Chapter Text
The first thing that struck Deputy Grimshaw was how frightened the man before her looked. He walked into the front door of her police station, looking lost and scared. He had a very youthful face and large brown eyes. His long hands trembled nervously, and he seemed as thin and tall as a shadow.
“Can I help you? Have a seat. Tell me what’s wrong,” she said, standing up from her desk and motioning to the chair against the wall.
“I’m looking for Moira,” he whispered, eyes on the ground.
“I can help you,” Grimshaw replied. She darted her head up to locate her fellow junior officer in this small, North Carolina town.
Deputy Gray was perched on the edge of his chair, staring back. He lifted a brow and hid a smile. He didn’t mind that this had fallen to Grimshaw, because he had a feeling this was going to be complicated. The last thing Garfield Gray wanted at 4 pm on a Friday night was a complicated mess being dropped into his lap. The sheriff was on vacation this week – he had gone up into the mountains in western North Carolina as most people from the beaches did to get away—and he wouldn’t be back until next week. Although Grimshaw outranked Gray with about two weeks of seniority, the police station was ruled by democracy while the head honcho was away. It didn't hurt that the two of them were well on their way from casually-dating to really-seriously-dating. They would probably be married inside of two years, unless of course Grimshaw decided she wanted to take the sergeants exam, which would mean marriage in about three years. No hurry.
“Take the break room,” Gray suggested.
Grimshaw agreed with a nod. She wasn’t surprised the young man had come to her instead of Gray. People trusted Peg. She had a helpful and courteous manner about her, always important in a police officer, but especially important in a small town where everyone was like family, and they needed to feel they could trust you. People Peg had never met trusted her automatically, usually because she reminded them of a friend, a neighbor, a sister, a mother.
Peg walked the young man into the break room, motioned for him to sit down in front of the bank of vending machines. He coiled up with his feet in his seat, and put his arms around his knees, rounding his shoulders.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Grimshaw said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He pulled back from the touch.
“What’s your name? Where are you from?”
He gave a quick smirk that died in a mask of pain and concern.
“What’s your name?” Peg asked.
“She calls me Matthew, but that’s not who I am.”
“Who is she?”
“My wife.”
“What do you want me to call you?”
“Doctor.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Peg suggested.
“If I asked you to take my fingerprints and my picture and search your database, would you be able to do that?”
“I’ll be happy to, certainly. Why would you want me to?”
“I’m afraid you might be searching for me.”
“I need you to start at the beginning.”
“Moira didn’t come home last night.”
“Who didn’t?”
“My wife Moira.”
“So your wife is missing?”
“Yes, but she might have left on purpose.”
“What’s her full name?”
“Moira McPherson.”
“Mr. McPherson, why would Moira disappear?”
“Because she’s angry at me,” he whispered, hanging his head. “I told her.”
“What did you tell her?”
“About my dreams.”
“Tell me about your dreams. Are they good dreams?” Peg tried so hard to get the young man to open up to her. Usually she didn’t have to work at all to get people to spill their hearts to her.
Garfield Gray had been listening from the other room. He had quietly appeared at the open door to the break room. Clearly he was more intrigued by the minute. Peg only felt more ill and nervous. That feeling was about to get much worse.
“I see corpses. Dead people. Lots of them. Murdered. Dismembered. Bloody. Men, women, children. They’re filed away here,” the young man said, tapping his temple. “Literally filed. I dream about brown folders with this emblem on the front of it. I know details. I know facts. I know all about these dead people. I know what’s been done to them. I shouldn’t know this, right? I mean, I wouldn’t know this unless….unless I’m the one who did these things?”
“You’re afraid Moira left because you told her about these dreams?” Peg asked.
“Yes.”
“Where does Moira work? Deputy Gray could check on her. Maybe she’s running late?” Peg offered a simple suggestion.
“She works for Beach Front Realty. That’s in Salter Path.”
“Is that where you live?”
“We live between Atlantic Beach and Salter Path.”
“What do you do?”
“I stay at home,” he answered, cocking his head at her as if the question had been a strange one. “I’m not supposed to leave the house without Moira, but she didn’t come home last night, and she didn't come home tonight, and I’m worried.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry. You did the right thing, coming to us. Garfield is going to go check on Moira, and in the meantime, let me get your prints. We’ll put them in the system and see what comes back. Will that make you feel better?”
Yes,” he nodded, shivering again. “Did I really do the right thing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Coming here? Did I do the right thing?”
“I’m sure you did,” Grimshaw reassured him.
“I’m not supposed to leave the house when Moira’s not there, but I was worried. She’ll understand, won’t she? Do you think she’ll be angry with me?”
Peg’s skin prickled with goosebumps, and her smile faltered. He was cowering at the very idea that Moira would be angry at him, and Peg didn’t like that one bit.
“Why aren’t you supposed to leave the house without Moira?”
“I had an accident three years ago. I lost my memory. I haven’t been the same since. Moira doesn’t want me to get hurt or lost, so she doesn’t want me to leave the house without her.”
“Wait for me here,” Grimshaw said. Peg went into the outer room and closed the break room door.
“Are you okay being alone with him?” Garfield asked. “Maybe I should put him in the cell, and you should go check on Mrs. McPherson and make sure she’s not dead in a hole in their back yard?”
“You go. I’m fine. But be careful, Tomcat. There is something funny going on here.”
“I hear you,” Garfield agreed. “You better get your gun out of your desk drawer.”