Contents
Prologue
She stood naked behind the glass, twenty stories above the pavement, as the sun began to bleed it’s red and purple entrails across the choppy surface of the lake. She felt something. Not a wholly unusual experience, but it was different this time. It was warm and frighteningly pleasant. A soft blanket of contentment so far removed from her normal icy sensibilities that it took her a moment to recognize it.
Love.
She was in love. It was a realization so astonishing that it made her gasp out loud.
“You okay?” came a sleepy voice behind her.
She smiled and turned. The object of her affection lay stretched out in the enormous king sized bed that she had also occupied not long ago. She gazed at him adoringly and shifted her weight so that her hips moved in an alluring way. The man raised his eyebrows in mock alarm and pushed himself up to a sitting position. He yawned and raised a hand too late to cover his mouth.
“That’s a look I haven’t seen before,” he said. “Who are you and what have you done with my girl?”
His girl. The words sent shivers down her spine. She’d heard them before, but suddenly they meant something else, something more.
She put on a pout and sauntered over to the night stand. She grabbed a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a small pink Bic lighter from the top and tapped out the sole remaining butt. It was crooked and she straightened it out a bit before laying it gently between her lips and lighting in. Two short puffs, then one long luxurious drag that she exhaled melodramatically.
“Is this better?” she said playfully.
He laughed.
“It’s not worse,” he said.
“Mmmm,” she purred and tossed the cigarette in a half empty martini glass on the night stand. She pounced on him like a cat and knocked him back down on the bed.
She kissed him. She pressed her naked body against his and kissed him deep with power and purpose.
“You taste like smoke,” he said when they broke apart.
“I know,” she said.
“So what was it?”
She pursed her lips.
“What was what?” she asked.
“What were you thinking about just now?”
She sat up straddling him and stretched. She let out a soft moan and put back on the adoring expression.
“Yeah,” he said. “That, what were you thinking about that made you look like that.”
A devilish grin broke across her face.
“I was thinking,” she said. “That we should get married.”
She stood naked behind the glass, twenty stories above the pavement, as the sun began to bleed it’s red and purple entrails across the choppy surface of the lake. She felt something. Not a wholly unusual experience, but it was different this time. It was warm and frighteningly pleasant. A soft blanket of contentment so far removed from her normal icy sensibilities that it took her a moment to recognize it.
Love.
She was in love. It was a realization so astonishing that it made her gasp out loud.
“You okay?” came a sleepy voice behind her.
She smiled and turned. The object of her affection lay stretched out in the enormous king sized bed that she had also occupied not long ago. She gazed at him adoringly and shifted her weight so that her hips moved in an alluring way. The man raised his eyebrows in mock alarm and pushed himself up to a sitting position. He yawned and raised a hand too late to cover his mouth.
“That’s a look I haven’t seen before,” he said. “Who are you and what have you done with my girl?”
His girl. The words sent shivers down her spine. She’d heard them before, but suddenly they meant something else, something more.
She put on a pout and sauntered over to the night stand. She grabbed a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a small pink Bic lighter from the top and tapped out the sole remaining butt. It was crooked and she straightened it out a bit before laying it gently between her lips and lighting in. Two short puffs, then one long luxurious drag that she exhaled melodramatically.
“Is this better?” she said playfully.
He laughed.
“It’s not worse,” he said.
“Mmmm,” she purred and tossed the cigarette in a half empty martini glass on the night stand. She pounced on him like a cat and knocked him back down on the bed.
She kissed him. She pressed her naked body against his and kissed him deep with power and purpose.
“You taste like smoke,” he said when they broke apart.
“I know,” she said.
“So what was it?”
She pursed her lips.
“What was what?” she asked.
“What were you thinking about just now?”
She sat up straddling him and stretched. She let out a soft moan and put back on the adoring expression.
“Yeah,” he said. “That, what were you thinking about that made you look like that.”
A devilish grin broke across her face.
“I was thinking,” she said. “That we should get married.”
Chapter 1
Scene 1
She was broken. Split lip, black eye, and she was pretty sure her nose smashed. When she woke up in his apartment she wasn’t at all sure where she was or why she was there, though those details eventually came back to her, but when they did they came with terrifying new questions.
The heavy steel door swung open with a crash. She sat bolt upright at the sound and without thinking tried to stand up. She was abruptly yanked back down into the uncomfortable metal folding chair under her by the handcuffs around her wrists. They were tight, digging into her skin and fastened to the dull gray metal table in front of her by a loop welded to the center of its surface.
She winced in pain and curled herself back over the table. It was cold and hard and it made her skin crawl to touch it. The whole room made her anxious in fact. Small, poorly lit, painted an unsettling off gray with a huge corner to corner mirror taking up one whole wall, it was exactly like she would have thought an interrogation room would look like, but she was surprised at how it made her feel.
Two men walked into the cinder block room. The first stormed in red faced and full of steam. The second strolled in casually flipping absent mindedly though a small black notebook and chewing on the end of a worn out pencil stub. Both men wore plain blue suits with leather backed brass badges hanging from their breast pockets.
The first man circled the table a few times inspecting her while the second found a comfortable place to lean against the wall. When he was settled the first yanked out the chair across from her and dropped into the seat like a bag of bricks.
“Weather Kimberly Rose,” he said making her name sound like and accusation.
She looked at him trying to mask her fear with an expression of confusion. He stared back at her with steely eyed conviction and let the silent answer to his question hang in the air. After a while he said it again.
“You are Weather Kimberly Rose. Correct?”
She looked back at him and parted her lips as if to speak, then thought better of it and sealed them again. They gazed at each other and the second man removed the chewed up pencil from between his teeth and jotted something down in his notebook.
The man sitting across from her let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms and seemed to look her over like she was a bizarre piece of modern art. Weather was terrified, but determined to stay focused and present. She bit the inside of her lower lip and let the pain clear the mental fog.
“Maybe,” she said finally. “We should start with who you are and what, exactly, I’m doing here.”
The man’s expression didn’t falter. He looked her in the eyes and nodded once, waited for a moment as if reconsidering, then nodded again.
“I’m Detective Jacobs. This,” he gestured sideways with a tilt of his head, never breaking eye contact with Weather, “is Detective Stiller.”
He stopped talking.
Weather nodded and waited.
The silence stretched out.
One of the florescent lights in the room began to flicker obnoxiously then stopped again.
The Detective didn’t move. Weather didn’t either.
The light flickered again.
“And why am I here?” Weather asked again.
The Detective narrowed his eyes.
Weather felt the tension in her chest growing like a balloon being inflated past it’s capacity. There was a ringing in her ears and the room started to swim before her eyes. A small tingle in the middle of her back grew to a huge numb spot spreading between her shoulder blades and her fingers got cold and brittle feeling. She felt her breath getting shallower and her heart starting to beat harder and harder in her chest. She ran through the checklist for stroke symptoms in her head and then-
“You’re here because you’re under arrest for murder.”
Pop!
There was a quick sound of water rushing past her ears and then everything stopped. The ringing in her ears was gone. Her vision was clear and her body was fine. No numbness, no pain, her breathing was normal and her heart rate was stable.
She stared coldly back at the detective. She looked over at the man taking notes. She looked at herself in the eight foot wide mirror and took in her battered reflection.
She was in orange pants and shirt that the booking officer had provided her. Her face was yellow and orange and black and blue. There was rust colored dried blood smeared across her face and her nose was pointing in an unnatural direction. Her hair was a rat’s nest and clumped together with blood. She looked like she had gone ten rounds with a master fighter and lost.
She laughed.
“Grayson right?”
The Detective didn’t respond.
She shook her head.
“Have you looked at me Detective. I’m five foot nothing. I weigh a hundred and five pounds soaking wet, and I look like I just played three periods against the Blackhawks without pads on. You think I killed someone in the FBI?”
The detective uncrossed his arms and straightened up in his chair. He looked at her long and hard, then leaned in across the table.
“Yes Ma’am, I do.”
He looked to the other man.
“Stiller,” he said.
The man with the notebook closed it and stuck it in his pocket. He stuck the remains of the number two behind his ear and stood up straight.
“Weather Kimberly Rose,” he said. “You are under arrest for the murder of United States Special Prosecutor Brandon Grayson. You have the right to remain silent…”
The heavy steel door swung open with a crash. She sat bolt upright at the sound and without thinking tried to stand up. She was abruptly yanked back down into the uncomfortable metal folding chair under her by the handcuffs around her wrists. They were tight, digging into her skin and fastened to the dull gray metal table in front of her by a loop welded to the center of its surface.
She winced in pain and curled herself back over the table. It was cold and hard and it made her skin crawl to touch it. The whole room made her anxious in fact. Small, poorly lit, painted an unsettling off gray with a huge corner to corner mirror taking up one whole wall, it was exactly like she would have thought an interrogation room would look like, but she was surprised at how it made her feel.
