Chapter Five: As Fierce As They Come

DALLAS, TEXAS

Halle Hardy’s Flat

January 8, 6:20 p.m.

Light bathed simmering broth on the glass stove. Steam wafted from the pot, warming the cook before it. It was a little too hot for her taste, though, and she backed away, approaching her cutting board and chopping the vegetables. She sighed, somewhat bored, but hiding the fact that she couldn’t be happier. She was making his favorite: chicken noodle soup… homemade. Halle blushed, splashing the celery and carrots in the pot and setting a timer. Her feet padded across the cold kitchen floor to the refrigerator, where she pulled out a gallon of tea, pouring two glasses. It had been a long time since she’d had a date, and she was a bit rusty, but at least she knew Skip. She knew his favorites.

   She also knew how hypocritical this was. She told herself that she wouldn’t ever get with him again. It was possible that they would just connect, though… she didn’t have to fall for him.

   Who was she kidding? She placed the jug back and rubbed her forehead. He even stressed her out when he wasn’t around. The timer began beeping. She blew off her stress, walking back to the soup and stirring it. Why did she work so hard to please him? Halle rolled her eyes, grabbing a ladle and making two bowls. She set them at the table, along with the glasses of tea. Where was he?

   Halle rushed to the bathroom, primping her hair. It was annoyingly wavy and long. She took off her cardigan, put it back on, and then took it off again. The cloud pin was set in a drawer neatly. She was ready for anything.

   Then, the buzzer blared. Halle practically ran to the door. She pressed on the panel button. “Hello?”

   “I’m looking for a beautiful girl. I think this may just be the place.”

   Halle laughed. “Come on up, Skip.” She glowed, pacing around the room. This was nerve-wracking. They hadn’t spoken since earlier that day and she was afraid she’d spoil the fun with her awkwardness. Or would she be cool? Halle Hardy: cool cucumber. She could do it. Halle jumped as Skip knocked on her door.

   “I thought it’d be unlocked,” He said as she opened it, continuing, “still precautious of intruders, then?”

   “There’s no harm in being safe! Ha, ha, ha,” Her odd laughter faded and they quickly sat down at the table in the dining area. “So… I made your favorite.”

   Skip just stared at the bowl. “You’re too sweet, Halle.” He glanced up. “I like your pad.”

   Halle looked around. Large kitchen, nice color coordination, cherry-brown floors- it was her style. It was her. “Yeah, I loved it when I saw it in the paper, but it’s had a lot of work done.”

   “How can you afford this with your income?” He inquired, sipping at his tea. He smiled in satisfaction.

   Halle shrugged. “Crazy me. I just make sure to, you know, have the best. No matter what…” She picked up her spoon. “Has Boston missed me?”

   “Not as much as I do.” He said softly, taking a bite. “But sure. It’s different without you. Cases come by that you could solve in an instant. Criminals that I protect walk now. I am lonely. Things have changed.”

   Halle looked away. “It’s nice here.”

   “It’s freezing. You hate change. I know you do. That’s what the damn cardigan-a-day is about. No matter what weather, you wear them.”

   “Maybe I just like them,” she argued, taking a refreshing drink. “The cold is unnatural. It’s just winter. Boston is way colder than this. I am okay with this. I’m used to it.”

   “At least Boston doesn’t tease you with hot summers like here.” He pursed his lips. “You like it better here?”

   A thought crossed her mind. Did she? Was Dallas better than Boston? Was she missing it? She shook her head, though. “I like it here. Most of the people are nice. My job is okay. The cases are a little edgy, but that may just be me.” She chewed on her cheeks. “How is Jo?”

   Skip shrugged. “She’s in the army now. She told me that if we met again to say hi.”

   Halle smiled warmly. “I bet she’s doing great. She’s always been… confident…”

   “Overzealous,” Skip added in a soft voice, taking another drink. A long pause sat solemnly between the two. “Is it always going to be awkward between us now?”

   Halle thought it over. She frowned. “Probably, Skip. It’ll be this way until we get over ourselves and what happened. Did you see the way I reacted to you at my job- in front of my friends? I was completely distraught and ridiculous. It was insane. How can we ever truly have the relationship we used to when I tried to forget you? I tried to leave every memory I had of you. It was dramatic as hell, but honestly, it worked. I left every kiss, every laugh, every date… all of that is gone. I didn’t want it back. You just barged in, though. It’s a little unsettling.”

   Skip sighed. “Why do we have to quit just because of a dash of bad communication?”

   “How about a lack of communication,” Halle laughed scornfully. “You must be joking. Unless you believe that a year is totally enough time for us to get over everything- well, you know what, not for me. I’m not going to do this. No way in hell am I going to let you walk in here and everything will be fine and we’ll laugh and hug and kick back and have a jolly time.” She stood, grabbing her bowl and glass and walking back into her kitchen, setting them on the island. She then confiscated Skip’s and did the same. She grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open. “Get out,” she demanded, shaking.

   Skip stood slowly. “We can-”

   “I know you aren’t deaf. Get out,” Halle pronounced every syllable with clarity. “I won’t be asking you again, Skip.”

