Never Alone Read Free Page B

in front of her face: Headless torsos. Headless torsos.
    The feeling of the knife entering her was always responsible for catapulting her eyes open to the present day. It was the feel of warm blood trickling down her breast that Megan would be hard-pressed to forget.
    Nightmare toll: one thousand one.
    _____
    The room was on its side. At least that’s what she thought until she realized she was lying on the bathroom mat. The combination of alcohol and Ambien must have knocked her out before she could make it back to her bed. She sat up—too quickly, she realized. Suddenly nauseated, she was glad that at least she was already in the bathroom and didn’t have to go far to get sick.
    After what seemed like an eternity, Megan didn’t think it was possible to have anything remaining in her stomach. She thought wrong. She clutched the sides of the porcelain bowl with her palms tightly clasped, elbows resting on the rim, looking as she did years ago at Our Lady of Lourdes Elementary School during confession with Father Dwyer. Both experiences left her abdomen in agony and her face waxen.
    She sat back on the white tiled floor of her bathroom. The cold soothed her legs as the rest of her body continued to rebel while she paid homage to the porcelain God. She then leaned against the wall, dabbing her face with toilet paper and wondering if there would be one more heave.
    â€œChrist, Meg—are you done yet?” she asked herself through the pounding in her head.
    Rubbing crust out from the corners of her eyes, she stared down at the floor. “Jesus, when was the last time I cleaned this?” Megan’s idea of cleaning was the twenty-second-typhoon approach. If someone called to say he was on the way over, she’d blast through the place, throwing most everything into the closet or under the bed. A domestic diva she was not.
    She picked up a tampon wrapper, a piece of lint, and a used cotton ball and rolled them into one, tossing it into the trash. During this intense bathroom cleaning, her phone rang.
    â€œShit, what now? What time is it?” A tuft of her strawberry blond hair had escaped the ponytail holder. She pushed it behind her ear before raising herself to the edge of the tub. Turning on the tap, she drenched a washcloth with cold water before placing it on the nape of her neck. The cold compress felt like the only thing keeping her head from falling off her shoulders. Her other body parts were in equal, if not worse, condition. She felt one large, continuous cramp riffling through every muscle.
    Megan knew it wouldn’t be long before she’d have to answer the damn phone.
    The sound of her own voice on the old answering machine broke the silence. “Hi, you’ve reached Megan, please leave a message.”
    â€œMcGinn, pick up the—” It was Nappa.
    Megan took a deep breath, pulled herself up off the edge of the tub, and ambled her way into the bedroom. She cleared her throat as she grabbed the receiver, trying to sound as if she were in full form. “Hey. What’s up?”
    â€œMcGinn, there’s a new case. I know what you’re going to say, and you’ll probably still say it, but you need to see this.”
    She waited a moment before answering, “No. Nappa, I told you I’m done. I’m done .”
    â€œYou need to see this. I need for you to see this crime scene.”
    She responded with silence.
    â€œIf not for your partner, then for the memory of your father.”
    Her silence was now coupled with anger. “That was a cheap fucking shot.” Megan hung up, then yelled in the direction of her bed, “Hey, wake up! You have to go.” She threw on her clothes and ran a brush through her kinked hair.
    The twenty-something stockbroker groaned as he turned over, exposing his firm ass. “Come back to bed, we’re not done yet.”
    â€œCan’t. I have to get to work.”
    â€œJust for a few