"Did they try to claim I set that up?" Dalton mutters.
When Val doesn't reply, he looks at her. "They did?"
"No, I did. I started thinking perhaps, if they were right about the sheriff using the hostiles, then he decided to teach me a lesson. When I mentioned it to Phil, he said no, very strongly no, that whatever else they thought Sheriff Dalton was capable of, they couldn't imagine he'd ever do anything like that. But..."
"The idea had already been planted, and the more strenuously Phil insisted Eric couldn't be responsible, the more it seemed as if he was in denial. Phil and the council."
"Yes," she says, and her voice is low.
"So you thought Eric was responsible for your attack. At best, he cultivated an environment that allowed it to happen. At worst, he actually set it up."
She nods.
"And the council set that up. Led you to believe Eric cultivated that environment. Led you to believe he denied your attack. Even, in a roundabout way, led you to think he may have orchestrated it."
Val shakes her head. "What possible motivation would they have?"
"What was the end result? When you first arrived, you thought Eric was too young and uneducated for his position. Right?"
She nods.
"Eventually, you'd have realized you were wrong. That Eric does his job very well. That he's just more volatile--more difficult to control--than the council would like. The best way to manage him? Have a rep who thinks he's dangerous. Who will report his every misdeed. The council made you their dedicated anti-Eric spy. And your reward? The result of what they told you, and the fear and distrust they instilled in you?" I wave around the chalet. "A prison cell."
FORTY-SIX
We don't talk after that. Val needs time to digest it. Dalton does, too, and he's so quiet on the walk back that I turn to him a couple of times and say, "You do understand that no one thinks you actually did any of that, right?" He nods but says nothing, just walks, until we're at his place. We take Storm out to do her business, and he remains quiet. Back inside, I put her to bed and find him sitting in front of the fireplace, staring into the glowing embers.
"Mind if I light that?" I ask softly.
He gives a start and then rises, reaching for the timber pile. I lay my hand on his and say, "I've got it," but he hovers there, as if thrown by the sudden loss of purpose. When I say, "Unless you'd rather," he nods and starts rebuilding the fire.
"I could be wrong about the council," I say as he arranges logs.
He lets out a half-stifled laugh and shakes his head. "Nah, I'm just an idiot for not seeing it."
"It was a very carefully constructed misunderstanding between you and Val, the result of that misunderstanding being a level of animosity that ensures you'd never actually talk and resolve it." I move to sit on the sofa. "I know this hurts, Eric. You think you're immune--that you understand what you're up against with them--and then it gets worse. That hurts."
"Yeah, but..." He pauses, crouched on his haunches, and rubs his mouth. "Before all this tonight, you wanted to talk about moving in."
The change of subject throws me, and I go silent, as I process. He turns away and lights a match.
"Yeah, that's what I figured," he says.
"What you--?"
"It was too fast." He retreats to the other end of the couch. "When I got Storm, I wasn't thinking it'd mean we had to move in together, but I sure as hell jumped at the excuse. Here's a puppy. Now, if you want it, you'll have to move in with me."
"It wasn't like--"
"Yeah, it was. I didn't just jump. I pounced. One more way to tie you down. Tie you to me. Make sure you won't leave."
"I'm not--"
"I think about what happened to Nicole, and I feel like that's what I'm doing, in a way. Putting you in a place. Confining you. Locking you up."
"Eric, you're not--"
"But I want to," he blurts. "Figuratively. Lock you in. Keep you safe. Keep you here. Fuck, yeah. First a dog. Then moving in together. Tying you to me, to Rockton, because I'm afraid you're going to leave."
Before I can speak, he says, "I'm afraid, Casey, and I hate that. I hate how it makes me feel. This is Rockton. People come; people go. If I knew them and liked them, then sure, I miss them. But that's life here, right? Everyone is temporary. Even when my parents moved down south, it was just something I had to adjust to, and fuck, it's not like they were even my real parents."
He rubs his face, as if he can scrub those thoughts away.
