Believe, Glynis Rankin [classic literature list .txt] 📗

was there any other odor in the room. Think now, did you smell anything like a cologne or perfume?”

“No, just the smell of blood.”

Wash nodded. “Did you rush right in or walked in slowly?”

“I saw Nell first and… rushed inside, or at least I thought it was Nell.” She spoke to him, but looked over his shoulder at a point on the wall. It's as if she saw it play out again on a big screen.

“She was one big blob on the floor so I went to help her, to see if she was still alive. I must have known she was dead; she had to have been dead. I touched her body; I think I touched her body. It was cold, so cold.” Sara shivered. “That’s when I got scared and ran out the room.” She answered truthfully.

Wash sat back in his chair to allow Sara to compose herself for a moment.  A knock at the door made him get to his feet.  He opened it and talked in whispers with an officer before returning.

 “Here, drink this.” Wash handed her a glass of water.

“Thanks.” Sara took a large swallow to rinse out her mouth, and then she drank the rest. She placed the empty glass on the side table next to her chair with a shaky hand.

 Wash watched carefully. “You okay?”

Sara nodded.

“Ready to continue?”

She nodded again.

He scooted to the edge of his chair to read from his notes. “You said you touched your foster mother, but your hands aren’t stained?”

“Maybe I didn’t, I’m not sure.” She rubbed her forehead.

“You’re not sure or you don’t remember?”

 “I don’t remember?”

Every detail of this horrible night was scorched into Sara’s brain.  She remembered how hard it was to remove their blood off her hands, she’ll never forget how it got there, she thought, never.

Despite the noise in the house that penetrated the room, it was silent between the two. Wash stared at her with his intimidating green eyes, while the silence became so uncomfortable that Sara found herself shouting in frustration.

 “You think I didn’t this! You think I killed them?”

  “I don’t know what to think Sara,” Wash said, sneering. “I’m just trying to find out what happened here, piece together the puzzle. Like why you didn’t call the police? ”

“I told you I was scared!”

“What scared you Sara? You said you didn’t hear anything?”

 She hesitated for a moment.  “I was scared of you, okay!”

“Why would you be scared of the police?”

“I don’t trust the police.” She sneered.

Wash scowled, but didn’t say anything.

“Besides, I was on my way out when they found me.”

“That’s what the officer said too.” Wash frowned deepen. It sent his thick brow into a more innate connection with his broad forehead. “That’s a convenient excuse, but you could have let us know you weren’t a victim.”

“What reason would I have to kill them?”

She didn’t answer his question, Wash noticed. “You tell me?”

Sara knew that look, saw it too many times on the faces of social workers and state officials who evaluated her case every year. He wasn’t convinced she wasn’t involved.

“No one wants to hear the truth. There’s too much paperwork involve.” Sara offered instead.

“Try me.” Wash folded his arms over his chest.

“I already told you the truth!”

“How did you leave the house tonight Sara, was it through the kitchen door or through your window?”

And they wonder why she distrusted the police; they set traps for you to walk into.  Sara shook her head. “You know, people have their opinions about how horrible Foster Care is, but those who truly know are the children that live it every day. You have no idea what I went through living here with those people.”

“I need the truth, Sara, all of it!” Wash face turned red.

“I told you the truth!  No matter what I say now, I’m lying.”

 She told the truth about the abuse and neglect she received at the hands of Nell and Tom Elton, but not one person believed either.  Instead, they sided with them, her abusive caregivers who labeled her a liar, with lies of their own. So what she told him was a half-truth, it didn’t matter anyway, he wasn’t going to believe her.

 Sara met Wash’s glare with one of her own. She didn’t let it falter.

Chapter Twelve

Hardened by her circumstances with no faith in the system, Sara fears what people like Wash could do to her. But no matter how much he baited her with his bullying tactics, she wasn’t going to confess to murder. She hadn’t killed Nell and Tom.

“Fine, let’s go!”

Wash stood. He grabbed her by the arm to lift her from the chair. 

“Go where?”

He led Sara through the house, out the front door, and down the porch without saying a word.

This was the scenario that played out in Sara’s mind whenever Nell yelled. “This is why they put kids like you in jail, you deserve it! You’re a stain on sociality.”  

“You’re taking me to jail, for what!” She screeched. “I ain’t done nothing!”

