Page 37 of Hart of Darkness
12
Maggie
We drove through the city streets in complete silence. I wanted to give Dillon some space to absorb what we had just learned. Several times, I itched to console him like he had me when we’d found out about the dead redhead. Ted hadn’t returned my call yet, but right now my biggest concern was Dillon. I wasn’t going to leave him in the state of mind he was in.
The traffic was the usual stop and go at red lights and roundabouts. Dillon’s focus was on the road, while a muscle jumped along his jaw. Several times since we’d gotten in the car, I itched to rub his arm or take hold of his hand, but sometimes when I was thinking hard, I didn’t want to be disturbed.
So I did a search on the Internet of the Crow and its location. The club’s website indicated the address was located in an industrial zone of South Boston.
“If you want to check out the Crow, it’s south of here,” I said.
Dillon shook his head, his features still rock-solid with so many emotions.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed his hand, which was fiddling with the cap of a water bottle.
He quickly jerked his head at me. Then as if some of the darkness was pulled from him, he gave me a half smile and squeezed the hell out of my hand. “I’m not ready to go to some bar right now. I need to regroup. I’m afraid I might tear someone’s head off if they so much as tell me they’ve seen Grace recently.”
“So where are we going?” We weren’t headed in the direction of the shelter. Maybe he was taking me to his place. I wondered for a second if he lived at the shelter or had his own apartment. After all, the shelter was a nice home in an okay neighborhood.
He braked at a red light. “Do you need to return to work?”
I checked the time on the dashboard clock. Bruce would be wondering if I’d gotten a scoop on the dead redhead or if I had some meat for a story. But like any other day, I could work until the wee hours of the morning. As long as I had something for a story, Bruce didn’t mind if I returned during normal work hours or not.
“I’m good.” I couldn’t leave Dillon in his state of mind. Well, I could, but I didn’t want to. I’d been as shocked as him when Syd had shared all that information on Grace, or Emily as she was calling herself.
It was clear to me that Grace didn’t want to be found. People changed their names for all kinds of reasons, but the most popular was either entering the witness protection program—which I didn’t think was Grace’s reason since she’d left home at sixteen, never to be seen again—or working as a call girl. My source, Misty, had changed her name. She’d revealed that fact when I asked her. She’d told me that all runaways or girls who didn’t want even their pimps to know who they really were changed their names. I didn’t need to add to Dillon’s turmoil, so I decided not to share that tidbit.
Before long, we were pulling into Paul Revere Park, which was located next to Charlestown. The Zakim Bridge poked out in the distance, while pedestrians strolled along the myriad of paths surrounded by colorful perennials and ornamental grasses.
One of my colleagues had done a piece about the park and had described the area as multi-functional because its oval shape served as an amphitheater and concert stage for performances.
Dillon killed the engine. “Grace, my brothers, and I would come down here as kids. Parts of the park weren’t completely done, and Duke liked to watch the construction. Grace loved the flowers. As for Denim and me, we liked to throw the baseball around. Come on.”
The sun was still high in the sky for late afternoon. Inhaling the scent of fresh-cut grass, I couldn’t help but feel all giddy inside. I was about to stroll through a park on a beautiful and hot summer day with a man who was making me want to give him my heart. I was beginning to think he had captured it when I’d first learned he owned a shelter.
As we wound our way down a path, Dillon’s slipped his hand in mine.
Whoa!My belly was full of wild butterflies.
“You calm me, Maggie,” he said.
I let out a soft chuckle, more out of nerves than anything. “Men have told me lots of things, but nothing like that.”
“So they haven’t told you how beautiful you are?”
We both kept our eyes on the path. I was afraid if I looked at him, I would get down on one knee and ask him to marry me. Okay, that was a little far reaching, considering I didn’t want a serious relationship, or at least I hadn’t until I met Dillon. Maybe marriage wasn’t so far-fetched.
“Thank you,” was all I could say. Only one other man had told me I was beautiful, and that was Lou, my former gang leader, when he was nursing me back to health. Actually, Lou had said I was pretty, even with the scar on my neck. I knew he’d been trying to lift my spirits and instill confidence in me. His compliment had drawn a smile out of me, but I’d had low self-esteem until I learned how to fight. Knowing I could protect myself made me stand up straighter, although I didn’t want anyone to see my scar.
Dillon and I found an empty bench and sat down. He leaned his elbows on his knees. “What would you do if Cory was standing here right now?”
I did a double take. No one had ever asked me that question.
Dillon sat up and faced me. His golden-brown eyes were filled with so many questions.
I shrugged. “At first, I wanted to kill him. For so long, he’s haunted my dreams. You know that Cory gave me the scar. What you might not know is that he raped me.” I couldn’t recall if Dillon knew that part or not, although word about my rape and stabbing had been whispered in gangs after Lou had rescued me. “Anyway, I couldn’t repeat his name. I couldn’t go to the cops. I couldn’t even walk down a dark street anymore. But Lou showed me that I was a strong person. He taught me that as much as I feared something, that fear made me stronger. But after years of thinking about Cory and planning his death, I realized after Lou died that death wasn’t the answer for Cory. He should suffer in jail with no option to ever get out. That and I didn’t want to go to jail for murder. But if he were standing here right now, I would probably beat him until he was close to death but still breathing.”
A crease formed in between Dillon’s eyebrows. “Why didn’t you go to the cops after he raped you?”
