SIX
"Did you give any more thought to what I said?"
Kate glanced over her shoulder as Rick carried their two now-empty dinner plates into her kitchen. After placing them into the sink where she was washing up he asked, "About what?"
"Sending your book to a publisher."
"Oh." He turned away from her and walked back to the table where only their wine goblets remained. "No."
With a sigh, Kate pushed the faucet handle to the off position with her wrist and turned around as she dried her hands on a towel. "Rick. It's one of the best books I've ever read. And I'm not just saying that!"
She truly wasn't. The book was, in a word, riveting. From the moment she picked it up, she never wanted to put it down; were it not for her early shift, she would have finished it in one night. As it was, she could hardly wait to get home and discover how it ended. Truly, the story was excellent.
After their initial discussion of his works, Kate had not pressed the issue. She'd casually asked once a few days later if he had been writing, but she never asked to read one of his works again, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable. Then, three weeks after the subject was broached, he surprised her by handing her a navy blue three-ring binder with several hundred printed pages inside. With pink ears and downcast eyes he had said, "Here, if you still want to read something; don't feel bad if you don't like it." Kate had instantly fought the urge to hug him.
She was impressed—really and truly—at the strength and confidence it took for him to share one of his works with her; it spoke volumes about their blossoming friendship. True, the way he presented it showed a lack of full confidence, but he was still handing her the book and that was a very important first step.
When she read the title page, Flowers for Your Grave, and started the first paragraph, Kate had to admit to being slightly disappointed. She had wanted the book to be amazing and incredible but the writing started out shaky at best. It was hard to delve into the story with the writing being a bit…well, simple and juvenile; lacking description. She understood the reason why, though, and pressed through to be pleasantly surprised. Within ten pages she forgot about the style of writing and became too enraptured in the story; from that point in she was hooked.
Despite her enthusiastic comment, Rick gave her a rather pitiful expression. "It's terrible."
She folded her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Why would you say that?"
"Because it's true. The wording is so poor. It's one of the first things I wrote…I was only halfway through school…it's basic."
With an exhale, Kate pushed herself away from her counter and walked over to stand in front of him. "Okay, some of the wording could be spiced up a bit—I won't deny that—but the story, Rick. The twists—the ending! It's fantastic!"
He combed his fingers through his hair and walked over to her green suede couch and sat down. She followed, though hung back at the edge of the seating area to give him some distance. It was only the second time he'd been to her apartment, and the first was only to meet her before going out for drinks, but she liked that he seemed to feel at ease in her space. He'd taken off his shoes by the door, practically jumped at the chance to help her set their dinner table, and cleaned up immediately when he dripped some salad dressing on her table, even though she insisted he didn't have to. Gazing over at him, he seemed like any ordinary man having a trying day, but she knew he wasn't and watching him struggle made her sad.
"You have no idea how frustrating it is. Having ideas, a good story but when it comes to putting words on a page everything suck and there's some things I just…I don't know how to say better."
Seeing an opportunity, Kate walked over and sat on her coffee table so she could face him. "I think you do. You speak quite eloquently."
He gave her an appreciative look. "I read a lot. Wasn't much else to do in that barn."
The hairs on Kate's arm stood on end as a mental image of a young teen boy with blue eyes sitting in a dark, dingy barn with a book open in his lap flashed through her mind. She shook her head, willing the image away. A moment later, an idea replaced it. "What if I help you? Just maybe make a few suggestions, spark some ideas. It's your work; I don't want to step on your toes but-"
"No I…" His voice drifted off and he gazed at her as though she had just handed him a one hundred million dollar check from the New York State Lottery. "You…you'd do that for me?"
She smiled at him. "We're friends aren't we?" Then, she pushed her hands against her thighs and stood from the coffee table to return to the kitchen and the unwashed dishes in her sink. "Then, if you're comfortable, we can send it to some publishers. I can get my dad to help."
"Your dad?"
She hummed and glanced over her shoulder at him. "He's a law professor and he's published a few articles in academic journals. I know it's not the same as a novel, but he knows some people. It would be a place to start."
"You'd seriously help me with this?"
She nodded; there wasn't even a question in her mind. "It's something you want, right?"
"I…I honestly never thought about what I wanted, what I could be. I always kind of thought I was too messed up to be normal. I lived my life taking baby steps because I thought that's all I could handle, but I can handle more. I want to try, anyway, and…yeah, writing is the thing that brings me the most enjoyment."
She smiled. "Then of course I'll help you."
Half an hour later they sat side-by-side on Kate's couch while watching the Mets lose miserably. Well, Rick was watching the Mets lose; Kate was watching Rick.
As she finished up the dishes, they had agreed that she would take a copy of his novel home with her and mark up some places in the first few chapters where he could improve descriptions, scenery references, or anything else she thought needed revamped. He would then try to revise the sections by himself and they would review together.
As Kate detailed her thoughts on the plan, Rick immediately told her she could back out and he wouldn't hold it against her, but she held strong. Yes, the process could get long, but she didn't mind. She truly wanted to help him. He then grew very quiet and when she asked why, he confessed the process would be made much more difficult by the fact that his computer was broken and in his paycheck-to-paycheck state he could not afford the two hundred dollar repair. Kate didn't hesitate to reach for her checkbook. He refused, but she insisted saying, "It's a loan; pay me back with your first publishing advance."
