Look and Listen
I checked my watch again as I leaned against a pine tree. Clary said she would be leaving the bar over an hour ago, I received no texts or calls for help. Maybe Simon managed to woo her back at his place or even inside his car, my jaw clenched at the thought.
I didn't like the way he looked at her while they danced, like he wasn't seeing her—just her body and the way she moved. She had been dancing beautifully, there were a few times when I had to stop myself from stepping in for the less-than-mediocre beta-male behind her swaying hips.
But I also noticed how nervous he makes her. She twists her fingers anxiously around him as if she itches for her Rubik's cube.
I did enjoy the way she brushed over her skin where I touched when I told her the truth about how she looked, I reveled in making her cheeks turn pink.
A defeated sigh left through my nostrils when I pushed off the tree, the thought of Clary shacking up with the forensic tech in my mind—much to my dismay.
Just then, a Toyota Pruis rounded the corner and stopped across the street in front of the apartments. I slinked back into the shadows.
Clary stepped out of the Uber on slightly unbalanced feet, dangling her backpack from two fingers. Once the door was closed, the driver wasted no time in leaving. I rolled my eyes at the fact that Simon failed to drive her, but that had instilled my confidence that she had made the right decision in sending the guy home. She tugged on the hem of her skirt that had ridden up slightly during the ride—or so I hoped.
Maybe she had stayed at the bar for longer—she definitely seemed tipsy, stumbling in her Chucks and her red curls appeared disheveled.
She climbed to the top, practically groaning with each step as she clung to the railing with one hand. When she reached the top and I expected her to walk into her apartment, she plopped down onto the front porch and dug around inside her bag. Slim fingers pulled out a small metal box and placed a white cylindrical object between her lips that appeared too thick to be a cigarette before lighting the end with the same pink lighter from a week ago.
The pieces clicked together from watching her encounter with the hippy from jail and observing her now—Clary smoked pot.
I had to fight back a cackle of surprise at that unpredictable character trait—especially for the Captain's daughter. She seemed so innocent, even watching her take shots of tequila today felt strange.
She sat with her knees bent, her phone balanced flat atop them as she stared up at the sky. Puffs of white smoke left her lips in swirling tendrils, her shoulders untensed slightly. A hand stroked her thigh again. Simon never touched her legs while they danced, only her hips but I didn't see her touching those areas—only the spot that I had.
Unless he touched her after I left. She had been gone for a whole hour. Where had she been? I sent her a quick text, because technically, I am supposed to believe she got home an hour ago.
I'm going to assume you're lying in a ditch somewhere, I said, watching her perk up at the glow from her phone. She smiled, still caressing her leg.
Sorry, I got home an hour ago, I meant to text you. You can call off the cadaver dogs, detective, she replied. I could practically hear her amusement, but that made my heart sink. She just lied. That piqued my curiosity.
No worries, princess. How was your date with Bill Nye? I asked. When she read the message she paused and inhaled deeply from her joint before letting the smoke run thickly out of her mouth like a waterfall.
Good. He was a gentleman the entire night, she said. I highly doubted that, especially with all I saw at the bar. The man was a self-centered mess.
Oh, a gentleman, hm? Did he drive you home? I held my breath.
Yes, he did, she lied again. Frustration flickered in my chest.
And? I asked, searching for any other holes she would dig herself into.
Nothing crazy. It's late and I'm beat. Talk Monday? She said as a dismissal, squashing any opportunity I had at interrogating her.
But I bit the bullet anyway, Goodnight, Princess.
Goodnight, detective. She puffed one more time before stubbing out the ember on the metal pole of the handrail and tossing the remaining half back into its metal case. On wobbly legs, she stood and strode inside.
I was rudely awoken a half hour ago by Uniforms summoning me to an early morning crime scene across town. My phone trilled as I called Clary for the third attempt this morning, my hands gripping the steering wheel loosely as I drove to her apartment.
Last night was out of character. I don't follow colleagues around and show up to their houses before they do, just to make sure they get home safe. After hours of tossing and turning—and self reflecting—through the night, I came to the conclusion that I just wanted to make sure she was safe because she was in a vulnerable situation.
Yes, that's it. Nothing strange about checking up on a friend.
"Ugh, what?" she answered slowly, sleep saturated her voice.
"Wipe the drool from your face, princess, we have a crime scene at Apollo Park," I said cheerily.
"Now? It's 6 in the morning," she grumbled.
"Oh, you're right. Let me just tell the body that it's too early. I'm sure it won't mind," I said sarcastically.
"Oh, great! I'll see you at 12 then." I heard her head smack into the pillow again.
I chuckled. "Get dressed, Clary, I'm on my way to pick you up right now."
"Fine," she sighed. "See you in a sec." Then the call ended.