Two men walked into the cinder block room. The first stormed in red faced and full of steam. The second strolled in casually flipping absent mindedly though a small black notebook and chewing on the end of a worn out pencil stub. Both men wore plain blue suits with leather backed brass badges hanging from their breast pockets.
The first man circled the table a few times inspecting her while the second found a comfortable place to lean against the wall. When he was settled the first yanked out the chair across from her and dropped into the seat like a bag of bricks.
“Weather Kimberly Rose,” he said making her name sound like and accusation.
She looked at him trying to mask her fear with an expression of confusion. He stared back at her with steely eyed conviction and let the silent answer to his question hang in the air. After a while he said it again.
“You are Weather Kimberly Rose. Correct?”
She looked back at him and parted her lips as if to speak, then thought better of it and sealed them again. They gazed at each other and the second man removed the chewed up pencil from between his teeth and jotted something down in his notebook.
The man sitting across from her let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms and seemed to look her over like she was a bizarre piece of modern art. Weather was terrified, but determined to stay focused and present. She bit the inside of her lower lip and let the pain clear the mental fog.
“Maybe,” she said finally. “We should start with who you are and what, exactly, I’m doing here.”
The man’s expression didn’t falter. He looked her in the eyes and nodded once, waited for a moment as if reconsidering, then nodded again.
“I’m Detective Jacobs. This,” he gestured sideways with a tilt of his head, never breaking eye contact with Weather, “is Detective Stiller.”
He stopped talking.
Weather nodded and waited.
The silence stretched out.
One of the florescent lights in the room began to flicker obnoxiously then stopped again.
The Detective didn’t move. Weather didn’t either.
The light flickered again.
“And why am I here?” Weather asked again.
The Detective narrowed his eyes.
Weather felt the tension in her chest growing like a balloon being inflated past it’s capacity. There was a ringing in her ears and the room started to swim before her eyes. A small tingle in the middle of her back grew to a huge numb spot spreading between her shoulder blades and her fingers got cold and brittle feeling. She felt her breath getting shallower and her heart starting to beat harder and harder in her chest. She ran through the checklist for stroke symptoms in her head and then-
“You’re here because you’re under arrest for murder.”
Pop!
There was a quick sound of water rushing past her ears and then everything stopped. The ringing in her ears was gone. Her vision was clear and her body was fine. No numbness, no pain, her breathing was normal and her heart rate was stable.
She stared coldly back at the detective. She looked over at the man taking notes. She looked at herself in the eight foot wide mirror and took in her battered reflection.
She was in orange pants and shirt that the booking officer had provided her. Her face was yellow and orange and black and blue. There was rust colored dried blood smeared across her face and her nose was pointing in an unnatural direction. Her hair was a rat’s nest and clumped together with blood. She looked like she had gone ten rounds with a master fighter and lost.
She laughed.
“Grayson right?”
The Detective didn’t respond.
She shook her head.
“Have you looked at me Detective. I’m five foot nothing. I weigh a hundred and five pounds soaking wet, and I look like I just played three periods against the Blackhawks without pads on. You think I killed someone in the FBI?”
The detective uncrossed his arms and straightened up in his chair. He looked at her long and hard, then leaned in across the table.
“Yes Ma’am, I do.”
He looked to the other man.
“Stiller,” he said.
The man with the notebook closed it and stuck it in his pocket. He stuck the remains of the number two behind his ear and stood up straight.
“Weather Kimberly Rose,” he said. “You are under arrest for the murder of United States Special Prosecutor Brandon Grayson. You have the right to remain silent…”
Scene 2
The dim room was warm with the sultry murmur of a poorly played upright piano. Gavin Gayle sat in the back smoking a cigarette and watching the several patrons spread out in twos whispering secrets over chipped tumblers of drugstore liquor. He wasn’t particularly interested in who they were or what they were saying, but the fact that they came here and hatched their plans and made their deals gave him a certain cynical comfort.
It wasn’t schadenfreude exactly. He took no pleasure in knowing the world was run by villains and thugs, but it was reassuring to know that he wasn’t the only one that played at this game. The world was a dirty place and he had come to accept that it took dirty men to keep it running. Men like him weren’t wanted by polite society, but without them polite society would come apart at the seams.
He took a long drag of his cigarette and leaned back in the deep leather booth. He exhaled a long stream of bluish smoke and let his eyes go blurry. It had been a long week in a life that had no short ones. Time was unwinding slower and slower with every act of depravity forced upon him and he silently questioned how much longer he could endure his unwilling service to this place.
The door to the club swung open with it’s signature rusted squeal and it snapped him out of his malaise. He looked up and saw Detective Hinde step into the smokey room from the shadows of the threshold. He straightened up and drew again from his smoke before crushing the butt out in an overfull ashtray. It was unlike the police to visit him here and the unusual made him nervous.
The detective was out of uniform, wearing a tight but professional skirt, white cotton blouse and heels. She was telling the room that she was off duty and not here in any professional capacity. Oddly this made Gavin feel worse about the visit, not better. She made her way across the worn wood floor of the club and stepped up into his private dining area.
She stood for a moment, the two of them eyeing each other in uncomfortable silence, then Gavin nodded at the chair across from him and the detective took a seat.
“Megan,” he said with a voice like dry leaves.
She gave a sad smile by way of response.
He let out a long sigh and took a sip of brown booze from a glass on the table.
“Well, you’re not dressed for business and, sadly, you never seem to show up looking for pleasure, so what is it?”
She stared at him, scanning his features and expression. Trying to find a hidden meaning in his words.
“Well pleasure isn’t really your stock and trade now is it Mr. Gayle?”
He thought about this for a moment.
“What do you want Megan?”
“It’s-” she started, but cut herself off.
“It’s what?” he asked.
“Well Gavin,” she paused. “It’s Weather,” she spat out like the words were poison.
Gavin didn’t say anything. His expression didn’t change. He sat holding her eyes with his, letting the words hang in the air between them.
“It’s about Weather how?” he asked finally with slow and measured speech.
Detective Hinde broke eye contact and looked at the table. She shifted in her seat and tried to look back at Gavin, but couldn’t hold his gaze.
“She’s been arrested,” she said.
“For what?”
She looked him in the eyes.
“Murder.”
Gavin breathed. He sat back in his seat then pulled himself back up to the table. He grabbed up a flat silver case, pulled out a long cigarette and screwed it between his lips. There was a snap as he opened a narrow gold Zippo lighter and pulled the flame to his face. He puffed twice on the coffin nail then clicked it shut and dragged hard on his smoke.
“Let her go,” he said finally, blowing smoke as he spoke.
“Gavin-” the detective started.
“Tell the Lieutenant to let-”
“Gavin, he can’t.”
Gavin stopped speaking. He was rigid and his pale Irish face was getting red.
“He can’t,” she said again. “Gavin, she killed a Fed. Some DOJ lawyer. We’ve got her now, but the FBI is on the way down there. They’re going to take her, we can’t do anything here.”
Gavin shook his head.
“No. No she didn’t do that. Come on Megan,” he was shouting now. “You fucking know she didn’t do that.”
Detective Hinde put on a wincing smile. She nodded understandingly.
“Maybe. Probably. You’re probably right, but it doesn’t matter. They found her at the scene Gavin. They found her there naked. There’s no way we can let her go. There’s nothing we can do.”
There was a moment of tense quiet.
“And Gavin, you can’t-”
“What?”
She stopped.
“What Megan? I can’t what?”
She flinched slightly at his anger.
“I can do all the other shit you guys ask me to do!”
The detective shifted uncomfortably and straightened up into a professional posture.
“Gavin, we never-”
“Bullshit!” he screamed.
The restaurant went quiet. The music stopped and the various guests of the establishment started to silently get up from their seats and retreat out the front door one by one.
“Don’t tell me it’s not you,” he said. “Do you think I differentiate? Do you think I care whos fucking office those little packages come from. Ask yourself if you think I see any difference between you and her.”
He said the word with terrifying contempt.
“You go down there. You go down there and you let her go. You fucking do it. Fucking do it right now!”
Megan looked at the floor. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes swollen and glossy. She stood up silently and, after a pitying sigh, walked towards the door. At the step to the main dining room she stopped. She paused while she gathered her confidence then she turned.
“I’m sorry Gavin. We can’t help her, and if you get into it with the feds, well, we won’t be able to help you either.”
Gavin roared and lifted the table in front of him then smashed it back down to the ground. Debris crashed to the floor and a cloud of ash filled the space between the two of them. Detective Hinde turned and walked across the room and out the door making it squeal and slam shut behind her.
