Chapter Six

Kyler knew he was dreaming, and he fought to hang on to the illusion, to stay under as long as he could. Emotion welled inside his chest, making his heart ache. It was too big to hold. As much as Kyler hated crying, he couldn't carry it all. As he sat near his mother's feet, he didn't know how or why, but the dream felt like a blessing. The impossibility of it made him thankful.

The last time they had been together, he'd sat at her bedside. He remembered the creases in her forehead and the way her skin appeared gray. A colorful scarf had covered her bald head.

Death erased the past eleven years and the cancer. Her long dark hair flowed down her back, and her olive complexion was as healthy as his own. She was as young as the last time he'd seen her.

Kyler had been young when she passed away. He felt like a boy as he met her gaze. When he'd been a kid, he hadn't paid attention to their similarities. As an adult, he found them striking. Kyler had never known who'd impregnated his mother. As far as he was concerned, the guy was nothing more than a sperm donor, and he was pretty sure that was how she had seen him as well. Seeing the similarities between mother and son, the sperm donor might as well have never existed.

In the dream, it was just them and a chair. Everything else was just space. The lack of something should have made him nervous, but it had the exact opposite effect. His mother's presence wrapped around him like a comfortable blanket, and the weight of missing her for so many years lifted, making it possible to breathe again.

He could smell her perfume. The scent of vanilla and the summer flowers that had grown around their apartment building floated between them. He'd almost forgotten how good his childhood had been when she was still alive.

He recognized the sensory knowledge for what it was, a memory. It wasn't his current reality, and something about that pulled him toward wakefulness, wanting to fall further than he had already. He clung to whatever made her presence next to him possible.

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. He knew his time with her would end at some point and, while he'd happily sleep forever if it meant keeping her, he struggled with what to say. Clock hands ticked in his mind. He had so many words they all crowded together. Finally, he asked the thing that screamed the loudest. "Why did you leave me?"

"I wasn't meant to stay." She reached for him, cupping his cheek. He could feel the warmth of her hand on his face. "You have a family."

She knew how alone he felt. He could see the knowledge in her gaze.

"I miss you." Nothing filled the hole of her loss. Not one person in his life. Not even Royce, who was the closest thing to a parent he had.

"I'm here. When you look in the mirror. In the way you clean your house every Saturday. The same day we used to clean the apartment. Everything you do holds a little part of me."

Yes, he knew that. Hadn't he just thought about their similarities? Nothing would ever lessen the ache that grew with each passing day. "None of it helps."

"You have to trust. Trust me. Trust your family." The way she smiled, as if she knew what rolled through his mind, was a look she had given him often. She flattened her hand on his chest over his heart. "Trust what this is telling you."

He nodded, not knowing what to say, so he didn't speak.

"You have to go." She cupped his cheek again.

"I want to stay with you." He sounded like the boy he had been when she had died. Tears came in earnest, knowing she would have to leave soon. He gripped her leg. When she vanished, the chair went with her.

The dream left him with nothing.

His mother used to say there was a difference between alone and lonely. As he sat on the side of the bed, trying to calm himself, he understood the difference better than at any other time in his life, except for maybe after she had first passed away.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. It wasn't very effective, so he stood and made his way into the bathroom, and the tissue box. His attention landed on jeans, hanging on the side of his hamper. One dark blue leg clung to the side as if protesting the washing machine. He wiped his eyes and rescued them, if only for the time being. He didn't bother to give them the sniff test but just pulled them on anyway.

When he went back into his bedroom, he opened his closet and grabbed a hoodie, tearing it from the hanger. He didn't bother combing his hair because he didn't care how it looked.

His wallet and keys were in a bowl on a long table by the front door, so he headed through the house. He pocketed both and slipped on his shoes before unlocking the door and slipping outside. He locked up behind him and stood on the stoop, taking in the quiet of his neighborhood.

All the houses in the neighborhood were roughly about the size of his own. His home had more of a cottage feel than some of the others, especially the one directly across the street. That one was a two-story with an attached garage. It was the only two-story on their road and was the only outlier. Only they had dull colors. His was a sage green that stood out amongst the rest.

Mr. Wallace, in the house to the right, had a yard light. He always kept it lit, even during the day. In the dark, it chased away the demons. As soon as Kyler stepped off his stoop and away from the rays of Mr. Wallace's light, his demons would surround him again.

He could see his breath, just a foggy puff of a cloud floating away, mingling with the night air. He pulled the hood over his head and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

His mother used to say if you didn't like the weather in Michigan, then wait a minute, and with the lake, it fluctuated that much sometimes, especially at the start of winter.

He made his way down the driveway to the sidewalk. Small flakes of white fell from the night sky, and the longer he walked, the thicker the snowfall.