I think of Nicole, and the way life on the run affected her. For Dalton, it's not even that. Every relationship--right back to his birth family--has been temporary. It is a life of abandonment, and yet it's such an intrinsic part of his world that he doesn't feel abandoned. That's just what they do. What they must do in Rockton. People must leave. He stays.
I crawl into his lap. His arms tighten around me, and he buries his chin in the curve of my shoulder.
"That's why I freaked out over Val saying I broke into her bedroom," he says. "Even if I had a perfect alibi, I just ... panicked. When we found out Nicole's captor had visited her while I was in Dawson City, all I felt was relief. You wouldn't have to consider me as a suspect."
"I--"
"You might think I'd never do that, but every time I'm a suspect, it's going to make you reevaluate. How well do you know me? How much can you trust me? I'm a guy you met a few months ago, and now you're living with me, sleeping beside me, trusting me, and maybe that's too much. Maybe it's all too much, and it's just not worth it."
I put my hand under his chin and bring my face to his. "It is completely worth it," I say, and press my lips against his. "I have no intention of leaving, but that's not really what this is about. It's the reality that I could. That you'd be hurt if I did."
He nods, and I curl up in his arms.
"I'm hardly an expert," I say, "but I think that's just part of falling in love. You realize you don't want to lose someone. That it would hurt if you did. I'm not used to that either. When I walked away from my life, there was only one person I regretted leaving, and even that was just regret. Losing you would hurt--really hurt--so I just ... I try not to think of it."
"I can't stop thinking of it. I obsess over it. And the worst thing? Feeling like it's not totally about me. It's not under my control. What if you decide it's not safe here? What if you miss being down south? What if the council makes you leave?"
He shifts to look at me. "Remember when you helped me deal with their threat to kick me out? Come up with a game plan? That helped--a lot. That's what I need to do with this. Have a strategy in case you need to leave, and it's not about me. I've decided I would give it a try. Life down south."
"What?"
He leans back and shrugs, like this is no big deal. As if this isn't the very reason the council's threat works. As if this isn't the reason he backed out of relationships before they got serious. Because he has no intention of leaving the north. Ever.
"I could do it," he says.
"No," I say. "Absolutely not. I would never ask--"
"But I'd do it, if I wasn't the reason you were leaving. I can't promise it'd work. But I could try."
I want to keep arguing, but his expression warns me not to. He's made this decision, and that's as much a relief as his backup plan for building a new Rockton.
Instead, I say, "If you're honestly worried about me being frightened out of Rockton, that's bullshit. Being a homicide detective isn't a safe or easy job anywhere. I knew that when I signed on--down there and up here."
I continue, "As for that talk I wanted to have earlier, it wasn't about moving too fast. Not at all. It was something Petra said about Storm. She was joking about a puppy being a starter baby."
"Huh?"
"That having a pet together was a trial run for a baby."
"What?" He shakes his head. "That's not the same thing. Not even close. Yeah, I'm not going to lie, saying Storm is a work dog was mostly an excuse. I gave her to you because
you wanted a dog. But starter baby? Hell, no. Do couples actually do that shit down south?"
"I have no idea." I pull my legs up under me. "What I really wanted to talk about, though, wasn't whether you intended Storm as a baby trial run, but to just ... discuss it. We're living together. We're in a committed relationship. Petra suggested it's better to have the baby conversation sooner rather than later. She's right. Especially in this case." I take a deep breath. "I can't have kids."
He nods. "Sure. I get that. If you don't want kids, you don't want them, and no one should try to change your mind."
"No, I mean I can't have them."
He looks at me, and under that look, I feel my tears prickle. This is another of those things in my life that I deal with through avoidance. Just don't think about. Now I have to. And it hurts.
"The attack," I say. "The damage. I can't..."
"Fuck," he says. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I wasn't getting it. Just wasn't getting it. I'm so sorry. Fucking stupid."
"You're never stupid." I kiss him and say, "Also, for the record? I love you."