It wasn’t schadenfreude exactly. He took no pleasure in knowing the world was run by villains and thugs, but it was reassuring to know that he wasn’t the only one that played at this game. The world was a dirty place and he had come to accept that it took dirty men to keep it running. Men like him weren’t wanted by polite society, but without them polite society would come apart at the seams.
He took a long drag of his cigarette and leaned back in the deep leather booth. He exhaled a long stream of bluish smoke and let his eyes go blurry. It had been a long week in a life that had no short ones. Time was unwinding slower and slower with every act of depravity forced upon him and he silently questioned how much longer he could endure his unwilling service to this place.
The door to the club swung open with it’s signature rusted squeal and it snapped him out of his malaise. He looked up and saw Detective Hinde step into the smokey room from the shadows of the threshold. He straightened up and drew again from his smoke before crushing the butt out in an overfull ashtray. It was unlike the police to visit him here and the unusual made him nervous.
The detective was out of uniform, wearing a tight but professional skirt, white cotton blouse and heels. She was telling the room that she was off duty and not here in any professional capacity. Oddly this made Gavin feel worse about the visit, not better. She made her way across the worn wood floor of the club and stepped up into his private dining area.
She stood for a moment, the two of them eyeing each other in uncomfortable silence, then Gavin nodded at the chair across from him and the detective took a seat.
“Megan,” he said with a voice like dry leaves.
She gave a sad smile by way of response.
He let out a long sigh and took a sip of brown booze from a glass on the table.
“Well, you’re not dressed for business and, sadly, you never seem to show up looking for pleasure, so what is it?”
She stared at him, scanning his features and expression. Trying to find a hidden meaning in his words.
“Well pleasure isn’t really your stock and trade now is it Mr. Gayle?”
He thought about this for a moment.
“What do you want Megan?”
“It’s-” she started, but cut herself off.
“It’s what?” he asked.
“Well Gavin,” she paused. “It’s Weather,” she spat out like the words were poison.
Gavin didn’t say anything. His expression didn’t change. He sat holding her eyes with his, letting the words hang in the air between them.
“It’s about Weather how?” he asked finally with slow and measured speech.
Detective Hinde broke eye contact and looked at the table. She shifted in her seat and tried to look back at Gavin, but couldn’t hold his gaze.
“She’s been arrested,” she said.
“For what?”
She looked him in the eyes.
“Murder.”
Gavin breathed. He sat back in his seat then pulled himself back up to the table. He grabbed up a flat silver case, pulled out a long cigarette and screwed it between his lips. There was a snap as he opened a narrow gold Zippo lighter and pulled the flame to his face. He puffed twice on the coffin nail then clicked it shut and dragged hard on his smoke.
“Let her go,” he said finally, blowing smoke as he spoke.
“Gavin-” the detective started.
“Tell the Lieutenant to let-”
“Gavin, he can’t.”
Gavin stopped speaking. He was rigid and his pale Irish face was getting red.
“He can’t,” she said again. “Gavin, she killed a Fed. Some DOJ lawyer. We’ve got her now, but the FBI is on the way down there. They’re going to take her, we can’t do anything here.”
Gavin shook his head.
“No. No she didn’t do that. Come on Megan,” he was shouting now. “You fucking know she didn’t do that.”
Detective Hinde put on a wincing smile. She nodded understandingly.
“Maybe. Probably. You’re probably right, but it doesn’t matter. They found her at the scene Gavin. They found her there naked. There’s no way we can let her go. There’s nothing we can do.”
There was a moment of tense quiet.
“And Gavin, you can’t-”
“What?”
She stopped.
“What Megan? I can’t what?”
She flinched slightly at his anger.
“I can do all the other shit you guys ask me to do!”
The detective shifted uncomfortably and straightened up into a professional posture.
“Gavin, we never-”
“Bullshit!” he screamed.
The restaurant went quiet. The music stopped and the various guests of the establishment started to silently get up from their seats and retreat out the front door one by one.
“Don’t tell me it’s not you,” he said. “Do you think I differentiate? Do you think I care whos fucking office those little packages come from. Ask yourself if you think I see any difference between you and her.”
He said the word with terrifying contempt.
“You go down there. You go down there and you let her go. You fucking do it. Fucking do it right now!”
Megan looked at the floor. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes swollen and glossy. She stood up silently and, after a pitying sigh, walked towards the door. At the step to the main dining room she stopped. She paused while she gathered her confidence then she turned.
“I’m sorry Gavin. We can’t help her, and if you get into it with the feds, well, we won’t be able to help you either.”
Gavin roared and lifted the table in front of him then smashed it back down to the ground. Debris crashed to the floor and a cloud of ash filled the space between the two of them. Detective Hinde turned and walked across the room and out the door making it squeal and slam shut behind her.
Scene 3
It was a dark and angry ride from the club on the deep south side of Chicago to the nineteenth precinct where Gavin assumed they were holding Weather. It wasn’t a completely random assumption. That was Megan’s precinct, that’s where her desk was, and she had said we have her, not they have her. He could be wrong, but in his experience when she said we, she wasn’t talking about the police.
It was 9:00 PM when Gavin made the hard right off of Marquette onto Lake Shore Drive. He had been doing seventy on the side streets and out of concern for sheer physics let the mint condition 1974 Firebird drop to fifty-five before making the turn. Once on the straight-away of LSD, however, he pressed his foot to the floor and was doing ninety miles an hour before he made it off the Jackson Park peninsula. His rage was running the show now and he knew that that was never good.
It was his rage that had brought about the abrupt end to his normal life fifteen years ago, and it was his rage that had funneled him into the life he had now. Rage had always been his enemy and his weakness. He had spent years fighting himself for control of his emotions and until tonight, he thought he had finally won that battle. Now it was all back, the same surging anger, the same frantic mindset, the same unbridled loss of control that could only ever lead to making a situation worse than it started. Part of him was crying out to let it go, to calm down and regain control of himself, but his emotional core was impenetrable to his logic now. He didn’t want to level out. He didn’t want to think critically. What he wanted was to kill every single person that had made his life into the nightmare that he lived in everyday.
That was a lie too though. If he listened to the reasonable voices in his head he knew that revenge wasn’t his goal. He wasn’t really mad at the people who held his marionette strings, not anymore than he was yesterday, or even an hour ago at least. He didn’t even want to hurt anyone. Not really. All he really wanted, all he had ever really wanted was to save Weather.
That was what it all boiled down to. That was the origin story for his whole adult life. The only thing that had ever really mattered was her. She was his impetus, his reason for being. If he had it all to do over again, every moment of the last decade and a half, if he could take it all back and change that one night, he knew he wouldn’t. He knew that, no matter what, any time Weather was concerned, he would do whatever he had to and that would always lead back to where he was now; cresting one hundred miles an hour around deadman’s turn on Lake Shore Drive heading for what certainly was going to be the end of his life.
It was 9:00 PM when Gavin made the hard right off of Marquette onto Lake Shore Drive. He had been doing seventy on the side streets and out of concern for sheer physics let the mint condition 1974 Firebird drop to fifty-five before making the turn. Once on the straight-away of LSD, however, he pressed his foot to the floor and was doing ninety miles an hour before he made it off the Jackson Park peninsula. His rage was running the show now and he knew that that was never good.
It was his rage that had brought about the abrupt end to his normal life fifteen years ago, and it was his rage that had funneled him into the life he had now. Rage had always been his enemy and his weakness. He had spent years fighting himself for control of his emotions and until tonight, he thought he had finally won that battle. Now it was all back, the same surging anger, the same frantic mindset, the same unbridled loss of control that could only ever lead to making a situation worse than it started. Part of him was crying out to let it go, to calm down and regain control of himself, but his emotional core was impenetrable to his logic now. He didn’t want to level out. He didn’t want to think critically. What he wanted was to kill every single person that had made his life into the nightmare that he lived in everyday.
That was a lie too though. If he listened to the reasonable voices in his head he knew that revenge wasn’t his goal. He wasn’t really mad at the people who held his marionette strings, not anymore than he was yesterday, or even an hour ago at least. He didn’t even want to hurt anyone. Not really. All he really wanted, all he had ever really wanted was to save Weather.
That was what it all boiled down to. That was the origin story for his whole adult life. The only thing that had ever really mattered was her. She was his impetus, his reason for being. If he had it all to do over again, every moment of the last decade and a half, if he could take it all back and change that one night, he knew he wouldn’t. He knew that, no matter what, any time Weather was concerned, he would do whatever he had to and that would always lead back to where he was now; cresting one hundred miles an hour around deadman’s turn on Lake Shore Drive heading for what certainly was going to be the end of his life.
