The Departed

Beard. The only reason he even remembered was because he could vaguely recall the man’s daughter had married Moore, the mayor. Grandson—
    Shit. Taylor rubbed the back of his neck and watched as Blake went to deal with the older man. “Now, come on, Leon. You know that’s not exactly true. You don’t have a right to be in there with him and it’s not like he’s in trouble. We just need to piece things together so we can help that girl…”
    He was good, Taylor decided, keeping his voice low and easy, not getting pushy or anything.
    Leon still wasn’t pleased. “You trying to say my grandson had something to do with it?” the old man blustered.
    “Not at all. I’m just saying he works at the hotel where she was hurt. Maybe he saw something that could help her. He’s a good kid, right? If he could help her, he’d want to.” Blake rested a hand on Leon’s shoulder and gently guided him away from the room. “Why don’t we go get you some coffee?”
    As they disappeared, Taylor slipped back into the observation room, this time closing the door tightly behind him. He took up his former position at the window, staring at Brendan Moore, brooding.
    Brooding…and wondering.
    * * *
     
    GETTING Leon Beard out of the station was about as easy as pulling a tick off, Blake thought once he finally got the asshole out the door. He wasn’t overly surprised to see the old man show up, although he knew for a fact the mayor wouldn’t have been happy.
    There was no love lost between the mayor and his father-in-law. It had gotten public a time or two—thanks to Leon. Moore had handled it well enough and he did what he could to keep things civil, even though his wife—the kid, too—didn’t seem to want to have much to do with the old man.
    Nobody knew why, and Blake didn’t much care as long as Beard stayed out of his way and didn’t cause any problems. Today he’d almost caused problems. And damn it, Blake had wanted to watch the interviews—all of them. Muttering under his breath, he headed back down the long hallway, figuring he’d ask Jones to catch him up. Maybe they could grab a bite to eat.
    Blake wouldn’t mind needling the man about the FBI and shit. Had to be more exciting than working here in French Lick. It might be home, but it got damn boring sometimes.
    But he came back to a mostly empty room. Two other cops were in there.
    Jones, though, was gone.
    * * *
     
    DREAMS, so dark and ugly, haunted her sleep. Twisting on the bed, still clothed, Dez groaned as the images assaulted her. The girl, her name was Ivy, and she was crying…crying, even though her lifeless body was stretched out on a slab, cold and naked and dead.
    Her eyes, empty and accusatory, stared at Dez. “You were supposed to save me,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you?”
    “I tried.” Dez wrapped her arms around her middle and shook her head. “I tried.” Then she stopped, closed her eyes. “I did . You’re alive. This is just a dream…”
    When she opened her eyes and looked back, Ivy was gone. But there was another girl. Younger, so much younger—six? Perhaps seven? She had soft, buttery yellow hair, straight and wispy thin, framing a cute, elfin face. Her skin was bluish white in death and she looked at Dez sadly.
    “You can’t save me, either. I’ve been dead too long.”
    “I don’t save the dead,” Dez said, shaking her head. “I just try to help you move on. I can’t save anybody…”
    And the few times I’ve tried, I’ve failed…
    The little girl continued to stare at her solemnly. “Can’t you? What about him?”
    Dez blinked. “Who, Tristan? Sweetie, he’s already gone. He’s passed on. I can’t do anything more for him but keep my promise.”
    The little girl stared at her. Then she sighed and faded away.
    Dez reached out a hand. “Wait!”
    She took a step forward and in that way of dreams, everything shifted, faded.
    Changed.
    And she was in the cemetery, the one where she’d found Tristan. Standing at his grave. But when she reached out to touch the stone, the dream shifted. Changed. And she was in a field. It was empty, or so it seemed. When she looked down, she saw…a hole? What was that?
    She knelt to look, but found herself falling. Hurtling hard and fast. And then she hit. The breath was gone from her body and it was awful, because she wanted, so badly, to scream. Needed to scream, because what she was looking at…
    A broken doll.
    She resembled nothing so much as a broken