Marrow

JACK

“The remains of Eric Hayes were recovered from the house,” Officer Chandler says. He flips a page on his report. “At least, from what could be recovered after the fire, the medical examiner listed cause of death as suicide. I would’ve preferred to get your expert opinion on the cause of death—” he peeks up from his desk “—but considering the circumstance, that would be…”

“Unethical,” I supply.

He offers a commiserating smile. “I was going to say uncomfortable, considering your relationship with the victim.”NôvelDrama.Org is the owner.

I nod slowly. “I appreciate that.”

“Of course.” He closes the report. “I’m sorry that I had to drag you down here at all, Jack.”

“It’s no problem,” I assure the officer. “The worst is behind us.”

The local police department has a close relationship with the body farm program. I’ve given tours, trained a number of law enforcement on recognizing signs of a crime amid decomp, gender and age identification, and many other necessary aspects for the department.

“Your cooperation to give your account of events will help put this case to bed. Oh, and this.” He nods to the laptop on the desk, the one I confiscated from Hayes’s motel room—and uploaded the digital contents of a USB drive. “I’m sure the feds are eager to do a deep dive.”

The device has been bagged as evidence, and holds a plethora of incriminating evidence within to tie Hayes to the murders of Ryan Young and Sebastian Modeo, along with Hayes’s plan to pin the murders on Dr. Brad Thompson. There’s speculation around the two missing students, Mason Dumont and Colby Cameron, as two more potential victims. No bodily evidence has been discovered on them yet, however.

Once I return to Kyrie’s cabin, I’ll dispose of their remains properly to make sure no evidence is ever found.

There’s also plenty of proof of Hayes’s obsession with Dr. Kyrie Roth, highlighting his fixation on the sole survivor of the Silent Slayer.

“I don’t ever want to think one of our own could be capable of something so heinous,” the officer says. “Dammit, he was FBI. Unbelievable.”

I nod again, schooling my features into a somber expression.

The provided evidence tells a story of an obsessed special agent who suddenly snapped when he was terminated from the agency and became unhinged enough to start emulating the very serial killer he had been obsessively hunting, one he himself dubbed the Tri-City Phantom.

My account of events is rather straightforward. Kyrie had expressed her growing concern for Agent Hayes and her safety to me days before her abduction. Which is why she was staying at my home, and why when no one within the university department could get ahold of her by phone—after Kyrie had rescheduled a work meeting due to feeling poorly—my extreme concern prompted me to check on her, where I found the laptop, leading me to believe Hayes had been at my house.

I called the police, where I was told Dr. Roth could only be reported as a missing person after twenty-four hours. I then took it upon myself to search the files in Hayes’s computer that led me to his purchase of Kyrie’s family home.

I arrived at the house to find Kyrie injured outside of the house, where it appeared she’d just escaped the fire before collapsing. I then made the call to 9-1-1.

The suspicious set-up in the guest room of my home was a part of Hayes’s scheme to abduct Kyrie, as the police report details, after a warrant was issued to search my residence. Authorities theorize that this was an attempt to give the ex-agent adequate time before Kyrie was reported missing.

Timestamps of calls are logged. The evidence supports my account of events. As Eric Hayes is no longer alive, having first attempted to murder Dr. Roth before setting the house on fire and then turning his own firearm on himself, the only person to either corroborate or dispute the events is currently recovering in the hospital ICU.

Officer Chandler sighs. “I’m just relieved Dr. Roth is all right. How is she doing after everything?”

I clear my throat, situate my tie. “Things have been…difficult for her. She’s making a full recovery health wise, but it will likely take some time for the psychological part.”

“Makes complete sense. With what happened to her family, I can only imagine.” He shakes his head. “To be a victim all those years ago at the hands of one killer, only to have to face another. She’s one strong person to survive not one but two attacks.”

I nod and rise to my feet, buttoning my suit jacket. “Dr. Roth is exceptional. I have no doubt she’ll come out of this ordeal even stronger.”

Officer Chandler stands and extends his hand in offer across his desk. “Thank you again for coming down, Jack.”

I accept his handshake. “Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

I exit the police building, making one stop to West Paine before I head to the hospital.

In the week that has passed, I’ve spent majority of the time working out details, so I’d be prepared for this moment right now.

I find Kyrie asleep when I enter the step-down recovery room. Knowing how she struggles with hospitals, I decide not to wake her, and instead seat myself on the chair beside her bed and wait. I remove my leather glove and reach out to clutch her hand. I rub her wrist, feeling the burn on her skin from the cable ties as I try to ignore the tubes in her arms and stomach.

After the trauma surgery to repair the damage caused by a single bullet, Kyrie was monitored closely in ICU, then moved to a step-down unit where she’s been in recovery. I had a semi-altercation with the trauma surgeon who wanted to keep her on a ventilator. I demanded for it to be removed, insistent that Kyrie was strong enough to breathe on her own, and in fact needed that fight.

Lying here, letting a machine breathe for her… Not only could that lead to infection, giving her body one more obstacle to overcome, but she’d wither inside this place. Her fragile mental state would work the opposite to hinder her recovery. She’s strong—she’s always been strong. She needs to fight.