Chapter 2
Gavin and Weather held hands as they crossed the quad of the University of Chicago. It was a brisk night and the moon did more to light the path across campus than the ancient street lamps. Weather, as usual, was over dressed and under bundled for the winter climate of the city, but Gavin found it charming, and glad to have the opportunity for chivalry, offered her his coat.
They were on their way to a party at Snell-Hitchcock Hall celebrating the end of the first semester. For Gavin it was the end of his first semester at college. A smooth four and a half months durring which he had made many friends and impressed his professors with his quick learning and quicker wit.
Weather, a year younger than Gavin, was there to celebrate her early admittance. She was top her her senior class and had actually had the credits to graduate at the end of her junior year, but had stayed on to participate in her senior year musical. Now, having graduated Plainfield South high school a semester early was headed to University of Chicago to start classes after the winter break.
They were also celebrating the reunion of their relationship. They had dated on and off, but mostly on, throughout high school, and if honesty was to be employed, had actually been together since pre-school. Their Mothers had been best friends and as such they had been attached at the hip since toddlerhood. When Gavin graduated the previous spring they had agreed that maintaining a high school slash college relationship was a recipe for heartbreak and disaster. They had decided to break up amicably and, if they were both single in the winter when she finished up, they would get back together as adults. Then they could have a real relationship.
Now they were there, two childhood sweethearts reconnecting in maturity and walking hand in hand to a party in a Gothic downtown building, unencumbered by curfews or parental supervision. They didn’t have to hide affection publicly or keep the door open when they were alone in a room. Finally, they were free to be themselves and be together. It was the most romantic feeling either of them had ever experienced.
The party was a huge affair, taking up the entire Snell Hall portion of the combined building and attracting attendees from all over campus even though it was officially a residents only event. Gavin and Weather entered though the side door that had been propped open for the occasion by the residents so that non house members that had been explicitly invited could sneak in without going through the main hall.
The building was beautiful. It felt the way college is supposed to feel. The while limestone tiles that covered the outside peeked through dense vines of ivy. The window panes were green with oxidation and the windows fogged ever so slightly at the edges. Inside the walls were paneled wood and intimidating stair cases that wound up the four floors of dorm rooms. The combined houses only held about a hundred and ten students, give or take, and of that Snell was limited to fifty. Tonight, however, the place was packed. There had to be four hundred students shouting and dancing and drinking and playing. It was controlled chaos with everyone being respectful of each other, but still, letting their hair down the way only college kids know how.
The two young lovers made their way slowly, stopping every couple paces to greet and commiserate with other partiers, down the hall to the Tea Room where the heart of the party was. Gavin was excited to introduce Weather to his friends and get her a head start making some of her own. He tracked down a group of English major is a corner of the room talking about obscure literary devices.
“Ladies,” he said in his most charming manner. “I’d like you to meet Ms. Weather Rose. She is my beautiful and brilliant girlfriend who will be joining us as an English major here at this prestigious institution of learning.”
The group of girls stared at him silently with slack jaws and thousand yard stares. Weather grimaced.
“Sorry for my boyfriend,” she said meekly. “He’s an engineering student.”
There was a mild chuckle from the group and one of the girls put out her hand for Weather to shake.
“Welcome Weather,” she said, “to our prestigious institution.”
Weather smiled.
“We were just talking about our favorite instances of the Chekhov’s Gun principal.” Another of the girls said. “Any thoughts?”
Gavin looked confused and Weather laughed.
“It’s a rule I like to break as a matter of fact,” Weather said.
Gavin frowned.
“Since when are you into guns?” he asked.
The other girls in the group all laughed out loud.
“Why don’t you go find us some drinks,” Weather suggested.
Gavin shrugged and disappeared into the crown of party goers.
The bar wasn’t in the Tea Room. The party, while overflowing with uninvited guests that were being intentionally overlooked, was still a sanctioned University event for minors, and as such, did not have alcohol available officially. There were however, numerous collections of beer and liquor arranged in bar-like setups in the various dorm rooms throughout the building. Gavin made his way out of the Tea Room and started strolling down the hall to find an open door with just such a setup without a long line.
He was approaching the end of the hall when he saw Stacy. Stacy DeBruin was his ex, sort of. She was a girl he had met the first week of school, during orientation. She was of average height, slim, fit, and well designed. She was a looker, but not overly impressive when compared to the copious number of other slim, fit, and well designed undergrads that roamed the campus. The one thing she did have that made her stand out from the crowd was a head of long glorious red hair. When you added that to the picture she became a vixen.
Gavin had been smitten with her from the moment he met her, and much to his surprise, she had been smitten too. The had known each other exactly four hours when they fell into bed together. It was wild and unbridled sex. For the first time ever Gavin had been with a woman away from the prying eyes of parents. He didn’t have to be quiet or subtle. They had sex like he had seen in pornos online. It was hot and loud and rambunctious and long. When it was over he felt like overcooked pasta and fell sound asleep in her arms.
They had almost a dozen more encounters like that, each one better than the last. They didn’t talk much, didn’t go into the stories of their lives or dreams for the future. They met up after classes, ate crappy delivery pizza, drank cheap beer and fucked like rabbits until they passed out. It was everything he had ever hoped for in a college girlfriend. She, on the other hand, saw it differently.
Two weeks into classes, when the workload had built up to the point that they hadn’t had time to hook up for several days, Gavin took a friendly ribbing from a friend in his CAD class.
“So you’re giving up already,” he had said.
Gavin shot him a puzzled look.
“Giving up on what?”
“School. I hear you’re dropping out.”
Gavin let out a burst of laughter.
“What? No way, it hasn’t even gotten hard yet.”
“Mmm hmm,” his friend mocked. “That’s not what she said.”
Gavin stopped clicking at the computer and turned to face him.
“What are you talking about?” he asked with a worried smile on his face.
His friend glanced at him with a smirk, then, when he saw Gavin’s face let his own draw serious.
“Dude, Stacy is telling everyone that you’re dropping out.”
Gavin’s eyes went wide.
“What?” he nearly shouted, then caught himself. “What?” whispering now. “What the hell are you talking about?”
His friend straightened up in his chair and turned to face Gavin.
“Dude, your girlfriend is under the impression that you are leaving school to go work for her dad.”
Gavin’s blood went cold and he felt himself start to panic.
“Wha- Her what? Her dad? Why would- Dude, I don’t even know what her dad does. Why would I do that? Why would she say that?”
His buddy shrugged.
“How the fuck would I know,” he said. “I’m just saying that she says you two are in love and that you are going to go sell cars or some shit so that you guys can get married.”
Gavin jumped out of his chair.
“The fuck!” he yelled.
“Mr. Gayle,” the instructor boomed. “Is there a problem?”
Gavin looked up at him, his eyes wide with rage.
“Well?” the prof said again.
Gavin shook. He looked down at his friend who had turned back to his computer and was clicking away at his drawing of a rustic farmhouse being converted to a huge single family home. He looked back at the professor and then grabbed his backpack and stormed out of the classroom.
The ensuing fight had been long loud and very public. He screamed at her and called her awful names, something he regretted later. He didn’t like to be that guy, but he couldn’t believe what she had done. She cried and apologized, but ultimately stuck to her story. She said it was what was best for them. She said they were meant to be and that he just couldn’t see it yet.
Gavin had spent the rest of the semester avoiding her and dodging her phone calls. He tried talking to the administration, tried filing a sexual harassment case, but no one took an eighteen year old boy seriously when he said that the hot girl wouldn’t leave him alone, and unless he could show that he was concerned for his physical safety, there was nothing they could do. So far he’d been fairly successful at simply staying away from her and avoiding interaction. His reputation had suffered a bit from the gossip about the fight, but he’d been able to set it strait with the people that mattered to him.
Now he was shoulder to shoulder in a crowded hall, unable to make evasive maneuvers and closing in on her for the first time in months. He tried to start moving away, pretending he hadn’t seen her, but she was already calling his name.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he felt her hand grab him by his shirt.
He turned and looked her in the eyes.
“Gavin,” she said in a sweet sing song voice. “God, I’ve missed you. Glad you got my message.”
Gavin frowned.
“Stacy,” he said as coldly as he could. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t read your messages.”
She raised her eyebrows quizzically.
“But you’re here,” she said. “You must have gotten my invitation.”
Gavin had forgotten that Stacy lived in Snell. Her tiny twin bed on the third floor had been his introduction to the famous building. He winced and then shook his head.
“No Stacy. Daren invited me. I’m here with my girlfriend. I did not come to see you. In fact, if I had known you were going to be here I probably wouldn’t have come.”
A big smile spread across her face.
“Oh you’re so cute,” she said. “Gavin, I live here, of course you knew I’d be here. I like the routine though. Playing hard to get? Very sexy. Girlfriend’s a nice touch too.”
She mocked looking around the crowd.
