows.
Beyond our view was Chicago.
A dark red hue colored the skyline.
While we were getting closer to Andrew Jettison, my need to avenge could have a much closer target. Ten fucking years old. “Who are you? Are you still in my city? If you are, you won’t be for long.”
As I opened the door to our apartment, the elevator doors across the common room began to close. Just before they did, a hand reached for one, reversing their direction.
“You woke me,” Mason said. “Get your ass in here.”
Getting closer to my brother-in-law, last night’s scene with Lorna replayed in my mind. I didn’t give a fuck what she chose to do with her hair. It’s her hair. I did care about why.
As the doors shut, Mason’s green gaze narrowed. “What the hell happened? Is Lorna remembering too?”
For a split second, my single-minded focus had a wider lens. There were others in our tower dealing with similar shit. “Did Laurel get home?”
“Yeah, about two.”
“How is Araneae? What does she remember?”
Mason shrugged as the elevator descended. “A lot. Laurel was a bit freaked out. I think we may have a lead I never imagined. I need to hear back from Top.”
“Good.” The doors opened to our cement hallway. I lifted my hand to the scanner before the steel door opened.
“Really, Reid? I just told you about a lead and you say good?”
The door shut behind us.
I wasn’t surprised no one else was on 2. It sounded as if Sparrow was dealing with his own wife’s memories, and Patrick was no doubt with Madeline who was getting closer and closer to delivering. If I had been paying attention to time, I would say she had a little less than five weeks to go before what little sleep Patrick got was blown to hell.
My mind went back to the crumb I needed. “Where was that one-room apartment Lorna talks about, the one you moved to with your mom after your grandmother died?”
Mason lifted his chin and inhaled. “Fuck, South Side. It was an old house that was subdivided into too many units. Why?”
I sat at my desk and brought my screens to life. “I need to know where it was. Were there men who lived there?”
“Yeah. Singles, families, there were always people coming and going.”