Free What Burns Within by Sandra Ruttan Page A

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The dimple disappeared. “Well, I know this street girl named Cocoa….” He glanced at Tain. “She told me that the word back then was that Connie got herself pregnant as her get-off-the-street card and that Nick Brennen was just the idiot who fell for her act. The only guy Connie was consistently, um, with when she was working was John-John.”
“And Cocoa knows this how?”
“When I said ‘girl,’ I meant in name only.”
“I see. So she’s been a player for a long time.”
“Mostly dealing these days.” Sims glanced at him again. “I’m sure you know how it is. You need people willing to talk….” Sims shrugged.
Tain turned to look out the window. “Yeah. Good work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Tain will do.”
“Right.”
Sims stopped the car, and Tain unclipped his seat belt.
“Now, there’s something else you need to do.”
Sims nodded. “Will it get me her phone number?”
Tain glanced up through the windshield. “Constable Hart isn’t a door prize.” He felt the fingers on his right hand tightening into a fist and consciously reached for the door handle, hoping Sims wouldn’t see and that his own face didn’t look as taut as it felt. He filled Sims in on what he needed and got out of the car.
     
The room remained as dark as it had been when she’d arrived, though she had a sense of light outside the black space she was trapped in. She couldn’t put her finger on it exactly, but it was like waking up at home and having the room be entirely dark, but knowing that was only because the thick, denim curtains were drawn shut.
It was the way her mom liked the house after what she called a bender, after she’d come home laughing and stumbling down the halls late at night, so late she thought Taylor and Nicky were already fast asleep. The next morning Mom would always be the same, someone to tiptoe around. It took only a few backhands to know the late nights should never be followed by early mornings.
Even the afternoons usually consisted of Mom sitting in a dark room with the blinds down, moaning over a cup of coffee, which Taylor thought was disgusting. The fact that her sick mother could drink it seemed unbelievable. Whenever Taylor felt sick she didn’t even want chocolate or sweet ’n’ sour candies. Just the smell of coffee when she felt fine was enough to make her tummy do somersaults.
There was no real recognizable smell she could detect now, other than pee. Her desperate search for a bathroom had led her only to a bucket in the far corner, and when she couldn’t cross her legs any longer she gave in and used it.
There was another faint odor she could barely detect. She guessed it was dust, if dust had a smell. Something about the lack of freshness, the absence of soap or cleaners…It reminded her of the smell in Grandfather’s storage shed, the one where he kept the lawn mower.
Taylor heard the sound of shuffling feet coming toward her and hugged her legs to her body. Shafts of light shone in on the floor, falling short of the bed she huddled on, and the light behind the figure silhouetted him, making him look like only a dark form between her and the world outside the concrete walls she was surrounded by.
The door closed behind him, and for a moment, all she could hear was the sharp intake and release of breath, not unlike the mechanical sounds of a ventilator, like the one she’d seen Great Gran hooked up to before she’d died or like the sound of Darth Vader sucking air through his mask.
Then the dark figure shuffled toward her. She hugged her legs tighter and squeezed her eyes shut.
     
“What’s that?” Lori asked as Craig returned to his desk, papers in hand.
“A list of all known sex offenders in the area, parolees and their modus operandi.”
She scurried over to Craig’s desk. “How did you get your hands on that? I’ve been stonewalled for half the damn day trying to get outstanding rape case reports.”
“It’s Sunday. You won’t get