Page 57 of Hell In A Handbasket
There’s beauty in letting go. In embracing what’s happening, rather than what’ssupposedto happen.
Or so they say.
Personally, I’m still working on that psychobabble bullshit.
But at least I can breathe again. At least I can sit on Archer’s lap and enjoy the tantalizing sensation of his finger drawing patterns against my thigh. And though it’s still ridiculously hot out, my psyche has learned to calm and enjoy the cooler evening air now that the sun is going down and the scent of our dinner wafts on the breeze.
“Grossest case I’ve ever worked on?” I murmur, considering. “Uh…”
“Oh! I’ve got one.” Aubree drapes her leg over Tim’s, her chair set impossibly close beside his. He’s her comfort, just like Archer is mine. Like Felix is Christabelle’s. “I had a case a few months ago that was unattended.” She dips her chin, gesturing toward Fletch. “He was there. She wasn’t found till the stench alerted the neighbors, so by the time we arrived and put her in the bag, her skin was sloughing off and dripping on our shoes.”
Kane’s lips and nose wrinkle. “Gross.”
“I was shot,” Romeo inserts solemnly. “Four fucking times.”
Felix frowns. “So?”
He hooks an accusing thumb toward Ellie. “By her. Close range, just before she was set to marry someone else. All because she was having a tantrum.”
“Good lord.” Ellie groans. “Move on, babe. It’s in the past.”
“Tell that to the fucking scars on my body.” He tugs her into his lap and elicits a wild squeal from the depths of her throat. “I could have died, ya know? And then we wouldn’t be on this charming camping trip from hell.”
“I would be.” She slaps his hands away, but she giggles and curls into his chest. “Probably with my other husband.”
“What about you, Chief?” Spence tips his beer my way, grinning in the dim light. “I could tell you about the time me and Kane,” then he tilts his head to the side, “and this other dude, Angelo?—”
“That bitch.”
“Shh.” Soph condescendingly pats Jay’s chest. “He’s not even here to hear you talk shit about him.”
“We had a problem with this dude who was hurting innocents,” Spence continues. “I guess you can relate to that. So we tied this motherfucker up and cut out his nuts.”
“I have these experiences.” Kane raises his hand, as though to show a level. “These memories I hold close to my heart. There was the day my babies came into the world.” Then he drops it an inch. “The day I married my Jessie.” Another inch. “The day my brother came back to me.” And one more drop, though it isn’t far. “The day we cut that bastard’s nuts out and added a label right there on his forehead.”
Intrigued, I look at Spence. “A label?”
“R. A. P. I. S. T.” He runs his finger along his scarred forehead, spelling out the first letter. “Castrated him to ensure he wouldn’t touch a woman again. Then we branded him, just in case the first wasn’t enough.”
Micah nods, approving, even if no words cross his lips.
“So what about you?” Spence repeats. “What’s your story?”
“Uh… well…” I settle back against Archer’s chest and nibble on my bottom lip, thinking. Cataloging. I mentally run through thousands of cases and dismiss each one when a better, gorier one arrives. “Oh. Well, I had this one guy whose stomach, lungs, part of his heart, and all of his tongue were inside his skull.”
“What?” Jess exclaims. “HOW?”
“He’d stepped in front of a train. The case was ruled suicide, but the impact pushed,” I use my hands to illustrate, “everything upwards. Nothing above his waist was where it was meant to be, and to make room,” I lift my hand, “blew the lid straight off.”
“Sick.” Corey beams, entirely too impressed as he shuffles in his chair. Though he’s careful not to knock Jen’s bandaged leg. Seven stitches; hardly worth talking about. “I dunno, Doc. I’m not interested in offing myself anyway, not when so many others would volunteer. But I reckon if Iwere, I could think of better ways to go. Having my brains leak out of my nose and ears doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”
“I suppose anyone contemplating suicide probably isn’t in their right mind, anyway. Which means logical thinking long ago fled, leaving room only for emotion.”
“You need me to change the topic?” Archer’s lips brush against my ear. His warm breath, sending tingles all the way to my toes. Or maybe it’s his protective instincts, as always, that make me shiver. “We’re getting too close to home here, babe.”
“I’m okay.” I turn and cup his face, surprising his eyes wide, and pressing my forehead to his. “I let off all that steam earlier today. My next mental breakdown is a few years away.”
He snorts, soft and sweet and not entirely humored. But he runs his hand along my ribs and kisses my chin. “You sure?”