“I don’t see anyone, should we be naughty on the sly?”
She put her hand on his shoulder and he jerked away.
“Oh my fucking God, you’re a lunatic,” he screamed.
People turned and looked.
“Gavin, you’re making a scene,” she whispered.
Gavin backed up and turned away. People watching the two of them spread apart giving Gavin room to move. He walked back down the hall, almost running and the crowd seemed to give up on the show and went back to their previous revelries. Stacy disappeared into the mass of strangers.
Back in the Tea Room Gavin maneuvered back to the corner where the group of girls had been, but now there was just a couple of guys sipping Miller Lite and talking about the Cub’s shitty season. Gavin spun around, frantically looking for Weather. She was nowhere to be seen, but he did spy one of the girls that had been in the group and he made his way over to where she was sitting.
It was the girl that had shook Weather’s hand. She was on a plush red sofa sipping a glass of some pink wine and laughing with a new group of girls, all dressed like they were going to be peeling their dresses off on stage later that night.
“Excuse me,” Gavin blurted out half weezing and interupting the girl mid sentence.
She looked up annoyed then recognized him and smiled.
“Hey,” she said. “Engineering dude right?”
Gavin frowned, then nodded.
“Yeah, where’s-”
“Yeah,” she interupted. “Your girlfriend was looking for you.”
“What?”
“Yeah, Weather right? She was wondering what was taking you so long. She went off to find you, did she? Find you?”
Gavin shook his head.
“No,” he said in an irritated voice. “No she didn’t. Do you know where she went?”
The girl shrugged.
“I dunno,” she said already turning back to her friends. “Some guy was taking her to find you.”
Gavin straightened up.
“Some guy? Who? Who was it?”
She looked back, now fully annoyed.
“If I knew who it was I wouldn’t have said some guy.”
He stared back at her, incredulous.
“Do you know which way they went?”
She looked back at him again, then just went on with her conversation.
Gavin sighed. The last thing he wanted was to go back out into the hall and risk running into Stacy again, but he also wasn’t going to let his seventeen year old girlfriend wander around alone in a drunken college crowd, or worse yet, not alone with some drunken college guy. He pressed his way through the swelling crowd and made it out into the corridor.
On his tip toes he could roughly see over the swarm of people packed wall to wall and to his best judgement he didn’t think Weather was one of them. Around the corner from the Tea Room was the main stairway and he fought his way though the kids like a salmon until he made it there. The stairs were less congested and he was able to move up them without a hassle.
He continued his search up and down the hall of the second floor and then the third, growing more and more panicked with each room. The fourth floor was suites and the party hadn’t moved that far. There were a few people scattered about, but it was quiet and it was easy to see Weather wasn’t there. He retraced his steps back down the floors checking each room again and asking anyone he knew if they had seen Weather.
It was his fourth pass down the hallway of the second floor when he noticed it. He had been down this way twice on his way up the levels. Once moving away from the stairs and once on the way back. Then again on his retread away from the stairs. On the way back something caught his attention. A door was closed. Every other dorm room in the building had been open. Partiers moving in and out, bar service in some, movies or football games in others. Everything was open but this room.
Gavin pushed through the people between himself and the door and pressed his ear against it. It was quiet. He started to move away and he heard… something. He couldn’t identify it exactly, but it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He leaned in again and listened and there it was again. Soft. Like a whimper.
He turned the door knob gently and cracked the door to peak in. Inside was a man, a kid really, shirtless, kneeling on the small bed facing away from him. He was big, athlete big, with defined muscles up and down his well tanned back. Between his legs were a girls legs, bare and squirming. It didn’t look right.
Gavin swung the door open and nearly knocked over another boy. He was standing just inside the door pointing a Super Eight camcorder at the two on the bed with a greasy smile that sent a shiver down Gavin’s spine. The door creaked as it met the end of it’s hinges and banged against the wall. Both men turned to look at him.
“Close the door asshole, the boy on the bed said, and as he moved Gavin caught sight of whom he was kneeling over. It was Weather.
She was almost naked. Her legs bare, her shirt torn open and one breast hanging out of her bra. Her face was swollen and red and their were tears streaming down her cheeks. She was gasping, trying to scream, trying to talk trying to get away.
The boy on top of her turned back to her and pressed his hand hard over her mouth.
“Shut up bitch!” he said, then added, “get the fuck out of here dickwad, we’re trying to make a movie.”
Gavin didn’t even feel his rage take over. He didn’t notice his face go red and his vision get blurry. He didn’t hear the blood rush over his ears silencing the sounds of the party behind him. He didn’t feel anything, he just moved.
With one step he put his fist though the nose of the boy holding the camera. The cartilage crumbled under his knuckles like tissue paper and blood sprayed across the wall and Gavin’s face and shirt. The camera crashed to the floor and the boy collapsed in a heap. Gavin stepped over him and wrapped both of his hands around the neck of the boy on the bed. He jerked hard and the kid tumbled off the mattress and onto the ground, his neck still between Gavin’s fingers.
Gavin dragged the stunned student across the small room and slammed his head into the wall. He fell onto the tile and Gavin dropped down over him in the same position he had just been over Weather. Then the beating began. Gavin didn’t really see the boy’s face he just started hitting it. Over and over he pushed his fists into the kid’s ever reddening face. He felt a finger break, then another, but he didn’t stop.
The boy didn’t move, he didn’t struggle, he didn’t scream, he just laid there as Gavin made him into hamburger meat. After what could have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes Gavin felt hands on his shoulders, then tugging and then pulling. Finally thick arms like tree trunks wrapped around his chest and pulled him off the boy. They dropped him on the floor on the other side of the room and Gavin finally, uncontrollably, started to cry.
They were on their way to a party at Snell-Hitchcock Hall celebrating the end of the first semester. For Gavin it was the end of his first semester at college. A smooth four and a half months durring which he had made many friends and impressed his professors with his quick learning and quicker wit.
Weather, a year younger than Gavin, was there to celebrate her early admittance. She was top her her senior class and had actually had the credits to graduate at the end of her junior year, but had stayed on to participate in her senior year musical. Now, having graduated Plainfield South high school a semester early was headed to University of Chicago to start classes after the winter break.
They were also celebrating the reunion of their relationship. They had dated on and off, but mostly on, throughout high school, and if honesty was to be employed, had actually been together since pre-school. Their Mothers had been best friends and as such they had been attached at the hip since toddlerhood. When Gavin graduated the previous spring they had agreed that maintaining a high school slash college relationship was a recipe for heartbreak and disaster. They had decided to break up amicably and, if they were both single in the winter when she finished up, they would get back together as adults. Then they could have a real relationship.
Now they were there, two childhood sweethearts reconnecting in maturity and walking hand in hand to a party in a Gothic downtown building, unencumbered by curfews or parental supervision. They didn’t have to hide affection publicly or keep the door open when they were alone in a room. Finally, they were free to be themselves and be together. It was the most romantic feeling either of them had ever experienced.
The party was a huge affair, taking up the entire Snell Hall portion of the combined building and attracting attendees from all over campus even though it was officially a residents only event. Gavin and Weather entered though the side door that had been propped open for the occasion by the residents so that non house members that had been explicitly invited could sneak in without going through the main hall.
The building was beautiful. It felt the way college is supposed to feel. The while limestone tiles that covered the outside peeked through dense vines of ivy. The window panes were green with oxidation and the windows fogged ever so slightly at the edges. Inside the walls were paneled wood and intimidating stair cases that wound up the four floors of dorm rooms. The combined houses only held about a hundred and ten students, give or take, and of that Snell was limited to fifty. Tonight, however, the place was packed. There had to be four hundred students shouting and dancing and drinking and playing. It was controlled chaos with everyone being respectful of each other, but still, letting their hair down the way only college kids know how.
The two young lovers made their way slowly, stopping every couple paces to greet and commiserate with other partiers, down the hall to the Tea Room where the heart of the party was. Gavin was excited to introduce Weather to his friends and get her a head start making some of her own. He tracked down a group of English major is a corner of the room talking about obscure literary devices.
“Ladies,” he said in his most charming manner. “I’d like you to meet Ms. Weather Rose. She is my beautiful and brilliant girlfriend who will be joining us as an English major here at this prestigious institution of learning.”
The group of girls stared at him silently with slack jaws and thousand yard stares. Weather grimaced.
“Sorry for my boyfriend,” she said meekly. “He’s an engineering student.”
There was a mild chuckle from the group and one of the girls put out her hand for Weather to shake.
“Welcome Weather,” she said, “to our prestigious institution.”
Weather smiled.
“We were just talking about our favorite instances of the Chekhov’s Gun principal.” Another of the girls said. “Any thoughts?”
Gavin looked confused and Weather laughed.