After ten minutes, I stood outside my car, leaned against the passenger door with my arms crossed over my chest impatiently. What could take this woman so long to get ready?
Finally, she popped out of her front door in a dark gray turtleneck and black skinny jeans. Her usual bright and vibrant clothes had been replaced by dark and dreary ones, much like my own wardrobe. Her red hair was pin straight and parted down the middle, the only splash of color she wore.
She stared down at me then glanced down at herself. "I'm not changing," she said flatly. I glanced down at myself.
I was surprised to see that I was wearing a gray long sleeve under my jacket with black jeans.
"Good, you have great taste," I called up to her. With an eye roll, she quickly descended the stairs and approached me. Up close, her face seemed paler than usual but it could've been her hair against her face since this would be the first time I have seen it in pin straight curtains. I stepped back and opened the door with a dramatic bow.
She sat without a second glance. Her mood was strange today. Cold, almost.
"So, what's with the turtleneck?" I asked, sliding into my seat and shutting the door.
"What?" Her mouth hung open as she stared at me with a side eye.
"Only people from the 90's wear turtlenecks or people that are hiding hickeys," I chuckled, hooking a finger around her collar and pulling down. She quickly slapped my hand away but not before I got a full view; and what I saw made all the blood drain from my face. Purple and blue bruises wrapped around her throat in several rings the size of fingers that I instantly recognized as strangulation marks.
"What the fuck?" I snapped harshly into the silence of the cabin. Vomit threatened to rise with my building rage.
"Just drive, detective, we don't have time for this," she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and staring out her window to avoid eye contact.
"Did Simon do that? I swear to God I'll fucking kill him—"
"No, he didn't touch me," she whispered through clenched teeth and watery eyes. "I don't want to talk about it, can we just go?"
I was frozen with rage. With a flick, I shoved the car into drive and peeled out from the curb. My muscle memory shifted gears and popped the clutch while I gained speed quickly. Her fingers bit into her palms as she squeezed them into fists.
"Slow down or we'll be the next crime scene," her voice wavered. I ignored her, pressing harder on the gas. Her head snapped back to watch the turn for Apollo Park zoom past. "Apollo is that way."
"I'm taking you to the precinct," I growled. "You need to make a police report."
"No, you are not," her voice raised as her eyebrows furrowed in anger.
A threat left my lips before I could recant it. "Either tell me what happened or I will drag you into the precinct by your ankles." I really wasn't fibbing, and maybe she would hate me forever for doing that to her but by the looks of her injury, she was nearly killed.
"Drive to Apollo and I'll tell you," she countered quickly, watching my face desperately.
"You are in no position to bargain, princess," I chuckled incredulously.
She grabbed my bicep hard. I gave her a side eye while I watched the road. "Drive to Apollo…and I will tell you." A muscle in my jaw tightened as I fought hard to reject her negotiation, but I had to know and something told me she would withhold information at the precinct. With a grumble, I slammed the brake and drifted into a U-turn on the small two way street. A gasp left her lips in surprise and her hands shot up to cover her eyes at my reckless driving, I almost laughed.
Silence took over the car again, even the radio had never been turned on, leaving my ears ringing painfully. I didn't want to push her to tell the story faster, so I stayed quiet and waited with tense shoulders.
She chewed nervously on her bottom lip and I fought back the urge to pull it from her teeth. Sometimes, she would worry them until they were red and puffy on particularly overstimulating days.
"When I went outside the bar to get some air, a couple teenagers came up behind me and held me down. They searched my bag but found nothing except my bank cards then took off." Her eyes were focused on her lap where she knotted her fingers.
My anger calmed to a simmer. "Did you get a good look at them?"
She shook her head. "Not one look."
A rush of guilt flooded over me. That had literally been the main reason for me being there, to watch over her and make sure she stayed safe but I followed her command to leave like a trained dog. Another emotion enveloped me— "Where the fuck was Simon while this was happening? Didn't he see the signs that you were jumped?"
"I don't know, he was inside I guess…not everybody is a detective. He can't see the same things you can." Something about her tone worried me, almost as if she was deflecting and becoming defensive like I caught her in a lie.
What if all of this was a lie? She had come home looking disheveled, but lied about her ride and time she got home. At this point, I couldn't trust the story but what really could I do? "He's blind," I said. "Both physically and mentally."
A frustrated sigh added tension to her shoulders. "Well, it's not his fault. I didn't really see him before I called an Uber—"
"Oh, an Uber? I thought he drove you home." Hook, line, and sinker. Her entire excuse just detonated, which would usually bring me a sense of victory, but instead I felt my blood boil.
"I lied," she whispered, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now just, leave me alone." Her shoulders curled inward and her body crammed itself closer to the door—to get farther from me.
"Fine," I said flatly, but my chest thrummed with adrenaline and fire licked through my veins.