wearing a red dress and surrounded by a bunch of black candles. I’m tied down on a stone altar and a man approaches and other people are huddled in the background. In the dreams, all their faces are blurred. The man steps up to the altar and pulls out a knife. He cuts my chest with the knife and licks the blood off of it.”
She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Sometimes I wake up then. Sometimes I don’t wake up until he pulls the dress up.” She looked directly at Jackson. “I never wear red and just the sight of candles is enough to send my pulse racing. I have flashlights and kerosene lamps in my house in case of a power outage. So does Corrine. I won’t eat dinner at certain restaurants because I know they light the dining area completely with candles at night. I’ve been known to leave charity events that do the same, pretending I’m ill.”
Jackson’s chest constricted as she talked, empathy and anger warring inside him. No one should have to live with such things. No child should have to endure them.
“I wouldn’t call that pretending,” he said.
She relaxed a little. “No. I guess it’s not.”
Now that Jackson knew about the dreams, he could make an educated guess as to what Shaye had been doing and why she said it was stupid.
“So you put on a red dress,” he said, “lit the candles, and lay down on the floor, hoping you’d remember.”
She nodded. “Stupid, right?”
“I was going to say brave.”
A flush crept up her neck and she looked down. “I’m not brave. I’m broken.”
Jackson reached over and put his hand on her arm. “We’re all broken. Some of us are just in more pieces. It’s how we handle it that makes us brave, and from where I’m sitting, you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
She looked at him again and he could see the disbelief in her eyes, but finally she managed a small smile. “You believe that,” she said. “You have a lot of positive attributes, Jackson Lamotte, but the thing I love about you the most is your sincerity. It’s rare that someone can always tell exactly where they stand with another person, but you don’t have an ounce of guile in you, do you?”
“When it comes to police work, yes. But when it comes to relationships, no.”
Especially when it comes to you.
He didn’t say it, but it was right there at the forefront of his thoughts.
“Did you remember?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered, her voice barely a whisper. “It was just like my dreams, except this time, I saw his face.”
His pulse quickened. “You can identify him?”
She shook her head. “He wore a mask. A horned goat.”
No way in hell would he ever admit it, but the image in his mind creeped Jackson out. No wonder she’d screamed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t imagine how horrifying that was.”
“I suspected something along those lines. Eleonore isn’t willing to jump completely on board with my theory yet, but I think I’m right.”
“Right about what?”
“It was ritualistic abuse.” She held up a hand before he could reply. “I’ve read the FBI study and I know all the facts of other cases, but that doesn’t change the facts here. Black candles, a red dress, a stone altar, and all the cuts on my body. The brand—”
“Wait,” Jackson interrupted. “What brand?”
He’d been through all the medical records in her file and none of them had made mention of a brand.
She frowned. “I thought you read my file.”
“I did. There’s nothing about a brand in there.”
“That’s strange. I know it was documented in my medical records. I have a copy of the records myself.”
“Maybe it wasn’t scanned in when the department converted everything to digital.”
“Maybe not.” She rose from the couch and turned around with her back facing him. She pulled the gown up over her hips and up her back.
Jackson took one look at the pentagram on her midback and felt his stomach
She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Sometimes I wake up then. Sometimes I don’t wake up until he pulls the dress up.” She looked directly at Jackson. “I never wear red and just the sight of candles is enough to send my pulse racing. I have flashlights and kerosene lamps in my house in case of a power outage. So does Corrine. I won’t eat dinner at certain restaurants because I know they light the dining area completely with candles at night. I’ve been known to leave charity events that do the same, pretending I’m ill.”
Jackson’s chest constricted as she talked, empathy and anger warring inside him. No one should have to live with such things. No child should have to endure them.
“I wouldn’t call that pretending,” he said.
She relaxed a little. “No. I guess it’s not.”
Now that Jackson knew about the dreams, he could make an educated guess as to what Shaye had been doing and why she said it was stupid.
“So you put on a red dress,” he said, “lit the candles, and lay down on the floor, hoping you’d remember.”
She nodded. “Stupid, right?”
“I was going to say brave.”
A flush crept up her neck and she looked down. “I’m not brave. I’m broken.”
Jackson reached over and put his hand on her arm. “We’re all broken. Some of us are just in more pieces. It’s how we handle it that makes us brave, and from where I’m sitting, you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
She looked at him again and he could see the disbelief in her eyes, but finally she managed a small smile. “You believe that,” she said. “You have a lot of positive attributes, Jackson Lamotte, but the thing I love about you the most is your sincerity. It’s rare that someone can always tell exactly where they stand with another person, but you don’t have an ounce of guile in you, do you?”
“When it comes to police work, yes. But when it comes to relationships, no.”
Especially when it comes to you.
He didn’t say it, but it was right there at the forefront of his thoughts.
“Did you remember?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered, her voice barely a whisper. “It was just like my dreams, except this time, I saw his face.”
His pulse quickened. “You can identify him?”
She shook her head. “He wore a mask. A horned goat.”
No way in hell would he ever admit it, but the image in his mind creeped Jackson out. No wonder she’d screamed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t imagine how horrifying that was.”
“I suspected something along those lines. Eleonore isn’t willing to jump completely on board with my theory yet, but I think I’m right.”
“Right about what?”
“It was ritualistic abuse.” She held up a hand before he could reply. “I’ve read the FBI study and I know all the facts of other cases, but that doesn’t change the facts here. Black candles, a red dress, a stone altar, and all the cuts on my body. The brand—”
“Wait,” Jackson interrupted. “What brand?”
He’d been through all the medical records in her file and none of them had made mention of a brand.
She frowned. “I thought you read my file.”
“I did. There’s nothing about a brand in there.”
“That’s strange. I know it was documented in my medical records. I have a copy of the records myself.”
“Maybe it wasn’t scanned in when the department converted everything to digital.”
“Maybe not.” She rose from the couch and turned around with her back facing him. She pulled the gown up over her hips and up her back.
Jackson took one look at the pentagram on her midback and felt his stomach
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