“It’s a rule I like to break as a matter of fact,” Weather said.
Gavin frowned.
“Since when are you into guns?” he asked.
The other girls in the group all laughed out loud.
“Why don’t you go find us some drinks,” Weather suggested.
Gavin shrugged and disappeared into the crown of party goers.
The bar wasn’t in the Tea Room. The party, while overflowing with uninvited guests that were being intentionally overlooked, was still a sanctioned University event for minors, and as such, did not have alcohol available officially. There were however, numerous collections of beer and liquor arranged in bar-like setups in the various dorm rooms throughout the building. Gavin made his way out of the Tea Room and started strolling down the hall to find an open door with just such a setup without a long line.
He was approaching the end of the hall when he saw Stacy. Stacy DeBruin was his ex, sort of. She was a girl he had met the first week of school, during orientation. She was of average height, slim, fit, and well designed. She was a looker, but not overly impressive when compared to the copious number of other slim, fit, and well designed undergrads that roamed the campus. The one thing she did have that made her stand out from the crowd was a head of long glorious red hair. When you added that to the picture she became a vixen.
Gavin had been smitten with her from the moment he met her, and much to his surprise, she had been smitten too. The had known each other exactly four hours when they fell into bed together. It was wild and unbridled sex. For the first time ever Gavin had been with a woman away from the prying eyes of parents. He didn’t have to be quiet or subtle. They had sex like he had seen in pornos online. It was hot and loud and rambunctious and long. When it was over he felt like overcooked pasta and fell sound asleep in her arms.
They had almost a dozen more encounters like that, each one better than the last. They didn’t talk much, didn’t go into the stories of their lives or dreams for the future. They met up after classes, ate crappy delivery pizza, drank cheap beer and fucked like rabbits until they passed out. It was everything he had ever hoped for in a college girlfriend. She, on the other hand, saw it differently.
Two weeks into classes, when the workload had built up to the point that they hadn’t had time to hook up for several days, Gavin took a friendly ribbing from a friend in his CAD class.
“So you’re giving up already,” he had said.
Gavin shot him a puzzled look.
“Giving up on what?”
“School. I hear you’re dropping out.”
Gavin let out a burst of laughter.
“What? No way, it hasn’t even gotten hard yet.”
“Mmm hmm,” his friend mocked. “That’s not what she said.”
Gavin stopped clicking at the computer and turned to face him.
“What are you talking about?” he asked with a worried smile on his face.
His friend glanced at him with a smirk, then, when he saw Gavin’s face let his own draw serious.
“Dude, Stacy is telling everyone that you’re dropping out.”
Gavin’s eyes went wide.
“What?” he nearly shouted, then caught himself. “What?” whispering now. “What the hell are you talking about?”
His friend straightened up in his chair and turned to face Gavin.
“Dude, your girlfriend is under the impression that you are leaving school to go work for her dad.”
Gavin’s blood went cold and he felt himself start to panic.
“Wha- Her what? Her dad? Why would- Dude, I don’t even know what her dad does. Why would I do that? Why would she say that?”
His buddy shrugged.
“How the fuck would I know,” he said. “I’m just saying that she says you two are in love and that you are going to go sell cars or some shit so that you guys can get married.”
Gavin jumped out of his chair.
“The fuck!” he yelled.
“Mr. Gayle,” the instructor boomed. “Is there a problem?”
Gavin looked up at him, his eyes wide with rage.
“Well?” the prof said again.
Gavin shook. He looked down at his friend who had turned back to his computer and was clicking away at his drawing of a rustic farmhouse being converted to a huge single family home. He looked back at the professor and then grabbed his backpack and stormed out of the classroom.
The ensuing fight had been long loud and very public. He screamed at her and called her awful names, something he regretted later. He didn’t like to be that guy, but he couldn’t believe what she had done. She cried and apologized, but ultimately stuck to her story. She said it was what was best for them. She said they were meant to be and that he just couldn’t see it yet.
Gavin had spent the rest of the semester avoiding her and dodging her phone calls. He tried talking to the administration, tried filing a sexual harassment case, but no one took an eighteen year old boy seriously when he said that the hot girl wouldn’t leave him alone, and unless he could show that he was concerned for his physical safety, there was nothing they could do. So far he’d been fairly successful at simply staying away from her and avoiding interaction. His reputation had suffered a bit from the gossip about the fight, but he’d been able to set it strait with the people that mattered to him.
Now he was shoulder to shoulder in a crowded hall, unable to make evasive maneuvers and closing in on her for the first time in months. He tried to start moving away, pretending he hadn’t seen her, but she was already calling his name.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he felt her hand grab him by his shirt.
He turned and looked her in the eyes.
“Gavin,” she said in a sweet sing song voice. “God, I’ve missed you. Glad you got my message.”
Gavin frowned.
“Stacy,” he said as coldly as he could. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t read your messages.”
She raised her eyebrows quizzically.
“But you’re here,” she said. “You must have gotten my invitation.”
Gavin had forgotten that Stacy lived in Snell. Her tiny twin bed on the third floor had been his introduction to the famous building. He winced and then shook his head.
“No Stacy. Daren invited me. I’m here with my girlfriend. I did not come to see you. In fact, if I had known you were going to be here I probably wouldn’t have come.”
A big smile spread across her face.
“Oh you’re so cute,” she said. “Gavin, I live here, of course you knew I’d be here. I like the routine though. Playing hard to get? Very sexy. Girlfriend’s a nice touch too.”
She mocked looking around the crowd.
“I don’t see anyone, should we be naughty on the sly?”
She put her hand on his shoulder and he jerked away.
“Oh my fucking God, you’re a lunatic,” he screamed.
People turned and looked.
“Gavin, you’re making a scene,” she whispered.
Gavin backed up and turned away. People watching the two of them spread apart giving Gavin room to move. He walked back down the hall, almost running and the crowd seemed to give up on the show and went back to their previous revelries. Stacy disappeared into the mass of strangers.
Back in the Tea Room Gavin maneuvered back to the corner where the group of girls had been, but now there was just a couple of guys sipping Miller Lite and talking about the Cub’s shitty season. Gavin spun around, frantically looking for Weather. She was nowhere to be seen, but he did spy one of the girls that had been in the group and he made his way over to where she was sitting.
It was the girl that had shook Weather’s hand. She was on a plush red sofa sipping a glass of some pink wine and laughing with a new group of girls, all dressed like they were going to be peeling their dresses off on stage later that night.
“Excuse me,” Gavin blurted out half weezing and interupting the girl mid sentence.
She looked up annoyed then recognized him and smiled.
“Hey,” she said. “Engineering dude right?”
Gavin frowned, then nodded.
“Yeah, where’s-”
“Yeah,” she interupted. “Your girlfriend was looking for you.”
“What?”
“Yeah, Weather right? She was wondering what was taking you so long. She went off to find you, did she? Find you?”
Gavin shook his head.
“No,” he said in an irritated voice. “No she didn’t. Do you know where she went?”
The girl shrugged.
“I dunno,” she said already turning back to her friends. “Some guy was taking her to find you.”
Gavin straightened up.
“Some guy? Who? Who was it?”
She looked back, now fully annoyed.
“If I knew who it was I wouldn’t have said some guy.”
He stared back at her, incredulous.
“Do you know which way they went?”
She looked back at him again, then just went on with her conversation.
Gavin sighed. The last thing he wanted was to go back out into the hall and risk running into Stacy again, but he also wasn’t going to let his seventeen year old girlfriend wander around alone in a drunken college crowd, or worse yet, not alone with some drunken college guy. He pressed his way through the swelling crowd and made it out into the corridor.
On his tip toes he could roughly see over the swarm of people packed wall to wall and to his best judgement he didn’t think Weather was one of them. Around the corner from the Tea Room was the main stairway and he fought his way though the kids like a salmon until he made it there. The stairs were less congested and he was able to move up them without a hassle.
He continued his search up and down the hall of the second floor and then the third, growing more and more panicked with each room. The fourth floor was suites and the party hadn’t moved that far. There were a few people scattered about, but it was quiet and it was easy to see Weather wasn’t there. He retraced his steps back down the floors checking each room again and asking anyone he knew if they had seen Weather.
It was his fourth pass down the hallway of the second floor when he noticed it. He had been down this way twice on his way up the levels. Once moving away from the stairs and once on the way back. Then again on his retread away from the stairs. On the way back something caught his attention. A door was closed. Every other dorm room in the building had been open. Partiers moving in and out, bar service in some, movies or football games in others. Everything was open but this room.
Gavin pushed through the people between himself and the door and pressed his ear against it. It was quiet. He started to move away and he heard… something. He couldn’t identify it exactly, but it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He leaned in again and listened and there it was again. Soft. Like a whimper.
