The Soul Catcher - Alex Kava [110]
That which does not destroy us, makes us stronger.
So now she was this tough FBI agent who battled evil on a regular basis. Then why the hell was it still so difficult to deal with her childhood? Why were those memories of her mother’s drunken bouts and suicide attempts still able to demolish her and leave her feeling vulnerable? Leave her feeling like the only way she could examine those memories was through the bottom of a Scotch glass? Why did visions of that twelve-year-old little girl tossing handfuls of dirt onto her father’s shiny casket remind her of how hollow she felt inside?
She thought she had risen above her past long ago. Why did it keep seeping into her present? Why could her mother’s words, her lies, crumble away that solid barrier she had created?
Goddamn it!
Somewhere deep inside, Maggie knew something was broken. She hadn’t ever admitted it to anyone, but she knew. She could feel it. There was a hole, a wound that still bled, an emptiness that could still chill her, stop her in her tracks and send her reaching, searching for more bricks to build up the wall around it. If she could not heal the wound, perhaps she could at least seal it and keep it off-limits from anyone else, maybe even herself.
She knew about the syndromes, the psychology, the inevitable scars from growing up with an alcoholic parent. How a child could be left feeling there was no one to trust. Happiness was as elusive as the fleeting moment of the parent making promises one minute and then breaking them within hours. The child learns not to trust today, because tomorrow his or her world could be turned upside down again. And then there were the lies. Jesus! All the lies. This was just another one. Of course it was.
She sipped her Scotch and watched the moonlight bring shadows to life in her backyard, while the memories, the voices kept coming.
Like mother, like daughter.
No. She was not like her mother. She wasn’t like her at all.
Her cellular phone suddenly began chirping inside her jacket pocket. Only now did she remember she had unplugged her regular phone, in case her mother felt some need to call. Maggie stretched to grab the jacket off a nearby stand without disturbing Harvey, whose eyes were open but whose head was still claiming her lap.
“Maggie O’Dell.”
“Maggie, it’s Julia Racine. Sorry to call so late.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Racine was the last person Maggie wanted to talk to right now.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice uncommonly humbled. “Do you have a few minutes? I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, it’s okay.” She petted Harvey, who closed his eyes again. “I haven’t made it to bed yet, partly because my dog’s oversize head has taken up residence in my lap.”
“Lucky guy.”
“Jesus! Racine.”
“Sorry.”
“If that’s what this conversation—”
“No, it’s not. Really, I’m sorry.” Racine hesitated, as if there was something more on the subject she wanted to add before going on. Then she said, “I’m in deep shit with the chief. Senator Brier wants my ass kicked off the force because of those photos Garrison managed to get in the Enquirer.”
“I’m sure things will cool down as soon as we figure out who is responsible for his daughter’s death.”
“I wish it was that easy,” Racine said, only this time there was something different about her voice. Not anger, not frustration. Maybe a bit of fear. “Chief Henderson is seriously pissed. I may lose my badge.”
Maggie didn’t know what to say. As much as she disliked Racine and questioned her competency,