a murderer. I’m as steeped in causing death as my bio-dad. True, I didn’t make the people I killed suffer. They were all predators. Their victims were innocent. They are dead just the same.
The shower is barely lukewarm when I get out. I look at the time; I didn’t realize I’d just about run the hot water tank dry. Plus I don’t have much time to dry off and dress before I head to The Tides.
I resist listening to a tape of the sessions with Dr. Albright. I hated them at first. Each one dug a knife in my heart and made my head hurt. Now they are becoming addictive. I realize how far I’ve come since my Rylee days. I’m not as angry all the time or disappointed in the world. I’m starting to open up a bit.
But when I do, something always happens that drags me back down into the muck. A good example: the serial killings I dealt with last month. They forced me to become Rylee again. It was that or allow these monsters to take more victims.
I don’t want to carry this weight anymore. I want the life I see Sheriff Gray or Ronnie or Dan living. To live in a bubble. That’s not who I am. I will never be able to let my guard down that much. I’m a sheepdog. I keep the wolves at bay. I feel my eyes water with the realization that my place in life is to be a killer. I fight back the tears. I don’t have the luxury of feeling sorry for myself. I know that if I had my life to live over I would still be where I am. It’s in my genes. Literally. I’m a monster. But the good kind.
Fifty-One
I log in to my personal email account. There’s the general junk mail, advertisements. There is also an email from Dan. It’s from early this morning. There is nothing in the subject line. It is short and makes me feel worse. The email says:
Megan, I don’t think we should see each other for a while. I can’t be with someone that doesn’t trust me. Be well.
Dan.
My emotions are mixed. Relief beyond words that Dan’s all right collides with the stinging hurt of his rejection. I want to cry, but I push the feeling down deep inside my already overcrowded prison cell of emotions.
I dress the way I feel. Typical work outfit and shoulder holster. It reminds me that I’m always on duty. No time for an outside life. Maybe I deserve it. I truly, deeply long for a conversation with Dr. Albright. Even if she can’t fix what’s wrong, even if I don’t feel much better after talking with her, she still has a way of putting it all together in an understandable way and not the helter-skelter jumble of mixed emotions I feel now. I promise myself I’ll call her tomorrow.
I stick a toothpick in the crack of the closet door. It’s a precaution my mother taught me. If anyone opens the closet the toothpick will fall. I leave my bedroom and entry light on. I go through my place one more time to check the window locks. If you’re not careful, someone can get in.
I should know.
I check the street. It looks normal enough. I use the flashlight on my phone to look inside the car before I get in.
I drive to The Tides. The parking is full, as usual. I can put a paper placard on the dash declaring the vehicle as “SHERIFF’S OFFICE.” I don’t want the attention, so I find an empty parking spot two blocks away and walk.
Ronnie’s Smart car and Sheriff Gray’s truck are parked almost in front of the bar. They both display the “SHERIFF’S OFFICE” placard on their dashboards. He must have given Ronnie one. I look around for Dan’s truck but don’t see it. If he knows I’m going to be here, he won’t come. I wonder if Ronnie has invited him.
Probably not.
I go inside and see a group from the office have pushed tables together. Mindy Newsom, Marley Yang, Sheriff Gray, Deputy Copsey, Deputy Davis, Nan, even Jerry Larsen, the coroner. Ronnie looks up and beams a smile at me. Mindy has saved a seat between herself and Ronnie and pats it.
“Get over here, girl,” she says.
I take a seat, see the slightly inebriated faces around me, and decide I’m having only one drink. Maybe a big one, but just one. My resolve lasts