Where the Blame Lies

He was there, in the world, smiling and talking, running and making jokes with other kids, because of her. She’d given him life. That child.

Someday he’d fall in love and have children of his own. The seed of love she’d cultivated for the tiny being within her so many years ago would spread and grow and flourish. Going on and on and on.

Is it enough?

Her heart twisted. She leaned so close she smelled the metallic tang of the chain-link fence. A flash of herself lying pregnant in the warehouse room caused her shoulders to tighten. But the little boy swaying from one foot to the other on the field, leaned forward with his glove ready to catch a baseball, was inextricably linked to the crime committed against her. If she wished it away, it would mean the child she watched—her baby boy—would blink out of existence. And Josie could not wish for that. She could not.

“We made a beautiful boy, didn’t we?”

Josie froze, her breath halting and then rushing out in a gust of terror. Cooper. Charles. He was right behind her, his voice in her ear, the heat of his body pressing into hers. She felt something sharp, digging into her side.

“Do you want to make babies with me, Josie?” he asked, only it was Zach’s voice. Oh God. Horror spiked within her, making her brain buzz. “They’d be beautiful too, don’t you think?”

“I sure do,” he said in Mr. Hornsby’s voice.

A soft mewling sound escaped her lips as she clenched her eyes shut in shame at the sound of the spot-on impersonation. Of course, Mr. Hornsby hadn’t called her. Her upstanding, fatherly lawyer. Of course he wouldn’t instruct her to sneak out of her house unprotected. She’d been an idiot because of her desperation. Her unquenchable need to see her child in person had stolen all her rationale. Blinded her. She’d been tricked. Seduced by the promise of her child up close and personal.

“Or d-do you w-want to make another k-kid with me, Josie? You d-did so well d-delivering him in that w-warehouse all alone. Such a warrior.” Josie’s eyes remained locked on the small body of her boy as he joined the rest of his team, jogging to the dugout.

He sighed, as though he was suddenly weary. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly different than the Cooper she’d known, as though he were finally speaking as himself. Charlie. I’m meeting Charlie. The monster of her nightmares, owner of her scars. “I picked a good family for him. I even followed them around, made sure he wasn’t a fucking cheater. Made sure she was all love and sunshine. She volunteers at a soup kitchen. You believe that shit?” He let out a small laugh but he sounded pleased as it dissolved into a hum. “They’re good people, don’t you think? Solid. Better than what either of us got.”

“Yes. Yes. They’re good people,” she agreed. She shifted, trying to look at him, trying to make eye contact but only catching a glimpse of his profile, the sunlight outlining him in a golden glow. She had a flashback to the moment she’d watched him in her cell as his masked face had gazed at the square bit of light shining in from her prison window. There had been something about the vision that had needled at her, though she hadn’t been able to say what at the time. Now she knew. There’d been something familiar to her in the lines of his face, but not because it was the neighbor she knew in passing. Because it was her friend. Or so she’d believed.

He pressed closer, not allowing her to turn any further. “Charlie,” she said, his name emerging on a whisper. His real name.

His body stilled. Had she made him angry? The bleachers were too far away that anyone sitting there could make out the details of the two of them. To any onlooker who glanced their way, it would just appear as though a young couple had stopped to momentarily watch a kid’s baseball game, canoodling a little by the fence. “You know about me then, do you?”

She nodded. “Yes, I do, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Something like that should never happen to a child, Charlie. You were victimized.”

“I’m no victim, Josie. You should know that better than anyone. Casus belli, right?”

She cried softly. “Why?” she breathed. “I trusted you.”

She heard a strange hitch in his breath. “That was my mistake, wasn’t it? Becoming friends. Learning how similar we really are. After that, I never could . . . well . . .” He made a clicking sound in the back of his throat.

Similar? No. No. There was nothing similar about them. He hurt others, brutalized people, killed them. Her stomach seized. Where is Rain? Why hadn’t she come back from the car? Had Charlie done something to her? Or had she seen him standing behind her and called the police? “Rain?” she croaked.

“Your friend’s fine. She’ll wake up in a few minutes. Her kid’s strapped into his stroller.” Relief pounded into her and she released a shuddery breath.

Charlie leaned closer. “Do you know what casus belli means?” he asked, his finger moving down her cheek, over the bone of her jaw.

“It casts blame,” she answered, her voice breathy with fear as she pictured the letters carved into her thigh, the scars pink and jagged. Forever part of her.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “Yes, but more than that. It signifies an event that justifies starting a war, my sweet Josie. Only, guess what? The final battle is over now. As in any war, there were many casualties. Some unfortunate, some . . . not.” He pressed his face right against her hair and she heard him inhale. When he leaned back, his words emerged more slowly. “Do you believe that, Josie? That even I find some of the casualties unfortunate?”

“Yes,” she whispered. No. I don’t know. She tried desperately to clear her brain, to focus, to keep him talking until she could figure out how to get away. “What did you mean by final battle?” she asked. Please don’t let it be Reagan. “Where’s Reagan, Charlie? Please tell me.”

He was silent as though considering and Josie held her breath. “I suppose Reagan living a lifetime with that husband of hers, a guy about as interesting as a bag of rocks, is enough punishment,” he said, using Cooper’s tone, the same timbre, before he laughed softly in her ear, his chuckle dying. He paused. “Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin before leaning back. Charlie’s voice now. “It’s true, after all, isn’t it?” He paused once more as his body shifted. “We won’t be seeing each other again, you know that, right?”

“What?” The word wa

s mostly breath.

He pointed out to the field where Reed was coming up to bat. Her stomach rolled, chest squeezing tightly. “He won’t turn out like me,” he murmured almost as if speaking to himself.

Whatever sharp object was at Josie’s side was suddenly removed and Charlie was opening her palm, placing the item into it. “I’m rooting for you, Josie,” he said, “just like I was when I watched you climb through that window eight years ago.” And then he was walking away quickly into the grove of trees beyond. In less than ten seconds, he was gone.

She turned around fully, her heart thundering, panic sluicing through her veins. She opened her palm, gasping out a breath of shock at what she saw. It was the same toy she’d used to free herself from that warehouse room. I’m rooting for you, Josie. She blinked, her thumb pressing the button underneath the figure. It collapsed and straightened.