   The man knotted his fingers together. He simpered, “You’ll come around, Halle. It may take a day, a month… it may take years, but you will come around. You’ll see what you’re leaving behind.”

   “Don’t give yourself so much credit.” She pointed to the door.

   “I mean your life. You’re leaving every single thing you love behind. Whether that includes me or not, I don’t know, but what I do know is that you’ve been unhappy here ever since you got here. You came here on a second of thinking. All you have is a crummy partner and a fancy flat. What are you looking for? What can you find here that’s not in Boston?”

   “It’s what isn’t here that I wanted!” Halle shouted. “It’s you! I don’t want you! I wanted so far away from you that I’d never hear your name again! I’d never look at the newspapers and see that you won a case- or hell, even lost! I wanted to shake my head when people asked if I was taken! I wanted to be alone… and if that wasn’t it, then I wanted to be without you…” Halle covered her mouth. She let out a small sob and opened the door wider. “Please,” she shuddered.

   Skip seemed hurt. He blinked, looking around, at a complete loss. “Oh… okay.” He stepped out of the apartment without a look back, just as Halle slammed the door on him.

 

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

Skip Evea and Halle Hardy’s home

February 4, Last Year, 3:39 a.m.

A bleak figure slowly slithered forward in the small, wet space. It breathed hot air on Halle’s forehead. She threw her arm, hitting the animal, but was only sucked into it. She screamed.

   Halle sat up in her bed, drenched in cold sweat. She panted, her fear subsiding. Whatever creepy things she could imagine would be gone. At least she had that to look forward to. Halle glanced at the bedside clock. Glowing in red letters were three numbers. She groaned. It was 3:39… she had to go to work in four hours. Halle was the kind of person that had trouble going to sleep. A light flickered off in the hallway, the yellow color disappearing from under the door and bathing Halle in darkness. Her face contorted. She stepped off the bed, finally noticing that her fiancé was not on the other side. His side was untouched. He hadn’t even gone to bed yet? He had a job, too. What was Skip up to?

   Halle crept down the hall. She slid her palms on the familiar bumpy walls, leading her into the living room. She heard a feminine laugh and moan. Halle tried to find all combinations. Maybe Skip sounded ladylike tonight. Maybe it was an intruder… maybe he was- Halle caressed the light switch at the edge of the room, but waited. She could hear Skip, almost inaudible, whisper, “I love you… you know that, right?”

   The switch flung up. On the sofa was Skip, sprawled out, with a blonde girl atop of him. The girl turned her head. Jo? This had to be a mistake.

   “Halle.” Jo announced. Her eyes were wide. “Hal… Halle-hay, it’s… difficult to explain.”

   Tears burned in Halle’s eyes, daring to spill over. “Goodnight,” she said, abruptly turning off the light and rushing into her bed. She hugged a pillow, lying there. Ragged breaths escaped Halle.

   The bedroom door creaked open. Skip walked across the room. He knelt beside Halle. “Hey… are you alright?”

   Halle whimpered. “Why?”

   “What are you talking about? We were having a conversation. Jo and I didn’t want to wake you. It’s okay. Nothing happened.”

   Halle murmured, “Okay.” She caressed his smooth face. “Go to bed soon.”

   Skip nodded. “Of course, Halle-hay.”

DALLAS, TEXAS

Dallas Police Department

January 9, 6:45 a.m.

Trivial conversation between detectives ended with the entrance of Christian Gillard. He draped his leather jacket over the back of his seat and sat at his desk. Absentmindedly, he poured sugar into his freshly ground coffee. Gil multitasked, opening his laptop with the other hand. He violently pressed buttons until he saw the desktop. Sugar dribbled down the edge of his cup, Gil taking the packet away and to the garbage. He wiped off the side of his cup and took a drink. It was very, very sweet. He had a look of revulsion as he turned in his chair. “Yo, John, did you know-”

   John turned his head ever so slightly, just to entertain himself. “I don’t think we’re on good terms right now.”

   Gil dropped his jaw in shock. “What did I do?”

   “You hurt Halle. It’s not fair or cool. I’d prefer you not. C’mon, Ed wanted to show you something, Halle.” He took her hand and led her to the computer crimes district of the precinct. In a desk behind a yellowing computer sat Edwin Signe-Diara. He yawned, typing something. When he noticed Halle and John, he yawned again, clicking on a window. “Come look at this.” He smiled at Halle. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

   Frowning oddly, she answered, “Uh… I guess not. Since when do you care if I’m sleeping well?”

   “Since you’re my buddy,” He said, punching her lightly on the shoulder. “Look.” He turned back to the screen. “Alex in computer crimes introduced me to this program that enables you to cut out a person’s face in a photograph and search it all over the web. The best thing about it is you can choose how you want to sort your results. So I looked through magazines in the past twenty-five years, newspapers, and records with any hint of the word Valor and I found one particular photo you’d be interested in.”

   On the screen was an article about a French actress, Darcy Marie and a review of her new married life. She was a tall, striking woman. An eyebrow was raised and her lips were pursed as she was standing behind three children and beside her husband, Jack Valor. He was grinning, obviously faking. His eyes were dull and his suit was shabby. He held one of the little girls’ shoulders. She was genuinely happy, as were the other two children. The girls wore little frilly dresses as the boy, the oldest, wore his Sunday best. He held hands with the older girl. On further speculation, Halle recognized the older girl as Rita Valor.

