14

Fifty

Nashville, Tennessee Wednesday, December 24 9:00 a.m.

Taylor was searching the house for Hershey’s Kisses. She knew there’d been a bagful in the dining room, in the Italian pewter basin on the sideboard, but the bowl was empty now. She foraged through the kitchen cabinets, found three packs of Smarties left over from Halloween and transported from the cabin, but that wouldn’t work. She needed chocolate. Something inside her was craving the sweetest thing she could find, as if that sweetness could fill the chill in her soul.

After the usual rigmarole-the meeting with the department shrink, the placement on administrative duty, Baldwin had taken her home. They’d gotten to bed much too late, and she’d woken abruptly at three, her hands tight around L’Uomo’s neck. She’d strangled him in her dream. Unable to get back to sleep, she’d played a round of pool, then sat and stared blankly at the television, watching reruns of the day’s news until she drifted off again.

She woke in desperate need of something. She knew she was subconsciously craving a cigarette. Damn Stella.

Finding nothing on the first floor of the house, she made her way upstairs, ostensibly to wake Baldwin and demand he tell her where her Kisses had gotten off to. She went into their bedroom. Baldwin had fallen asleep fully clothed the night before, on top of the bedding. His head was at a funny angle, and Taylor immediately went and placed a pillow under his cheek. He smiled and mumbled something unintelligible. The television was still on-a documentary about the Sex Pistols. She watched it vaguely for a few moments, then turned it off and shut off the light, leaving Baldwin to his dreams.

Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Where could she find some? She didn’t feel like going out. She really hadn’t wanted to leave the house at all. Purely a psychological reaction to having her life taken out of her hands, she knew that. She puttered around in the kitchen, opening cabinets, until Baldwin’s voice made her jump.

“Look in the freezer.”

She turned and saw him smiling at her. It wasn’t a happy, good-to-see-you smile, it was more of a grim reminder of what they’d both been through over the past couple of days.

She gave him a look. “How do you know what I’m looking for?”

“You’re looking for chocolate.”

“How do you know that? How in the world could you possibly be that in tune that you know what I’m thinking, what I’m looking for? I hate it when you do that.” She went to the freezer, started scavenging. Behind two Tupperwares of soup, there was a bag of chocolate chips, left over from some cookie-making venture.

She saw the hurt in his eyes, and started to apologize, but something held her tongue.

She pulled the bag out and crossed to the counter, hauling herself up onto a corner. Legs dangling, she dove in, filling her mouth with the sweet goodness. They were hard and crunchy, but delicious.

Baldwin went to the refrigerator and grabbed the milk, then set about making her a cup of tea. She watched him, then accepted the steaming cup. Somewhat mollified, she sipped and said, “Thank you.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

She looked up from the yellow bag. Baldwin was staring at her intently.

“Not really, no.”

“You need to get it out of your system. I can’t imagine all the feelings you must be having now, knowing what’s happening. You did everything right, did what you were supposed to do. And you’re safe, for which I am forever grateful. But you still need to talk about what happened. The kidnapping. Snow White. About your Dad and Malik. About the cases. Us. Anything, Taylor.”

She sipped her tea, not certain why she was angry at Baldwin. He’d done nothing wrong. “No, I really don’t.”

“Babe-”

“I said, no, I don’t. Don’t push me, Baldwin. It was my wedding, too. I’m not in the mood. I’ve killed two men this week, found out my father is alive but I have to send him to jail, my wedding was ruined…”

He took three strides and invaded her space.

“I don’t care what kind of mood you’re in. You have to talk about what happened. We have to talk about all of this. It will fester if you don’t. You have to tell me what’s happening in your head so I can be sure I’m not putting you in a situation-”

“What? What the hell are you talking about? You putting me in a situation?” Taylor jumped off the counter, threw the empty bag in the trash. “I can handle myself just fine, Agent Baldwin. Don’t forget it.”

She stomped out of the kitchen through the mudroom and into the garage. How dare he? She was fuming. She knew she was overreacting, but couldn’t help herself. She slapped the button and the garage door started its lumbering journey up. She went down the steps and yanked open the door to her 4Runner. Baldwin came to the door of the garage, looking at her with an incredibly hurt, inquisitive look on his face. She ignored him, got in the truck and backed out into the driveway. Damn him!

And God damn Win Jackson. This was all his fault. How he had the conscience to put her in this position, to make her choose between the right thing to do and his life. Well, fuck them. Fuck them all.

She drove, not thinking about where she was going. There were fields to her right, a fence and a tree on a hill. One Tree Hill Farm, she knew. Brilliantly original name.

As a rule the bucolic setting calmed her spirit, made her happy. They raised cattle, and normally had two sets of calves a year, one in the spring and again in the fall. She loved to drive by and see the babies trotting after their mothers, lowing for milk. It was one of the reasons they’d bought off of this road, because for a brief moment, Taylor felt like she was in the country driving to and from work.

There were three vultures sitting on the fence posts, leering at a grouping of cattle. Taylor slowed, watching them, so out of place in her mind and her pastoral getaway. Vultures meant death. She glanced at the bulk of black and realized that it was a grouping of cows, each facing outward, protecting something at the center of their circle. She looked closer, trying to figure out what was happening. Her mind filled in the details.

A calf had been born, hopelessly out of season. It was struggling for life. The vultures were there, smelling death, knowing that they would have full bellies this evening. And the cows were protecting the calf from the harpies who would celebrate the end of its life with a feast.

She realized she’d stopped the car only after she was out the door, screaming in fury at the vultures. They hopped away for a moment, glaring at her with all-knowing eyes. Short of hopping the fence and taking the calf in her arms and spiriting it away, there was nothing she could do to stop this.

The anger welled in her, bright and furious. She blamed the farmer for allowing one of his cows to mate out of season, for not watching closer to make sure she gave birth in the barn instead of on a snow-drenched hilltop. She blamed the vultures for being such disgusting beasts. To sit and watch your dinner die in front of your eyes…she imagined the conversation between them. “Oooh, fresh meat, fresh meat.” The thought infuriated her even more, and she was punching the fence, kicking at the posts with her boots, tears tearing down her face.

One of the cows caught her gaze. It stood, implacable, watching her tantrum. It met her eyes and lowed, a bovine acknowledgment of her pain. She was feeling helpless, as well, knowing the life of the calf was ebbing behind her. The sound stopped Taylor’s fury and she dropped to the ground, all the pain releasing in frustrated tears. The vultures took their place on the fence post again, patiently awaiting their turn.

Taylor had no idea how long she’d sat on the ground, crying over the doomed life of a sickly calf. She got up and returned to her truck. She’d left the door open when she got out. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw the cordon of predators shifting slightly. It was time for them to strike, she could sense it. She looked around and found a large rock, which she hurled at the birds. It struck one in the wing, but the vulture simply shook it off, so focused on its meal it couldn’t be bothered.

Taylor wiped the rest of the tears from her eyes. There was nothing more she could do. This was a part of life, this process of the dead feeding the living. The survival of the fittest, the weak providing sustenance for the strong. It didn’t have to be this way, not in this instance, but it had happened so many countless times in the past…

Taylor got in the truck and pulled away. She did a U-turn and headed back toward the house. She owed Baldwin an apology. Damn that man for being right all the time.