He hugs me tight, and we sit like that for a while. Then I say, "We could try. Not now, obviously. But at some point, we could, if that's what you wanted. The doctor says there's a chance I could get pregnant. It's a very slim chance, though, so I just tell myself I can't. That makes it easier."
He hugs me again, saying nothing for a few minutes, and then, "Having kids has never been one of my goals. I always figured it wouldn't happen, and I'm fine with that. But thank you for telling me."
I manage a wry smile. "Saves us from a really awkward conversation later?"
His arms tighten. "No, I'd just want to know. Whatever you're dealing with, I want to know."
FORTY-SEVEN
We don't hear from Val the next morning. Am I hoping to? Yes. I want her to call us in and tell us she's made a horrible mistake. I want that for the town--for Val to step up and be a true leader. And, yes, I want it for Dalton, one less force he's working against.
But she stays in her house, blinds pulled. When I comment to Dalton, he shrugs it off, like he expects no better and he won't let Val spoil his mood today. He is in a good one. Calm, more secure in his footing, getting back to himself. When Jen stops by to collect her militia credits, her snarky jabs bounce off him. He just hands her the credits and tells her if she wants more militia work, talk to Anders.
A late night means an equally late start to our day. That may have had something to do with forgetting to set the alarm. By the time I've finished writing up my report from last night and helping Dalton with a few minor issues, it's early afternoon.
I find Mathias in the community hall weight room. It's a popular spot in Rockton, not unlike in a prison complex. People living in relative confinement with few entertainment options often decide to use the time for self-improvement. The library and weight room get a lot of use. Today, though, it's empty except for Mathias, bench-pressing an impressive amount.
"You do realize you'd be a lot scarier if you did this in front of an actual audience," I say.
"That would promote entirely the wrong image," he says, still lifting. "A strong man may be intimidating, but the truly frightening one is the man who can kill without lifting a finger."
"Like with hypnosis?" I settle on the bench opposite him. "Yes. I know why you're here. It's need to know. I needed to know."
"He did not die."
"In retrospect, I bet you wish he did."
Mathias sits up and reaches for his towel. "I do not regret needing to come to Rockton. I do regret the lives he took in his quest for misguided revenge. Hypnosis to make a man cut off his own genitals?" He shakes his head. "If such a power existed, why would the world need soldiers? Simply brainwash the enemy into killing themselves."
"So brainwashing Rockton residents to turn them into hostiles would be a nonstarter."
"And the detective deftly swings the conversation onto the desired topic, having spent exactly the required amount of time on small talk, so the subject does not feel undervalued on a personal level."
"One, you aren't a subject. Two, talking about brainwashing a man into castrating himself is no one's idea of small talk."
"I wouldn't say no one's..."
"You want small talk? Let's discuss the fact that you are violating..."
I point over his head. Dalton posted a notice saying Use of the bench press or squat rack without a spotter is strictly prohibited. Someone had altered the handwritten sign to read Use of the fucking bench press or the fucking squat rack without a fucking spotter is punishable by one week of chopping duty during fucking blackfly season.
"Eric and I have an arrangement," Mathias says. "If I die pinned under the weights, it is my own fucking fault." He pauses. "Or was that goddamn fault?"
"So, hostiles. You've read the reports."
"I have."
"And your conclusion?"
"I would like a hostile. Alive, preferably." He purses his lips. "No, definitely alive. Dead men are very hard to interview."
"I'm not bringing you a hostile, Mathias."
"Then I cannot provide you with a proper answer."
"Guess."
"That would hardly be scientific."
"Neither is psychiatry."
"Ouch."
"I'm not looking for an irrefutable answer. I want possibilities. What turns residents of Rockton into hostiles? Is it simple psychology?"
"Psychology is rarely simple. But that is not the response you want. You wish to know how likely it is that people of otherwise sound mind leave Rockton and quickly 'revert' to some bestial form. I would use the word 'impossible,' if I did not know better than to place absolutes on any aspect of human behavior. Extremely unlikely, then. Even in the case of the woman Eric knew, who changed so significantly within a year."