The darkness made the loneliness freeze inside his bones. Nothing would dislodge it except a warm body. It made him almost want to do something reckless, like turn around and grab his car. He could drive to Rumors in Harbor Shire. The only reason he didn't was because they were probably closed. It had to be around two o'clock in the morning. Most bars closed around then. Rumors probably wasn't any different even though it was more of a club than a bar. It was too late for recklessness. The last stupid thing he'd done was Andrew.

Each step made him regret not putting on a coat. Or socks. Not even the cold would make him go back home to the emptiness. He'd get stuck in his head if he did.

He turned toward the central part of town, figuring he'd walk past the row of shops to the garage and then turn back toward home again. Maybe by then, he'd welcome the quiet instead of dread it.

Brett Lincoln drove his piece of crap SUV by just as he walked past the flower shop. Kyler knew the vehicle because he was always the one who had worked on it whenever Brett brought it into the garage. Brett was good at fucking things up on that truck, but him being hard on his vehicle wasn't the problem. Brett Lincoln was a grade-A piece of shit.

As Brett drove by, he held up two fingers by way of greeting. Kyler didn't acknowledge him and kept walking. Not even when he heard the crunch of tires and gravel.

Brett practically drove on the sidewalk as he slowed his truck to Kyler's walking pace. "Need a ride somewhere, pretty boy?"

Pretty boy. Really? Brett had never called him that before. Most of the time, the names Brett came up with were far more colorful and unkind.

Kyler didn't answer. Instead, he pretended he didn't know Brett was talking to him.

"Are you going to answer me, you little bitch?"

"Aren't you the charmer." Kyler rolled his eyes.

"You look like you need chemical help."

Brett was a couple of years younger than Kyler but even in high school, Kyler knew he should steer clear. Brett had sold weed and pills to the other kids. Kyler did a lot of sketchy things, but he wasn't an addict. Royce would kick his ass if he started abusing anything, and Greg wouldn't be too far behind.

Kyler would have flipped Brett off if he'd been closer to a safe location. Maybe he looked like he held the weight of his whole life above his head. He'd felt as if he had, even the bad shit. It all would seep into the ground around his feet if he didn't. And when it did, he'd forget every detail of his mother. He'd never cover any of it with anything Brett was selling.

Nothing about Brett was trustworthy either, and anyone who did would find out the hard way.

Kyler took his hands out of his pockets and picked up his pace. His gut told him to get away from Brett as soon as possible. The only place close enough and maybe still open or at least unlocked was TJs Bar, so that was where he headed.

"Fuck off." He'd never been one to stay silent for very long.

Brett pulled into the gas station parking lot as Kyler passed by it. A vehicle door slammed shut, and feet on gravel sounded behind him.

Kyler's breath hitched, and his heart pounded against his chest. He pictured Brett beating the crap out of him, and that was the image that got his feet moving.

"Jesus, man. I'm not trying to hurt you. I just want to give you something to try."

"I told you to fuck off," Kyler yelled as he ran.

He made it halfway across the bar's parking lot before he heard Brett close the distance. A rush of wind passed by his shoulders, and he quickened his pace.

The door to the bar opened, and Andrew stepped out. His gripped the gun in his shoulder holster. When Kyler got to him, Andrew grabbed his arm, pulling him into a protective embrace.

Kyler didn't want to need Andrew. He didn't want to be relieved, but he was. It was there in the deep breath he was able to take and the way he sagged against Andrew as he faced Brett.

"What's going on, carino?" Andrew might have asked Kyler, but he didn't take his eyes off Brett.

"Yeah. What's going on, Brett Lincoln? Care to tell the chief why you chased me through town, Brett Lincoln?" Kyler would say the fucker's name a thousand more times if it helped Andrew remember it, because he'd need to. With Brett's drug-dealing ways, it wouldn't take long before Andrew would arrest him. He'd probably keep on arresting him too for the rest of his career.

"Just wanted to talk to him, chief." Brett held up his hands as if Andrew had pulled the gun on him.

"He doesn't want to talk to you, cabron. Don't go near him." Andrew turned to Kyler. "Go inside. Wait for me."

As much as it rankled to take an order from Andrew, he was the chief. Kyler wasn't stupid enough to defy a direction from the police. Whatever Andrew might think, Kyler wasn't a criminal. One fake ID didn't make him one. At least not since he'd turned twenty-one.

"Were you in the bar tonight?" Andrew asked Brett.

The question put Kyler on alert. It was the first time he considered Andrew's presence inside. Kyler knew Andrew lived in the apartment above, but he'd never had the impression he was a big drinker. And given the question, something had to have happened.

Kyler entered the building, so he didn't get a chance to hear Brett's answer.

The bar lighting was low enough that when Kyler entered, his eyes didn't have to adjust very much. He let the warmth of the room surround him and took in Kendrick's kind smile.

"You should go home, Kyler."

