It's 2am and I'm woken out of a nightmare by the phone ringing. Before I
was Jack I didn't have to sleep. I didn't have to dream. But before I was
Jack I had to live out my nightmares. I can deal with a few sleeping
visions.
I pick up the phone and answer, "Dean here. Shoot." Can you tell I am not a social caller?
Burke's voice filters over the line. He says, "Dean. It's Burke. Janette Hasting's stalker called." Don Burke and I are phone etiquette buddies. In that we have none.
I don't sweat the missing small talk, "I'll be right in."
"Good." Burke hangs up. Just like that. So do I. No point talking to an empty line.
Janette Hastings is in the main office of the station. She is crying her eyes out and being consoled by a female member of the night shift. I ease past her without making eye contact, so that I don't have to become a part of that scene.
Burke, Beady and Owens are all already in Burke's office. Jason Smith is on extended leave. The kind where you don't know if they're coming back. He was shot before I was. So now we are all here.
Beady is half resting on the desk, next to a tape player. Burke is sitting in his chair. Owens is opposite him. I take the last free chair.
Burke nods a welcome at me, "Beady, play the tape." We have a recording of the conversation between Janette Hastings and her stalker. If we have traced the call, it must have been a payphone and not a private line or Burke would have told me already.
Beady reaches over and slots down the play button. I hope I am not the last to hear this.
Static crackles through the room for the first few minutes. Then there is a loud clunk. Owens gets up and closes the door so that Janette Hastings does not have to hear it again.
Janette's feminine voice says, "Hello?" She sounds almost breathy, excited. Because she has police on her side now?
There is a moment of silence before the voice comes through. It is full of rough, jagged pain. Slicing fear. It is like a loud whisper that buzzes in my head. It is the voice of something more damned than I, and that is some achievement. If I thought my nightmares were bad before, they will be worse tonight. They will be filled with that voice.
"God doesn't love you Janette."
Again, silence. Janette is wondering what to do. The silence is deadly. There isn't even any heavy breathing. Only the distinct lack of dial tone indicates that he hasn't hung up.
Janette says, "Who are you and what do you want?" There is fear in her voice, but there is also intrigue. Janette Hastings is as interested in her stalker as she is scared. Perhaps they can go on a fucking date later and get to know each other better.
"God doesn't love you, but I do. I saw you tonight. You should wear the blue shirt Janette, it brings out your eyes. Save the red shirt for when you are dead."
The breathing now is Janette's. She tries to calm herself, and says, "So you like my blue shirt?" It is the wrong thing to ask. She is trying to keep him on the phone and he knows it now. There is a second of silence, and then dial tone. He has hung up. There's another click as Janette drops the receiver.
"You called me all the way in for that Burke?" I ask disgustedly. There's not enough to go on anything there. I could still be in bed.
Burke looks at me and it is one of those looks. Something warbles up inside of me that wants to tell him he has no right to judge me. But I am one of those who made him live with our sins. So I am going to say nothing.
"There's been a disturbance at the Circus," Burke tells me, "Beady thought you might like to go with him to check it out."
I look at Beady before it is too late to curb my glance. He is doing this because he is my friend and he thinks I am mad at him. Even Jack is surprised. I am being a moody bitch and Jack's friends like me more. That doesn't make sense.
"What's Owens doing?" I ask, as if it is any of my business.
"He will be escorting Miss Hastings home. She is in his protection for tonight." My eyes flicker to Owen. I am expecting him to look very pleased with himself, but in fact he is solemn.
That is a new one. I didn't know he had that setting.
I pick up the phone and answer, "Dean here. Shoot." Can you tell I am not a social caller?
Burke's voice filters over the line. He says, "Dean. It's Burke. Janette Hasting's stalker called." Don Burke and I are phone etiquette buddies. In that we have none.
I don't sweat the missing small talk, "I'll be right in."
"Good." Burke hangs up. Just like that. So do I. No point talking to an empty line.
Janette Hastings is in the main office of the station. She is crying her eyes out and being consoled by a female member of the night shift. I ease past her without making eye contact, so that I don't have to become a part of that scene.
Burke, Beady and Owens are all already in Burke's office. Jason Smith is on extended leave. The kind where you don't know if they're coming back. He was shot before I was. So now we are all here.
Beady is half resting on the desk, next to a tape player. Burke is sitting in his chair. Owens is opposite him. I take the last free chair.
Burke nods a welcome at me, "Beady, play the tape." We have a recording of the conversation between Janette Hastings and her stalker. If we have traced the call, it must have been a payphone and not a private line or Burke would have told me already.
Beady reaches over and slots down the play button. I hope I am not the last to hear this.
Static crackles through the room for the first few minutes. Then there is a loud clunk. Owens gets up and closes the door so that Janette Hastings does not have to hear it again.
Janette's feminine voice says, "Hello?" She sounds almost breathy, excited. Because she has police on her side now?
There is a moment of silence before the voice comes through. It is full of rough, jagged pain. Slicing fear. It is like a loud whisper that buzzes in my head. It is the voice of something more damned than I, and that is some achievement. If I thought my nightmares were bad before, they will be worse tonight. They will be filled with that voice.
"God doesn't love you Janette."
Again, silence. Janette is wondering what to do. The silence is deadly. There isn't even any heavy breathing. Only the distinct lack of dial tone indicates that he hasn't hung up.
Janette says, "Who are you and what do you want?" There is fear in her voice, but there is also intrigue. Janette Hastings is as interested in her stalker as she is scared. Perhaps they can go on a fucking date later and get to know each other better.
"God doesn't love you, but I do. I saw you tonight. You should wear the blue shirt Janette, it brings out your eyes. Save the red shirt for when you are dead."
The breathing now is Janette's. She tries to calm herself, and says, "So you like my blue shirt?" It is the wrong thing to ask. She is trying to keep him on the phone and he knows it now. There is a second of silence, and then dial tone. He has hung up. There's another click as Janette drops the receiver.
"You called me all the way in for that Burke?" I ask disgustedly. There's not enough to go on anything there. I could still be in bed.
Burke looks at me and it is one of those looks. Something warbles up inside of me that wants to tell him he has no right to judge me. But I am one of those who made him live with our sins. So I am going to say nothing.
"There's been a disturbance at the Circus," Burke tells me, "Beady thought you might like to go with him to check it out."
I look at Beady before it is too late to curb my glance. He is doing this because he is my friend and he thinks I am mad at him. Even Jack is surprised. I am being a moody bitch and Jack's friends like me more. That doesn't make sense.
"What's Owens doing?" I ask, as if it is any of my business.
"He will be escorting Miss Hastings home. She is in his protection for tonight." My eyes flicker to Owen. I am expecting him to look very pleased with himself, but in fact he is solemn.
That is a new one. I didn't know he had that setting.