"So it wouldn't happen?"
"Shouldn't happen. Not without other factors. Brain trauma or chemical interference."
"A serious head injury or drugs?"
"Not necessarily drugs as you think of them. It could be environmental. Ingesting something that altered her mental state."
"Is there anything up here that would do that?"
"I do not know everything that is up here. I would need to speak to Eric."
*
Dalton is too busy to meet with Mathias today, and it's not urgent anyway. It's just a theory I'm mentally playing with at this point. The question of how we came to have hostiles has little bearing on the question could Nicole's captor have been a hostile? I'm not even sure where to begin answering that. As everyone has been telling me, it'll be a whole lot simpler pursuing settler culprits. But that doesn't mean I can't try narrowing it down, which is why I'm at Nicole's place an hour after leaving Mathias.
Nicole has just returned from the community center. I've given her guards orders to let her move about the town while accompanied, with outings logged so Isabel and I can be sure Nicole isn't overdoing it in her desperation to prove she's okay.
Kenny's on duty. I speak to him and then go inside to find Nicole making tea in the kitchen.
She looks over and grins. "You brought me a bear cub."
"Thought you might like that," I say as she bends to greet Storm. I walk over to finish making the tea. When she rises with a quick "I can do that," I pretend not to hear her. Once it's ready, I carry it into the living room.
"I can carry a teapot," she says. "I've been working out."
"That better be a joke."
"Kind of." She takes a dumbbell from the coffee table. "Just picked these up." She does a biceps curl. "One whole pound. In a month, I get to move up to two."
"Impressive."
"I wanted to start with the fives, but Dr. Atelier made me take these. Something about muscle damage. He showed me a few exercises I can do with them, too." She puts the weight down and sits. "I remember when I was here before, I stayed away from the butcher shop. He just seemed..."
"Weird?"
She la
ughs. "To put it bluntly. He's definitely different, but he's been kind to me." She sips her tea. "So, before we get down to business. I'd like to discuss business. I want a job." She lifts a hand. "Don't tell me my job is getting better. I've heard it from Diana."
"Who is correct."
Nicole shakes her head and pats the sofa to get Storm over. The puppy looks at me, making sure I don't want to claim petting rights. When I motion, she bounds to Nicole and jumps up, front paws on her knees.
"Down," I say to Storm, and then to Nicole, "Push her down firmly, please. That won't be nearly so adorable when she's over a hundred pounds."
Nicole nudges the puppy down, mock-whispering, "I know. People trying to rein in our enthusiasm. Spoilsports."
I roll my eyes.
"I'd like a job," Nicole says. "There must be something I can do, even if it's just taking inventory at one of the shops. Makes me feel like I'm pulling my weight."
"I understand--"
"Yes, you do," she says. "You totally get it because it's the same thing you'd want. Which doesn't mean you think it's healthy."
"I don't think it's unhealthy. I just..." I shake my head. "I will find something for you. But it will be a part-time job and probably boring as hell."
"I spent a year in a hole. Anything is more interesting than that. Now let's drop the subject of Nicole needing to slow down and switch to Casey trying to solve an impossible case, finding a killer in a thousand square miles of wilderness. You have questions."
"One, and I'm going to preface it by acknowledging that it's going to sound like the dumbest question ever. But bear with me."
"Shoot."
"Your captor. Was there anything odd about his behavior?"
She sputters a laugh, startling Storm, who zooms back to me and leaps onto my lap. I give the puppy a hug and put her down as I say, "Yes, beyond the part about holding you captive, and everything that went with that. Like I said, it sounds like a dumb question. Clearly that's not normal behavior. And yes, it's not like I can ask if his behavior seemed typical for psychos who keep women in caves--"
"Yeah, he's my first kidnapper. Hopefully my last, too. But I think I understand what you're asking. Were there any signs of mental impairment or pathology beyond the obvious."