The playful warmth of spring had melted into the languid heat of summer, bright colorful flowers turning to dark green vegetative growth, fruit beginning to ripen on the vine, but I have barely noticed. I had been back to work for just a few short weeks when they had gone again. This time, Dov and Gail disappearing under cover so deep, not even Luke knew where to find them.
The bodies of young girls having been tortured during sex were beginning to turn up more often. Killed carefully as to make it look like suicide. But I knew better. The dead have no voices, and for that I am grateful. They could only taunt me with doubt and nag me with fear as they silently told stories of violent ends. Where I once had seen the lives laid out before me as intriguing puzzles to be solved, apprehension made me hesitate before entering my lab, lest I find Gail or Dov on my table. My work became a growing obsession between my need to slay each moment without a whisper of her in it, and the fear that clenched my throat shut against uttering the words that might breathe life into my nightmares. My vigil grew more silent with each passing day, until I discovered that I had no desire to speak at all unless it was necessary. At first I took refuge in her bed as I had before, but as time passed, I could no longer bear to watch the deepening lines on Chris's face. We never spoke anymore, or hung out, afraid to see in each other the dread both of us were desperately trying to deny as the days lengthened to weeks, and weeks to months. I couldn't bring myself to go to the beach or the park where I used to love to run. I missed her like an amputee misses the detached limb, feeling the phantom pain of her ghost as I looked up suddenly from my work, expecting to find her standing in my doorway, or listening for her keys in my door at night.
The International Commission on Human Trafficking working in conjunction with the Toronto Police Force and a variety of other international agencies had recruited Gail and Dov. The combination of Gail's language skills and Dov's ability to just blend, along with their knowledge of the inner workings of Sanchez's organization made them the perfect fit. Right now, they could literally be anywhere in the world. I was there when she took the call. We had just finished dinner and were getting ready to spend an evening of video gaming and beer with the boys. I knew by the way she held her shoulders and the set of her jaw what it was before she said a word , and that I couldn't keep her, no matter how much I needed her. The thought of teenage girls from Eastern Europe being bought and sold to be broken by pedophiles made Gail rage white hot and ice cold. They left at five o clock the next morning.
My phone rings.
Ugh. I must have fallen asleep at my desk again. Crap! I didn't even take my glasses off. What time is it anyway? The morgue is silent and still. My phone sounds again, and I answer it without looking to see who it is.
"Hello, this is Dr. Stewart.."
"It's three o clock in the morning, your time, Holly! Don't tell me you fell asleep at your desk. Again."
I sigh into my phone, "Hey Laurel, what's up? How was your show?" I stifle a yawn.
"I'm sending you a plane ticket." My sister responds.
"What? No!"
"Yes!" She replies, "I know you are pulling all kinds of crazy overtime and have a number of comp days you can take, so you are coming out for a long weekend."
"I came out years ago." My attempt at a weak joke falling flat.
"Very funny Hol." She retorts. I can hear the smirk in her voice as she says it though. "Come on! You've always said you want to see San Francisco. Besides, look at you! You're a mess! I can show you the city, we can do the tourist thing, we can do the gay thing, Heck, I can even get you laid…"
"LAUREL!" I exclaim. She laughs. Laurel is straight, well mostly, but oh so sex-positive. She loves it when she thinks she can shock me.
"Oh come on! The girls have seen your picture. They think you're smokin'!" The smirk in her voice is back.
I've seen pictures of the women in her burlesque troupe too. If I were single… "I could never do that to Gail." I say and hear my voice soften and almost break at the mention of her name.
"She's going to be ok." Laurel tries to sound reassuring, "Listen, we can take a few days and drink our way through wine country, ok?"
"Ok." I hear myself concede. She could be right. It might be good to get away for a few days.
"Cool!" Laurel replies, "I'll see you in three weeks!"
I am sitting on the deck overlooking the garden at Wildside West, a neighborhood lesbian bar in the Burnal Heights neighborhood of San Francisco, drinking a tasty craft beer. While a storm still rages in my head, I am feeling much more relaxed than I have in a long time. Laurel and her boy toy are late, per usual, but I am enjoying some time by myself. I've been drinking beer and people watching for about an hour now.
I watch a couple climbing the stairs, smoking a joint, and giggling to each other. The man is rail thin and tall, showing of two full sleeves of tattoos that continue under his white tank top. He head is fully shaved and he would be attractive if not for something shifty about his eyes. He says something to her in French about their flight to Tokyo. He has a thick Parisian accent and I wish my French were better, not that I should be eavesdropping. I can tell that she is beautiful, even though I can't see her face. Everything about her says sex and style, from her form-fitting, short, red dress, to her well cut dark inverted bob. She has one arm wrapped around his waist and her other hand is clutching the front of his shirt. She mumbles something into his chest in response, obviously stoned. As they reach the top of the stairs she looks up. A jolt of shock and surprise courses through me, as her sharp blue eyes meet mine and freeze for just an instant. My heart stops. Time stands still. Gail? I get up and franticly follow them inside, but they are gone.
The bar is dark inside. Something for which I am grateful as I sag onto a barstool. The bartender is a butch, broad, woman with a crewcut. She sees my distress and comes over.
"Honey, are you ok?" She asks in a gravelly voice.
"Yeah, yeah," I reply, my voice is trembling. I pick up my beer with a shaky hand and say "My mistake. Just someone I thought I knew…" I feel a tear slide down my face
"It's ok Hun, these things happen." She hands me a bar napkin like it was nothing, and tops off my beer from the tap.
"Thanks!" I reply. I sigh heavily, and say "Can I leave my beer here while I go freshen up? I'm supposed to be meeting my sister and I don't want her to see me like this!"
"Go ahead, take your time." She smiles at me in a kindly way.
I just finish my splashing cold water on my face, and am standing, looking at myself in the mirror when the door bursts open. I am slammed against the wall as her lips crash into mine, her hands fisting in the collar of my shirt. Her body presses hungrily to me, her mouth is ravenous, her tongue insistent. I am in shock as my hands automatically go to her waist and my knees give way.
"Holly…" She whispers in my ear. She sucks in a giant gulp of air as she lets go of my shirt, spins on her expensive tall, black pumps and practically runs from the room.
What just happened? Gail? Gail! My head is on fire, my heart is pounding, beating at least a million miles per second. I follow just moments behind. I scan the bar. I rush out onto the street just in time to see her vanish into a waiting car.