“No flowers?”

Her raspy voice breaks into my thoughts, and I gently squeeze her wrist. A smile ghosts across my face as I look into the pale-blue of her eyes, the color of her irises becoming more vibrant every hour as she recovers.

“I figured that’d be too cliché,” I say.

Her smile is wan. “You figured right.”

I glance at the PCA pump that distributes patient-controlled pain medicine. The remote to the pump rests beside her waist. With my free hand, I reach over to press the button.

“I’m okay right now,” Kyrie says, stopping me. “It makes me too sleepy.”

“You need the sleep,” I insist. I can tell she’s trying to mask her pain level, and I don’t want her in pain.

“I just need to get out of here,” she says, then changes the topic. “So…” She shifts her head to glance at the envelope I placed next to me on the tray. “What did you bring me?”

I hold her hand a moment longer, stroking my thumb over the abraded skin of her wrist before I release her to grab the envelope. “A reply to the letter you left me at your cabin.”

She blinks, her soft gaze holding my stern one as I open the seal flap. I remove the folded leaf of paper.

“With all that’s happened—” I unfold the page “—with how you took risks and put yourself in danger—”

“Jack— ”

“I wasn’t given a chance to respond, Kyrie. So let me talk.” My tone turns as coarse as the raw ache in my throat. I lower my voice a decibel. “You went after Hayes without me, without even including me in your plan.”

She expels a shaky breath, and I’m trying to feel some measure of guilt, but it’s not part of my chemical makeup. She has to know what she nearly cost us—cost me.

“If this thing is going to work between us, then never again,” I say adamantly. “There is only ever you and me. Us. Together. A duo. A real partnership.”

She swallows hard. “I don’t… What are you saying?”

My jaw tightens. “In reference to your letter, where you clearly snooped and uncovered documentation of my upcoming transfer to Canada…” I meet her eyes. “Yes. I had planned to leave West Paine. That was always the plan. People like me, like you, can’t stay in the same place for long, and I’ve been here far too long, Kyrie.”

She nods sagely. “I know, Jack. That’s why I wrote what I did—”

“But, while I was in the process of setting up a new location, I had also been meticulously arranging a career opportunity for you at the University of Alberta’s Forensic Anthropology department.” I stare directly into her shimmering eyes. “Where I’d be.”

I place the letter in her outstretched hand, and she grips the edge, her gaze lowering to the first line of the letter of intent, outlining a scheduled interview with the director of the University of Alberta’s forensic department.

“Of course, with my nature, I was far too tempted to just tie you up and steal you. I thought about that,” I admit, “many times. I even went to great lengths to start the expedited approval process for your Canadian work visa before the date, putting everything in place.”

Her lips tremble as she asks, “So then, what’s stopping you from taking me, Jack?”

“I’ve just come from a meeting with Dr. Cannon,” I say. “Where I showed him this letter. He’s offered you an increase in salary for you to stay on and renew your contract at West Paine.”

Confusion draws her dark eyebrows together. “I really don’t understand.”

I take her hand, closing the gap between us as I move nearer to her. “I can’t scold you, or even be angry with you—though, as soon as you’re out of this hospital gurney, you’ll be right back on mine to receive a punishment.” A dark thrill spikes my blood at the thought. “But I can’t do that to you when I’m just as guilty for thinking and acting solitarily. I’ve done so my whole life. So I do understand what you did, that you were trying in your own way to protect me. But all that ends now.”

Fear crests amid her eyes, and I barrel forward. “In the end, I can’t steal you. I can’t force you to go with me. Because I can’t take your choice away, Kyrie. You’ve already had too many things taken from you, and I can’t be responsible for taking any more.

“Everything here is all I have of you.” I squeeze her hand tighter, reciting the first line of her letter back to her. “But I can’t give you away. I refuse to. You’re a part of me, soldered to my very fucking bones. So I wish you would follow me. Follow me forever. I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and I swear, I’ll do everything within my power to show you the depth of how much you mean to me, Kyrie.” I bring her chilly hand to my lips briefly. “But if you’re happy here at West Paine, then I’ll stay here with you. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

Tears brim her eyes, and she inhales a labored breath. The beep of the monitor increases with her rising heart rate. She uses her free hand to swipe at an escaping tear. “I’ve heard Alberta could use a body farm research initiative.” Her smile is shaky, but the light in her eyes shines so brightly, a piece of my black heart cracks. “This might come as a surprise, but not too long ago I was trying to burn you right out of my life with the greatest amount of your suffering as possible.”

“I’m shocked. Truly.”

Kyrie’s smile grows a little brighter, a little steadier. “But it was partly because I wanted to find my own way, my own path. So yes, I want to go with you, Jack. I want a new opportunity for me as much as I want one for you and for us.”

I place a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then I gift her a dark smile full of hunger and promise. “Alberta has no idea what’s coming for it, my little reaper.”

Creatures designed like us were not meant to bask in the light for long. Where we lurk, the darkness always finds us. This is the design. Yet, with Kyrie, there are exceptions to the rule. She is my exception. She is my light.

And I will forever protect her light against the darkness.