   “There’s only one picture on record of Rita at this age. Darcy Marie had a falling out when she was found with cocaine in ’91, which was a few years after this picture was taken. I called Tamara and she said that Rita was probably born in ’81 if the date on this photo is accurate. She said that the boy couldn’t be more than five or so years older than her and the little girl younger. Their names are Denise and John.” Ed crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “So, we’ve got two Valor siblings running around, and I’m guessing they were illegally adopted, too, because they don’t look at all like Darcy Marie or Jack Valor.”

   Halle stared intently at the youngest, Denise. She had little dark pigtails and the biggest smile. “Linda, Shiva, Casper- none of these people have met these two?”

   “Well, Rita did run away. Maybe she never got back in contact with these two. Have you looked up to see if they have criminal records?” John glared at the little boy, murmuring, “Most common name ever, apparently.”

   Ed nodded. “I did look the two up, but I got nothing. It seems as if they were completely excluded from the public, too.” He tapped the little boy. “Do you see that?”

   Around the boy’s neck laid a necklace, its charm was a sea shell. “Yeah,” Halle said, biting her lip. “Wasn’t Shiva wearing that?”

   Ed stood. “Bingo. I’ll bring her in for interrogation, you go talk to Tamara.” He stood, rubbing his eyes. “She called a few minutes ago because you weren’t answering your cell. She has something new on Rita.” He was walking to the door when he turned to look at her. “Do you need a ride?”

   “I can still drive myself, Ed, remember?” She grinned, following behind him. They began walking down the hall to the elevators. “Do you think that Denise and John are alive?”

   Ed shrugged. “Doubtful,” he answered. “I can’t say for sure either way, though. For all we know, they’re still in Dallas, and they’re living normal, law-abiding lives.” He pressed the button beside the doors. “All I know is that Rita just gets fishier and fishier. Hell, did you see Darcy Marie? She was fiercely angry in that newspaper clipping. Why would you be so mad?”

   “Paparazzi bring out the worst in people?” Halle guessed, stepping into the elevator. She placed her hands on the railing inside. “Do you want me to meet you back here when I’m done with Tamara?”

   Ed nodded. “You’ll probably be back before I will. Hurst’s longer away than the morgue and I don’t think Shiva will come without a fight. You could look into Denise and John while I’m out.”

   Halle nodded, watching the doors meet in the middle. It was just her and Ed alone.

   Tinny jazz music played from the speakers at the top of the elevator. “You know, this saxophone just grates on my nerves.”

   “If you took the stairs, you wouldn’t be complaining, now, would you?” Halle grinned at him. “No one likes ungrateful little b******s.”

   “Then why do I still have friends?” Ed laughed, leaving as the first floor landing was revealed. “Call me when you’re finished, okay?” He left the building, going to his police vehicle.

   Halle walked outside, nearing her cherry red Nissan Cube. It was a spacey car, she loved it. The inside was lush, what she needed. She unlocked it, climbing inside. A newscaster on the radio greeted her. “…and the various countries that are trying to own us have bought us out already! America needs to fight back. Americans need to stand up. You need to fight! Every single-” The man’s voice ceased and was replaced with a trendy pop song. Halle finally noticed that this song was definitely not English. She changed stations again. This time, it was an old man saying the temperatures for the week without any inflection in his words. “Mostly cloudy as the day comes to a close, but 80 percent possibility of snow tonight running through tomorrow morning.” She rolled her eyes, turning off the radio altogether. Halle began her drive to the morgue.

 

DALLAS, TEXAS

Morgue

January 9, 8:00 p.m.

“I am so sorry, Tamara. Traffic was a b***h.” Halle walked into the room, running her fingers through a mess of hair. “So, what have you got?”

   Tamara stood beside Rita’s body. She was putting on latex gloves. “I’ve got news back on the burns. They’re years old, except for the more recent ones right before her death, probably inflicted during the week she was missing.” She leaned over the body, pointing to a scar on her wrist. “This, where it’s like a sliver of a tan, it means it’s probably only a year old. It’s on her left wrist, and the vic’s right handed. I’m thinking this is self-inflicted, but this,” She turned Rita on her side. “This scar, though, it’s definitely not self-inflicted, and I think, because of the severity, it wasn’t an accident, either.”

   A large, pale white line ran across Rita’s back in a diagonal style. It was imbedded into her skin. It wasn’t a straight cut, obviously someone who couldn’t make a line or someone who burned Rita slowly.

   “How old is this scar?” Halle asked sympathetically. She stared at it. How could Rita, the girl in the graduation cap and the grin, live happily with such history in pain?

   “Years. Probably before she was even… fifteen? I think the Valors are to blame. This isn’t the only place. Look.” Tamara put Rita back on her back and showed Halle her ribs. Scars were lined all over the area. Halle and Tamara exchanged a solemn stare between each other.

   “This girl was tortured,” Tamara said.