Taken (Dark Desires 1)

Would I recognize them again if I saw them?

Probably not.

Could I pick them out of a lineup?

No, I told you, they wore masks.

Did they have any distinguishing marks that might help identify them?

I thought of the silver tooth but said no.

She asked if she could call someone to come get me.

I asked her to call my dad.

He came immediately to take me home.

Mom and April were waiting at the door for me.

They were horrified by what had happened.

When mom saw my blood-soaked clothes and hands, she looked like she was going to puke.

I took a shower and went to bed, where I stayed for six straight days and nights.

I was totally numb, barely aware of what was going on around me. My mom brought me food that I didn’t touch and offered words of comfort that I didn’t hear.

I cried until there wasn’t a single drop of moisture left in my body.

* * *

We buried Brent seven days after he was killed. It was a small service at his dad’s church. His parents made all the decisions. I had no legal claim on him. I sat on the first church pew next to his parents, staring at the walnut coffin they had chosen for him. I watch them lower him into the ground in their family plot.

I didn’t cry at all that day. I was all cried out.

I went back to work the next week. I thanked everyone for their condolences. I tried to smile when I greeted customers, tried to be chatty as I cut hair.

I don’t remember much about that time.

I was numb, just going through the motions.

Then, as it had in the split-second the bullet went through Brent’s skull, my life instantly changed again.

A man from the Banner Life & Casualty Insurance Company showed up at CostClippers.

He needed to speak privately with me.

He had something very important to give me.

* * *

“Miss Duval, I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said after I led him into the small break room in the back of the shop and closed the door. He was a short, fat man in a brown suit and skinny black tie. He had a round, kind face with pinkish cheeks. Like Brent, his eyes closed when he smiled. His name was Mr. Ray. He set his business card on the table and slid it toward me.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “What can I do for you, Mr. Ray?”

“I hope to do something for you,” he said, reaching inside his jacket to pull out an envelope. He tapped the edge of the envelope lightly on the table. “I know that money can’t ease your pain, but you need to know that Brent had a one-hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy through his work. He also recently started paying additional premiums to increase that payout amount.”

I blinked at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”