Kris had just taken a drink of Coke and fought to keep it from going down the wrong way. How about your bed? Stilling the inner voice, she commented wryly, "I'll be sure and keep that in mind."
A short time later, their sandwiches eaten, the two women remained sitting across from each other at the table. Shelby decided to bring up what had been bothering her most about the shooting. "How come we were shot at? You said the guy following us had nothing to do with the case. Then how come they came here? You said you would take care of it. I thought that's why you left work earlier today."
"We weren't shot at by the guy following me."
"Then who...?"
"I was going to ask you the same question. You hesitated when Earl asked you if you had any enemies. Why?"
Shelby answered evasively. "I was just thinking, that's all."
Kris met Shelby's eyes. "If you don't have any enemies, you wouldn't have to think about it. Who came to mind?"
"No one that would shoot at me, okay?" Shelby shoved her chair back, standing.
The operative stood with her. "Do you want to bet your life on that?! YOU are the one being shot at. Whoever it is might get lucky next time. Damn it! Talk to me."
Shelby walked over to the bookcase and stared blindly at her collection. "My stepfather threatened me when I testified against him in court for domestic violence against my mother. She refused to testify, but I did, so he was found guilty. Since he was such a fine upstanding citizen, all he got was three years' probation. I got a restraining order against him, and I haven't seen him since, but it's probably expired by now."
Sighing she turned to face Kris. "I don't know why he came to mind today. He's a despicable excuse for a man, but I really don't think he's capable of murder."
Kris looked into the guarded eyes and instinctively knew there was more. "He hurt you, too, didn't he?"
Shelby turned back to the bookcase. "It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago."
Kris moved behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder, gently squeezing it. "It matters to me, Shelby."
Looking at Kris' reflection in the glass, Shelby asked, "Why?"
"Because you're a wonderful, delightful woman whom I've been lucky enough to get to know, and I care about you." Kris hadn't intended to voice her thoughts, but had no regrets about doing so.
Shelby's brow furrowed as she regarded the woman behind her. This was what she had wanted, and part of her was elated. But this meant sharing on a deeply personal level. Would the operative think less of her? Could she trust Kris not to pity her? "You care about me?"
Kris nodded her answer, knowing Shelby was watching her in the glass.
Making her decision, Shelby opened the bookcase door and pulled out a white horse with sparkling pink wings. She stared at the statue of Pegasus. "When I was a child, I used to believe in magic and knew that one day the real Pegasus would come and take me away from the pain and the hurt to a magical kingdom full of love. He never did. So I quit believing, but I loved the magical creatures anyway because I could escape into their world through books. They kept me from being lonely when I was locked in my room or spending hours in a corner. I prayed to God a lot, promising him I would be good and asking him to help me be the perfect little girl my stepfather wanted me to be so he wouldn't hurt me anymore. All that praying – it never did any good."
Taking a deep breath, Shelby began speaking in a voice totally devoid of emotion. "There's not much to tell. My father died when I was two. Mom worked for a couple of years, supporting me and my sister by herself, then married Jonathan Whiteman. He seemed like a dream come true. He took us to amusement parks, picnics, Sunday afternoon drives and when the circus came to town, he took us there. He bought us dolls and stuffed animals, always smiling and playing with us. He asked us to call him Daddy and told everyone we were his girls and how much he loved us. We grew to love him and thought we were the luckiest kids in the world to get such a nice, new daddy."
Kris was disturbed by the matter of fact monologue and began moving her hand in a soothing, circular motion over Shelby's back, hoping to offer the smaller woman comfort through the contact.
"Slowly things started changing. He started punishing us by making us stand in the corner for hours. We were just little kids. Each minute seemed like an eternity, and he would hit us if we sat down. As we got older, the punishments started getting really physical. A lot of times, Ann and I never even did what we were accused of."
When Shelby paused, Kris gently asked, "What about your mother? Didn't she do anything?"
Shelby sighed loudly. "She said he was only doing it because he loved us, and if we were good it wouldn't happen."
Kris could feel the white hot threads of anger course through her. "That's not love!"
"No. It's not. But we didn't know that and I didn't find out until a few years ago that she did try to stop it. We just figured we were really bad kids and were too ashamed and embarrassed to tell anyone. I thought things would get better when my first half brother was born. It didn't. It got even worse. He got a perverse pleasure out of beating us with the buckle end of his belt until we bled." Shelby shuddered at the memory.
Kris moved behind her, gently massaging her shoulders, trying to work some of the tension out of them. She said softly, "You don't have to continue. I get the picture." What I'd give to have fifteen minutes with that fucker.
But a dam had broken, and Shelby couldn't stop the litany. "I used to change for gym in the toilet stalls and afterwards wait until all the other girls finished showering before I took mine. The bruises that showed, like when he hit us in the face, we always explained away as a fall or some other accident we made up. One day when I was fourteen, he hit me for the last time. Something just snapped. I told him if he ever laid a hand on me or Ann again, I'd call the cops. He just laughed until I told him we'd taken pictures of the bruises and bloody welts from the beatings with our Polaroid camera and had them hidden at school."
Shelby chuckled mirthlessly. "We hadn't, but the threat worked. I didn't find out until four years ago that he'd been beating my mother all those years, too. She finally told me she had tried to stop him from beating us, but he'd just get mad and beat us even worse, so she quit saying anything hoping things would improve."
She turned to face Kris. "You know what hurt the most? He shattered our love and trust. God, I hate him. I know I shouldn't after all this time, but I still do."
Kris struggled to contain the anger that was now burning hotly within her. In what she hoped was a soothing voice, she said, "You have every right to hate him."
"I used to blame myself, knowing I must have done something terrible to make him beat us so much."
"No! Don't ever think that."
"I don't anymore. It took me a while to get there, though. Now, I understand he was just sick and warped." She shrugged. "Bet you're sorry you asked."
"No, I'm not. I understand only too well."
"What do you mean?"
"Before I moved in with my aunt and uncle, I spent two years in...a boarding school. The headmaster was an expert at emotional and mental abuse to ensure blind obedience. His favorite tactic was complete isolation. After a while I'd have done anything to stay out of that room. He occasionally engaged in corporal punishment, too, but preferred to mess with our heads. I've never quit hating him either, Shelby. So, I do understand."
The two women looked at each other awkwardly. Shelby put the statue back in the cupboard and closed the door. She blurted out, "I care about you, too," before abruptly turning away, and glancing at the table. "I'll clean up out here."
I know you do. "I'm glad you do. Now how about getting off of your leg and letting me take care of this."