“What?”
“Why would you do that to me?” She stared at her bloody chest.
Trevor took a step back. “What is wrong with you?”
She laughed hysterically and dropped the glass beside the bed. She ran her finger in the blood and licked it. “You want some?”
“You’re insane… Get out of here if you aren’t going to answer my questions.”
“So you won’t fuck me?”
“You’re not my type.”
“Oh, I see. I didn’t think you had a type. Seemed you liked fucking anyone really.”
“What’d you do to Valencia?”
Her smile shifted aggressively up her cheeks. “Are you playing hard to get? A little played out, but I still like it.”
“Get out!” he yelled.
She recoiled for the first time, surprised by the force behind his words. “My goodness, just take me already. Use me up, Trev.”
He was dizzy. It was like he was fifteen drinks deep. She crawled across the bed, her bare ass sticking out toward him. “You fell for that old trick? I’m honestly a little disappointed.” She sprung off the bed and put her hands on his face, then the back of his neck. They were so cold and dry. He started to lose balance, but she helped keep him up. She squeezed his cheeks. “I was hoping I could use a different strategy. One that was more fun.”
She kissed his scrunched lips softly. “You’re so pretty. A pretty boy you are.”
Trevor collapsed down through her hands.
Chapter Nineteen - Erin
As Stefan rustled around to find coffee beans, she closed her eyes in an attempt to control her miserable state of being. The clink of a glass landed in front of her, but it was not a cup of coffee, it was red wine.
“You don’t need coffee,” he said.
She downed it in two gulps and grimaced. “Gross. Got any tequila?”
He hobbled over to grab a bottle from the top shelf.
“I’m sorry, I should be the one walking around and you should be sitting.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I need to get used to walking like this if we—” He stopped himself.
“If we what?”
“To help us get home in one piece,” he said with feeble reassurance. “If it locks up on me, I’ll be useless and you’ll have to carry me.”
He brought over two short glasses and poured her two ounces of tequila. The sip didn’t burn at all; it was smooth and flavorful. Perhaps it triggered a moment of brave bluntness. “Stefan. Cut the shit. Just you and me. Are you on track with everything?”
He lowered his head to his chest with a smile and shook his head. Then he stared at his leg. “No. We aren’t on track. The track cracked. And we’re derailed. You have my word.” His hands lay flat on the table, his face tense, eyes piercing through hers. “Erin. This isn’t me. This truth is all we got left. I don’t know what’s going on.”
Stefan pulled out a bag of weed, set it on the table, and began prepping a joint. She couldn’t stop herself from revealing her judgmental stare.
“For the leg, remember?”
“Sorry. That’s fair, you need something. Although a more powerful painkiller would be ideal.”
“Hey, this shit is potent.”
“Sure.”
“It calms me.”
“How long has he been gone?”
Stefan was focused on the joint. “Not sure.”
“He should be back by now.”
“He’ll be back any minute… We’re going to figure this out, Erin, you do know that, right?”
Tequila wasn’t helping her stomach. “I should go back out there.”
“Sit.” The way he said it was a bit too snappy. “Sorry. We are safe here and this was the plan. I can’t be losing you out there too. I can’t be alone.”
He lit the joint and took in a big drag, then extended it toward Erin. Her response was automatic without consideration. “No.”
“Come on. One hit. This will help you. Trust me.” She hesitated. “I know you’re not a drug user, Erin, but consider the circumstances. It’ll help.” She hesitated and he continued, “You’re a medical professional for God’s sake. You know the benefits.”
“I’m okay. Really.”
“Are you?”
She was somewhere between a mess and complete disaster.
For years she had just wished she’d get caught and head off to prison in shackles. The combination of guilt and not knowing when the case would be solved was eating her alive. Every day she waited for a forceful knock on her door; or for it to come flying off its hinges. How had they not been able to track them down? If one officer knew they were the culprits, how did no one else? What were her children doing today? Were they okay?
Erin snagged the joint from his hand and forced a large pull of smoke down deep into her lungs. Her lungs rejected it and she coughed, trying to expel the toxic smoke from her body. The more she coughed, the harder she coughed. Once she calmed, she could see that Stefan was laughing at her.
“The coughing helps,” he said.
She passed it back to him and downed the rest of her tequila. They sat in silence for a minute or two.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Are you worried about someone dying on your table? You know, once you’re a full-fledged doc.”
The question was so morose and direct. “Sure. That’s the job though. Plus, I’m a ways away from that.” A ways away. A ways away? What did I just say? A ways away I go.
“Yeah—Yeah, for sure. It would be a helpless feeling though. Working on a lost cause… Knowing death is inevitable.”
The weight of his comment was heavier than the high that was melting her into the chair and filling her legs with liquid lead. Is he threatening me? No, you’re stoned, Erin. You smoked the ganja. She laughed in her head.
Stefan continued, “I mean. It would be so draining. Surrounded by the sick all of the time. The fading lives… I guess it depends what you specialize in, if you specialize.”
“Right. Yeah, depends for sure.”
“Can you smell death, Erin? I’ve not only heard the stories, but experienced it once. For me, it was hard to place. Not a smell of rotting, or gas, or anything really foul for that matter. It’s just there. I’ve heard that each person’s death smells unique. What do you smell, Erin?”
She was frozen for a moment, stuck with a terrified and dysfunctional mind. “Like… Stew and homemade bread.” She burst out laughing, and Stefan’s face remained serious. When she came to a stop, he sipped his wine and the intensity on his face cleared.
“How is it?” He grinned and blinked slowly.
“How is what now?”
His smile widened. “The tequila.”
She thought of pulling some pretentious descriptors from her ass. Thankfully, her crippling fear of saying something stupid again was strong enough.
“Good. It’s good.”
A gunshot went off outside. She couldn’t react. She was stuck for a three count. A bubble formed in her throat, preventing her from speaking. Stefan walked over to the drawer, pulled out a gun, and loaded it in front of her. Everything around her moved. The floor had become fluid and wavy.
“Why do you have a gun here?”
He didn’t respond. The bags under his eyes appeared to have darkened.
“I should come with you,” she said.
“Absolutely not. I’ll be back right away.”
Before she could argue, he was gone, and she was left there all alone with the smell of burning marijuana. She was sinking in her chair. The floor was tantalizing, a waxy coating shining.