As they settled on to the couch she could not help but think about something Rick had mentioned in passing, but sparked a memory of something she had read in his police file. In the barn. Rick had indeed been recovered from a dilapidated barn and, from his comment, she could not help but think he had spent the majority of his captivity there, which was yet another thing about his story that astounded her.
"What is it?"
"Hmm?" she replied, still lost in her thoughts.
"You're staring at me. What's wrong?"
A slight blush crept into her cheeks; she had been caught. "Oh, um, nothing. I just…you said the barn…Is that where he kept you all seven years?"
His eyes turned back to the television. "Yes."
Kate leaned towards him. "Should I not ask you about this?"
With an exhale, he said quickly. "There's not much to tell. It was a barn. Old. Drafty. I slept on a dirty mattress surrounded by his tools of torture and a rusty lawn mower."
Choosing to ignore the "tools of torture" comment, she asked, "Were you locked in?"
He shook his head briefly. "Chained to one of the support poles. Had about…seven or eight feet of movement area."
"I'm sorry."
He turned to her and with a tone that sounded just a hint lighter he said, "You're not the one that captured me, Kate; you don't need to be sorry."
She gave him a small smile, though it was brief. Scooting towards him she began, "May I ask something else? It's not exactly about your kidnapping." After he nodded her to continue, she said, "In the book—the scene where they find the second body in the woods. It was so…visceral. Was it real?" The story had her so enraptured she had no thought about it at the time, but days later, as she mentally reviewed some of the more descriptive sections in her mind, a sick feeling filled her gut and she wondered how much had been inspired by his own experience.
"Yes," he said, confirming her worst fears. "It's from when he took me."
Kate said nothing but simply waited for him to continue on his own. When he did it was with a gruff, emotion-filled tone. "I was wandering through the woods even though I'd been explicitly told not to. My mother always said my reckless abandon for authority was going to get me in serious trouble one day; I guess she was right." A mirthless laugh escaped his lips and he shook his head regretfully.
"I only intended to explore for a little while, but I got lost. I thought I was heading back towards the road, but I guess I was going deeper and deeper and that's when I saw him. Her—I saw her first." He corrected.
"I shouldn't have gotten close, I know that. I knew she was dead from the moment I saw her—the fixed stare, the still, blue lips—but I was…fascinated and horrified and I couldn't look away. I inched closer and closer, my heart was thundering—pounding against my ribs. It was terrifying but exhilarating. I got close enough to her that I could reach out and put my finger right…right against her cheek." He reached out his right hand and pressed that finger against the open air of her apartment. Then, he looked at Kate, his eyes wide.
"That's when he grabbed me, when I was distracted. I never even heard him coming; never saw a thing. Next thing I knew I woke up in the barn, shackled, and he was standing over me wearing this mask that I…I can still see it."
He ended on a whisper that drew one of the tears hovering at the edge of Kate's eyelid. His story terrified her and she had not even been there; she was not eleven years old. "Did you ever see his face?"
He nodded. "Oh yeah. Just a few days later. That's when I knew he was going to kill me."
Kate assumed that he was referring to the kidnapping or hostage stereotype that said that if a victim saw their kidnapper's face they were more likely to die, because if they let you go you could identify them to law enforcement. As a cop, Kate knew this was not entirely true. She imagined there was a grain of truth in there somewhere, but the odds for kidnapping victims were largely the same no matter the scenario in which they were taken and, unfortunately, those odds were never good.
"But he didn't kill you."
"Didn't he?" Rick returned in a voice that made it sound as though he truly wasn't sure.
Her skin prickling again, Kate shook her head and spoke in a firm tone. "No, he didn't. You're here. You have a job. A life. Friends. You beat him; you survived."
He turned away and muttered, "Doesn't always feel that way."
Kate knew had she been in Rick's shoes she might have felt the same. If she had come face to face with her captor after being released she knew she would have screamed and cried and threw vitriol at him from every angle. The phrase, "you ruined my life," would have come up many times; she was sure of it. She could imagine Rick feeling as though his life had been stolen from him, but that wasn't the case. It had been forever changed, but not stolen; he could still make the most of it and keep the past in the past. Still, she imagined that was easier said than done.
"I…I don't know how you feel about being touched, but could I hug you?" she asked tentatively. Thus far, even as friendly as they had become, their physical contact had been minimal. She was not privy to the details of his time in the barn, but she knew in many cases victims shied away from physical contact and the last thing she wanted to do was trigger him.
He turned to her and the corner of his lips quirked upwards. "I don't mind being touched, Kate. A hug would be nice."
With a relived smile, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in tight. She felt his arm loop around her waist and she shut her eyes, relaxing into his arms and…
Oh. Well. Being close to him did feel better than she expected, but she brushed it off as being a result of their emotional discussion. She didn't want to have feelings for Rick—not then. He needed her more as a friend than anything else, and that's what she wanted to be; a friend, nothing more.