He turned the door knob gently and cracked the door to peak in. Inside was a man, a kid really, shirtless, kneeling on the small bed facing away from him. He was big, athlete big, with defined muscles up and down his well tanned back. Between his legs were a girls legs, bare and squirming. It didn’t look right.
Gavin swung the door open and nearly knocked over another boy. He was standing just inside the door pointing a Super Eight camcorder at the two on the bed with a greasy smile that sent a shiver down Gavin’s spine. The door creaked as it met the end of it’s hinges and banged against the wall. Both men turned to look at him.
“Close the door asshole, the boy on the bed said, and as he moved Gavin caught sight of whom he was kneeling over. It was Weather.
She was almost naked. Her legs bare, her shirt torn open and one breast hanging out of her bra. Her face was swollen and red and their were tears streaming down her cheeks. She was gasping, trying to scream, trying to talk trying to get away.
The boy on top of her turned back to her and pressed his hand hard over her mouth.
“Shut up bitch!” he said, then added, “get the fuck out of here dickwad, we’re trying to make a movie.”
Gavin didn’t even feel his rage take over. He didn’t notice his face go red and his vision get blurry. He didn’t hear the blood rush over his ears silencing the sounds of the party behind him. He didn’t feel anything, he just moved.
With one step he put his fist though the nose of the boy holding the camera. The cartilage crumbled under his knuckles like tissue paper and blood sprayed across the wall and Gavin’s face and shirt. The camera crashed to the floor and the boy collapsed in a heap. Gavin stepped over him and wrapped both of his hands around the neck of the boy on the bed. He jerked hard and the kid tumbled off the mattress and onto the ground, his neck still between Gavin’s fingers.
Gavin dragged the stunned student across the small room and slammed his head into the wall. He fell onto the tile and Gavin dropped down over him in the same position he had just been over Weather. Then the beating began. Gavin didn’t really see the boy’s face he just started hitting it. Over and over he pushed his fists into the kid’s ever reddening face. He felt a finger break, then another, but he didn’t stop.
The boy didn’t move, he didn’t struggle, he didn’t scream, he just laid there as Gavin made him into hamburger meat. After what could have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes Gavin felt hands on his shoulders, then tugging and then pulling. Finally thick arms like tree trunks wrapped around his chest and pulled him off the boy. They dropped him on the floor on the other side of the room and Gavin finally, uncontrollably, started to cry.
Chapter 3
"State’s Attorney Maureen Reprobi sat at her desk in her fifth floor office at the Daily Center, downtown Chicago. She was reviewing cases that her staff of ASAs and junior prosecutors were litigating that week. It was a job she despised, but it was the cost of her ascension to the highest legal office in the city. Gone were the days of slugging it out in the courtroom, going head to head with defense attorneys, and making dramatic closing arguments before juries in high profile criminal cases. These days she sat behind her desk and pushed papers, assigned staff, and mostly, got blamed for every failing of the office of the Cook County State’s Attorney.
She was an administrator, and worse, a politician. She was high profile, connected to the top brass of the city and the state. She was responsible for making the hard choices and, perhaps more importantly, responsible for making the mayor look good.
The job had cost her. It had cost her her family, it had cost her her private life, and maybe it had cost her some of her humanity, but the rewards were profound as well. She had this office for one. A sprawling eight-hundred square foot space fully furnished with a law library, conference area, media center, and full bar. She had a huge antique mahogany desk that was installed in the office by one of her distant predecessors and which could never be replaced as it was too large to fit out the doors to the room.
The near royalty of the office wasn’t the only benefit though. She was doing good. Helping the city. Crime was down, her conviction rate was the highest in the past several decades and Chicago was seeing a renaissance in tourism and economic development. She was well respected and widely regarded as the second most powerful person in the city, second only to the mayor himself. She didn’t feel happy, but she did feel proud, and she knew that that sense of pride was more valuable and lasting than mere happiness ever could be.
She was signing off on some routine plea bargins made by her subordinates when the knock on her door came. It startled her and made her jump. It was late, almost nine in the evening and it was unusual to have anyone visit her office at this hour.
“Come in,” she said with a dry throat.
She reached for a glass of water on her desk.
The door opened and an attractive woman in her early thirties walked in. She was beautiful, but built like a tank. Her highly feminen white blouse and black skirt couldn’t hide her broad shoulders and muscular arms. She had curves, the way a woman should, but they were firm and taught. She had long hair, but it was pulled back into a neat ponytail and she wore no makeup.
“Detective Hinde,” Maureen said. “Nice to see you.”
The detective gave a professional smile and took a seat across the desk from the S.A.
“You look very grim Detective, is this a business call?”
Hinde crossed her legs and cleared her throat.
“I’m afraid so S.A. Reprobi, something’s happened.”
Maureen put on a serious expression and leaned back in her chair.
“So out with it then, what’s the problem.”
“Well ma’am, it seems that Brandon Grayson is dead.”
Maureen sat up straight.
“What’s that?” she said.
“Special Prosecutor Brandon Grayson was found this evening murdered in his appartment.”
“Oh my God,” Maureen gasped. “Fuck.”
“Yes ma’am,” Hinde said.
“That’s- that’s unbelievable. Is the FBI on the scene yet?”
The detective nodded.
“Yes, they have the case, but…”
Maureen frowned.
“But what Megan?”
Detective Hinde looked at her feet for a moment, then looked back up with a softer expression.
“Maureen,” she whispered.
The SA had a brief expression of surprise. Detective Hinde was a consumate professional and had never in her life called Maureen by her first name. The action made her blood run cold and she felt a chill run down her back.
“They have a suspect in custody.”
Maureen nodded.
“It’s Weather Rose,” Hinde said with fear.
Maureen’s face went white. She stopped breathing and stared at the detective for a long while. When she felt her fingers tingle she drew a breath and leaned way back in her chair and rubbed her eyes with her palms. She was whispering inaudible things to herself for a while then sat back up.
“Have you-”
“Yeah,” Hinde said not waiting for the rest of the question.
“And?”
“And I’m concerned.”
Maureen stood up and started across the floor of her office to the coat tree next to the door.
“Where is she?” she asked.
Hinde stood.
"We’ve got her right now, but the Feds are on their way down to get her. They’ll transfer her to Dearborn street when they get there. We don’t have any jurisdiction and no grounds to fight the transfer. They’re going to have her.”
Maureen was nodding. She pulled her coat off the tree and dug in its pockets for her keys.
“Yeah,” she said, “I know, but I want to see her first. They’ll give me that. I want to see her and see what she knows before she goes telling ghost stories to the Goddamn FBI.”
“I really don’t think she-”
“I don’t give a good Goddamn what you think!” Maureen shouted.
Hinde straightened up and got formal again.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maureen glared at her, then softened a bit.
“I’m sorry Detective, that was uncalled for. This isn’t your fault.”
“No ma’am.”
“You’re just the messenger.”
Hinde nodded.
“I’ve got to go,” Maureen said tuning back to the door, then paused again. “Megan, what the fuck was Weather Rose doing at Brandon Grayson’s apartment.
She turned back to look at her.
Megan looked terrified.
“Ma’am, I have no fucking idea.”
Scene 2
Gavin felt sick as he rolled the Pontiac up to the curb. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. He’d gotten over the nausea of the job, and his arrangement had left him free of what you might call legal anxiety. The trappings of his life were comfortable and the conditions had become so routine that he hardly noticed them anymore. The feeling in his stomach now, the rotten putrescence was something he’d managed to forget somehow. He didn’t like it, he didn’t like feeling it working it’s way up his throat and leaving brassy acid on his teeth, but more than anything, he didn’t like that it had gone away in the first place.
It was bad, the place he was now. He shouldn’t be here. He couldn’t be here actually. It was against the rules. It violated every condition of his life as it stood, and that knowledge brought back the feeling of oily fever that had plagued him at the beginning. He shouldn’t be here, couldn’t be here, but he killed the engine and stepped out of the car anyway.
He had heard somewhere that a clipboard and a confident wave will get you into any room in the world. He was sure it wasn’t entirely true, but it had stuck with him throughout his life, and in his experience it had been more or less accurate. For his own flair he added a lanyard with some large credentials hanging from it, busy with design and print so it was difficult to read or make out from a distance. People, even people who should know better, rarely questioned a person wearing and ID around their neck. It turned out the boys in blue at 851 W. Addison street were no exception.
Gavin walked right in the front door of Townhall, the Headquarters of the Chicago PD Lakeview district, and with a big friendly grin and a wave of his metal clipboard confidently strode right past the Desk Sargent and through the double swing doors on the left side of the room. Once through the doors he stopped and leaned against the cream colored cinder block wall and nearly threw up. He took the white handkerchief from his breast jacket pocket and wiped his forehead and the corners of his mouth while he surveyed his surroundings.