 Sara dreaded going to jail for something she didn’t do. But it would be worse to go into another foster home.

She shuddered at the thought of not knowing where she’d end up next or how long she'd have to stay.  Another place that she didn’t choice, where she’s told she didn’t belong and was expected to be grateful.

Wash took her to a waiting cruiser parked in the drive. He opened the door, told her to watch her head, placing her inside.

Wash believed she had lied Sara supposed ducking to take a seat.

 “Where are you taking me?” She demanded an answer.

 “I’ve got a few more questions and then we’ll see.” Wash closed the door.

“We’ll see! Let me out of here!” She yelled, glaring at him through the window.

Wash stared at her for a moment, but didn’t respond. Instead, he turned, leaving her in the dark cruiser alone.

  Tears brimmed to the surface as Sara watched him walk over to talk with a tall, lean officer.

“Please let me out!” she whispered.

  Sara forced herself not to cry. She knew Wash didn’t see her, not really, the police never do. All they saw was the stigma she carried as a foster child, a ward of the state, a delinquent nobody.

She turned from Wash to watch the paramedics roll the heavy-laden stretchers out of the house with her foster parents secured in black plastic bags. In the darkness, where no one saw her tears, Sara could no longer hold back the floodgates she’s held since she saw their bloody bodies.

 After what she witnessed tonight, Sara knew should be dead too. She cried, not just for them, but because no one would believe the truth.

Sara stared at the lights and cameras of the news crews gathering, eager to film the gruesome. There were the nosy neighbors in their night clothes, flocking like vultures to see the festivity.

Sara averted her eyes from the crowd.

In the distance, just beyond the chaos and lights was a boy.  He’s cloaked in shadows, yet she felt his stare in the pit of her stomach. It's different than the others; as if touched with compassion and sympathy for her dilemma.

While tears fell, Sara felt a spark of hope.   Perhaps there’s someone out there that will believe her story.

 

                                                 ***

Xavier stared into the dark, thick underbrush, his heart thumping hard against his chest.  He decided not to transform, instead he let his nose led him through the thick bushes. He hiked fast, ducking under low line limbs and through thick, tall, grass until he could pick up his pace.   He didn’t need a light; his wolf’s vision allowed him to see in the dark.

Once clear of the shrubberies, Xavier ran towards the intoxicating scent, her scent. It blended into a mosaic of aromas, pushing him forward through the dim. He heard the sirens long before he reached an alcove. Werewolves were supposed to avoid the police, but curiosity and that wonderful scent got the better of him.

Night fell, but Xavier stayed within the shadows of the overgrown nook staring at the chaos. The police had cornered off an entire block. No one got in or out without them stopping to search.  A helicopter flew overhead, its lights slicing through the darkness, while news crews’ set up along the yellow police tape. A large crowd gathered to watch the activity surrounding a house peppered with police cruisers, emergency vehicles, officers, and police dogs.

Was she in there? He still smelled the scent of blood and fear, but something was different, it had changed. She was no longer a part of the muck that clouded his senses. Instead, he recognized her pleasing odor underneath the layers of death, fear, and despair. In it was her personal uniqueness and charisma. Xavier inhaled her distinctive aroma, and it awakened him.

The smell of her conferred a great deal, much more than catching a mere sight alone.  Xavier wasn’t a reclusive, but he had the tendency to avoid people and crowds. Over the centuries, there’ve been many human women that shared his bed, yet none that made him feel this sense of knowing.

He’s gone a long time without finding a mate, that one person to make him feel complete. If he’s honest, he’s envied Rocco and the others who have mates.

For a lone wolf in the city, there were many obstacles that stood in the way of him finding a mate.  The obvious problem was demand. There are far fewer women werewolves than men.  Many died before the transformation or weren’t strong enough to handle the viciousness of their wolf.

But she’s strong, he thought, inhaling her again.

Just the smell of her made everything feel right.  

                                   

                                                   

Chapter Thirteen

“What’s happened?” Rocco broke through the undergrowth to sit beside Xavier.

Hidden from the chaos within the shadows of the underbrush, they had a ring size seat to the police drama playing out before them. 

“Not sure, the police cornered off the street.”

The intoxicating smell of her conferred a great deal, much more than catching a mere sight alone.  Xavier wasn’t reclusive, but he had the tendency to avoid people and crowds. Although over the centuries, there’ve been many human women that