Kyler knew Kendrick because he was Royce's cousin. He'd spent time at the garage when he had first moved to town. He knew he'd been through some domestic shit, although Kyler didn't know the details. Royce had given Kendrick the bar when he had shown an interest, and Kendrick had done right by it ever since.

"I know. Sorry. I didn't intend to come. Just sorta ended up here. I have to wait for the chief, now that I'm here." No point in scaring Kendrick unnecessarily. Not when Andrew was outside, scaring the life out of Brett already.

"Are you okay?"

Kyler nodded as he looked around the room. Kyler hadn't had time to contemplate the presence of the police cars, an ambulance, and Brad Flynn's truck in the parking lot.

He sat on one of the stools.

"Brett Lincoln tried to sell me drugs. Fucker chased me through town to do it. Scared me enough that I ran here hoping the bar was still open." Kyler shook his head even as he changed the subject. "What's going on?"

Kendrick sighed and put down the glass he cleaned. "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you, so I'll just say there's a victim in the back. And Royce would worry if he knew you were walking around at night with a rapist on the loose."

Kyler pointed to the vodka bottle behind him and put his hands together as if praying. "Why's Brad here?"

Kendrick grabbed a shot glass and the bottle, pouring until the glass was almost full. "Changing the locks on the back door. It broke a few months ago, and I didn't fix it. Now there's some poor guy hurt." Kendrick shuddered, and his face fell.

Kyler stood, leaving his full shot still on the bar and made his way around. The closer he got to Kendrick, the more the body language said not to touch. "Do you want me to go back to the other side of the bar?"

Kendrick shook his head. "I just…" He reached out his hand, and Kyler took it, trying to show as much support as possible.

Kyler didn't pull Kendrick toward him or make demands. The distance was awkward, but whatever made Kendrick comfortable was what he'd do. "Do you want to talk about it or…?"

"Isn't that supposed to be my line as your bartender?" Kendrick smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Yep, but my problems can wait." Kyler's problems were minor in comparison.

Kendrick took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and taking another one before speaking. Whether he needed that to gather his nerves or to control his emotions, Kyler didn't know, but his chin wobbled the second he opened his month. "I found Ethan Cordell in the storage room. Someone…someone beat and raped him."

Oh, God. Ethan was a few years older than Kyler but seemed a lot younger. He was cute in a small, waifish sort of way. He had a drinking problem, and everyone in Pickleville knew it, especially his wife. Kyler didn't know him well, but he'd seen the guy at the diner a time or two. He thought maybe Ethan self-medicated because he had that same weariness about him that Greg did, which just meant he went through a lot of shit in his life and needed the liquor to drown it all.

Kyler didn't know what to say, and thankfully he didn't have to because Kendrick kept talking.

"I hoped it wouldn't happen here. I mean, I thought maybe it could. Stuff happens at a bar, but I-I just…" Kendrick turned his head away when more tears fell.

Nothing like rape ever happened in Pickleville. Since the rapes had started, no one knew what to do. Except for maybe the new chief. They were all pinning their hopes on him, Kyler included, even though that irritated him.

Brad came in from the back with a toolbox in his left hand. He scanned the room like a cop would. Or maybe that was something left over from prison. As if he needed to know where everyone was in the room in case someone shanked him. His gaze settled onto Kendrick, and his hard expression softened for probably the first time in his whole life. Neither spoke. They both just stared at each other.

Crickets. Nothing more than that made a sound except for maybe faint noises coming from the back. Kyler would bet money paramedics worked on the victim and that the sound of wheels on wooden flooring was a gurney.

Kyler made his way back around the bar and sat on the stool.

Kendrick was the first to speak. "Thank you for fixing the lock. If you bill me, I'm happy to send you a check."

Brad nodded and handed Kendrick a key. "For the new lock. If you need copies, the hardware store can help you. They're usually pretty quick."

Kendrick put the key into his pocket.

Kyler shook his head.

They were the most awkward two people on the face of the planet around each other.

Brad made his way around the bar and headed for the front door. It was as he got to it that he scowled at Kyler. "Why are you here?"

"Brett Lincoln chased me." If he had to tell one more person the story, he would just walk himself back home, and Andrew would have to take his statement, or whatever the hell he needed from Kyler, later.

Brad scowled. "You need a ride home?"

Kyler shook his head. "I'm waiting for the chief. He wants to talk to me."

"You sure? I'll wait with you, man." The last thing Brad needed was to be around bottles of booze.

"I don't know how long Andrew will be." Kyler looked at the clear liquid in the shot glass. He had yet to drink it. It would curdle in his stomach if he did. That was especially true since he learned what had happened. "How about I call you if I need a ride?"

Brad nodded before stepping outside.

Kyler sighed and waited for Andrew to get done interrogating Brett. Once he was, he probably intended to insult Kyler while asking him questions.