He was in a corridor about forty feet long. The floor was beige speckled industrial tile and there were bare fluorescent tube light fixtures on a drop ceiling. There were three doors on each side of the corridor, the same cream white as the walls, with stainless steel door knobs and twelve inch square glass windows with crisscross wire inside them at eye level. At the end of the hall was another set of double doors, but not swing doors. These were solid steel doors with solid looking handles and no windows.
Gavin regained his composure and began making his way down the hall. At each door he stopped and peeked through the small window. They were all the same. Ten by ten rooms with a grey metal table, three chairs, a microphone hanging over the table, and a small camera in the upper right hand corner of the room. They were all empty. Interrogation rooms, he was headed in the right direction. At the end of the hall he grabbed the knob of the right hand door and tried to turn it, but it was locked. He tried the left hand door as well, but found it the same. He stood silently looking at the sturdy barricade, glanced behind him, and looked back at the doors. He reached again for the door on the right, and as he tried to turn the handle it pulled out of his hand and the door swung away from him.
Gavin instinctively dropped his eyes to the floor and stepped aside. He saw a pair of women’s legs in stockings and black heels pass him and quickly caught the door. He pivoted and started to step through it. The sharp click of the footsteps behind him stopped and he tried to fight the urge to turn, but failed and his eyes met the stare of Detective Megan Hinde. Gavin looked at the door in his hand and quickly tried to shut it between them, but the heavy slab slammed against her hand.
Gavin stepped back and spun away, walking down the hall at a speed that bordered on running. He got about ten steps in, when he heard the detective shout in a raspy whisper.
"Gavin!"
He froze, his brain flashing through options, possibilities, scenarios where he could get out of this without the world crashing down around him. He took another step.
"Gavin!"
He froze again.
"Oh my God, what the fuck are you doing here? Are you fucking crazy?"
Gavin slowly turned turned to face her.
"Look, when I came to see you I specifically told you to stay the fuck away. I mean, holy shit, how did you even get past the front desk? You can't be here. They have Weather in interrogation. Fuck, Maureen is here and the feds are on their way! Seriously Gavin, you fucked up, you need to leave.”
Gavin stared at her blankly, trying to decided between the dual urges of fight or flight. Hinde was panicking, breathing hard and glancing around her like a paranoid.
“Gavin, she killed Grayson. When they found her she was damn near naked, covered in his blood, and the gun was right next to her. I'm supposed to be on my way to the prints lab now to see if they got a match, but you know they will.”
Gavin shook his head.
“No,” he said.
Hinde rolled her eyes.
“Fuck,” she said. “I don't know if she killed him or not, but it looks that way and with it looking like it does, well, I don't have to tell you. This is Chicago Gavin, and with it looking like it does, they just aren't going to look much fucking further."
"I have to see her."
"Abso-fucking-lutely not. She isn't alone. No, no you have to leave. Seriously, fucking go!"
"I will, right after I see her." Gavin said.
"Fuck man! Fuck, aren't you listening to me? You can't walk around a police station. You can't do that ever, but seriously, no way you can be here while fucking Weather Rose is being questioned for the murder of member of the FBI!"
Gavin turned and started walking down the hall.
"Okay, okay, okay! Fuck, just fucking stop for a second."
Gavin stopped.
"Okay." she sighed. "Okay, come on, come with me. You can see her, but you can't talk to her. She's in the big interrogation room being questioned. If there is no on in the witness room I'll let you see her through the glass."
"Thank you." Gavin said.
"Yeah, thank me. Fuck, if anyone sees us together, I don't fucking know you. You get sixty seconds and then I want you out of here. You got yourself in, so you can find your way out. I'll drop you off, then I'm heading to the prints lab to get the report on the gun. When I get back you better be gone."
"I'll be gone."
"Yeah, you fucking better be."
It was bad, the place he was now. He shouldn’t be here. He couldn’t be here actually. It was against the rules. It violated every condition of his life as it stood, and that knowledge brought back the feeling of oily fever that had plagued him at the beginning. He shouldn’t be here, couldn’t be here, but he killed the engine and stepped out of the car anyway.
He had heard somewhere that a clipboard and a confident wave will get you into any room in the world. He was sure it wasn’t entirely true, but it had stuck with him throughout his life, and in his experience it had been more or less accurate. For his own flair he added a lanyard with some large credentials hanging from it, busy with design and print so it was difficult to read or make out from a distance. People, even people who should know better, rarely questioned a person wearing and ID around their neck. It turned out the boys in blue at 851 W. Addison street were no exception.
Gavin walked right in the front door of Townhall, the Headquarters of the Chicago PD Lakeview district, and with a big friendly grin and a wave of his metal clipboard confidently strode right past the Desk Sargent and through the double swing doors on the left side of the room. Once through the doors he stopped and leaned against the cream colored cinder block wall and nearly threw up. He took the white handkerchief from his breast jacket pocket and wiped his forehead and the corners of his mouth while he surveyed his surroundings.
He was in a corridor about forty feet long. The floor was beige speckled industrial tile and there were bare fluorescent tube light fixtures on a drop ceiling. There were three doors on each side of the corridor, the same cream white as the walls, with stainless steel door knobs and twelve inch square glass windows with crisscross wire inside them at eye level. At the end of the hall was another set of double doors, but not swing doors. These were solid steel doors with solid looking handles and no windows.
Gavin regained his composure and began making his way down the hall. At each door he stopped and peeked through the small window. They were all the same. Ten by ten rooms with a grey metal table, three chairs, a microphone hanging over the table, and a small camera in the upper right hand corner of the room. They were all empty. Interrogation rooms, he was headed in the right direction. At the end of the hall he grabbed the knob of the right hand door and tried to turn it, but it was locked. He tried the left hand door as well, but found it the same. He stood silently looking at the sturdy barricade, glanced behind him, and looked back at the doors. He reached again for the door on the right, and as he tried to turn the handle it pulled out of his hand and the door swung away from him.
Gavin instinctively dropped his eyes to the floor and stepped aside. He saw a pair of women’s legs in stockings and black heels pass him and quickly caught the door. He pivoted and started to step through it. The sharp click of the footsteps behind him stopped and he tried to fight the urge to turn, but failed and his eyes met the stare of Detective Megan Hinde. Gavin looked at the door in his hand and quickly tried to shut it between them, but the heavy slab slammed against her hand.
Gavin stepped back and spun away, walking down the hall at a speed that bordered on running. He got about ten steps in, when he heard the detective shout in a raspy whisper.
"Gavin!"
He froze, his brain flashing through options, possibilities, scenarios where he could get out of this without the world crashing down around him. He took another step.
"Gavin!"
He froze again.
"Oh my God, what the fuck are you doing here? Are you fucking crazy?"
Gavin slowly turned turned to face her.
"Look, when I came to see you I specifically told you to stay the fuck away. I mean, holy shit, how did you even get past the front desk? You can't be here. They have Weather in interrogation. Fuck, Maureen is here and the feds are on their way! Seriously Gavin, you fucked up, you need to leave.”
Gavin stared at her blankly, trying to decided between the dual urges of fight or flight. Hinde was panicking, breathing hard and glancing around her like a paranoid.
“Gavin, she killed Grayson. When they found her she was damn near naked, covered in his blood, and the gun was right next to her. I'm supposed to be on my way to the prints lab now to see if they got a match, but you know they will.”
Gavin shook his head.
“No,” he said.
Hinde rolled her eyes.
“Fuck,” she said. “I don't know if she killed him or not, but it looks that way and with it looking like it does, well, I don't have to tell you. This is Chicago Gavin, and with it looking like it does, they just aren't going to look much fucking further."
"I have to see her."
"Abso-fucking-lutely not. She isn't alone. No, no you have to leave. Seriously, fucking go!"
"I will, right after I see her." Gavin said.
"Fuck man! Fuck, aren't you listening to me? You can't walk around a police station. You can't do that ever, but seriously, no way you can be here while fucking Weather Rose is being questioned for the murder of member of the FBI!"
Gavin turned and started walking down the hall.
"Okay, okay, okay! Fuck, just fucking stop for a second."
Gavin stopped.
"Okay." she sighed. "Okay, come on, come with me. You can see her, but you can't talk to her. She's in the big interrogation room being questioned. If there is no on in the witness room I'll let you see her through the glass."
"Thank you." Gavin said.
"Yeah, thank me. Fuck, if anyone sees us together, I don't fucking know you. You get sixty seconds and then I want you out of here. You got yourself in, so you can find your way out. I'll drop you off, then I'm heading to the prints lab to get the report on the gun. When I get back you better be gone."
"I'll be gone."
"Yeah, you fucking better be."