Mystery Woman

"Yeah, we'll probably be up most the night, crying," Cory replied.

"Well, don't hesitate to call if there's a problem."

"We won't. Thanks again for your help, Jerrod." Cory put her arms around his neck and kissed him goodbye before walking him to the door.

When she returned to the living room, Brea had tucked her feet up under her butt and her whole body was rocking back and forth. "What am I going to do, Cory? What am I going to do? I've lost him, I know it. He'll never forgive me, I know him."

Cory was using all the self-control she could muster. What she really wanted to do was slap the shit out of her friend before screaming at her, and telling her what a fool she was, but she couldn't do it.

Despite Brea doing something so stupid, Cory wasn't about to desert her. She put her arm around her weeping friend and pulled their bodies together. "Give him some time, honey. Right now he's in no mood for listening to anything we say. We need to give him a little time to lose some of that anger."

It was going to take a while for Morgan to lose his anger. He finally found a motel that wasn't too expensive and got a room for the night. There was a bar across the street. He contemplated the short walk but decided it was more important to keep a clear head than try to drink his troubles away. Hell, they'd still be there in the morning and he'd have a hangover on top of it.

Morg sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the empty room. It wasn't the first time he'd been alone, but it was the first time he felt lonely. Whereever he went, whatever he did, he always felt her inside of him. She was like a light that illuminated his soul and neither the separation of time nor miles could make the light shine any less brightly... until then. As he sat there, he felt empty inside, saw only darkness and suffered with thoughts of betrayal.

Moisture was building in his eyes and his vision was getting blurry. He took a deep breath and pushed his grief aside. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried and he wasn't going to allow the self-indulgence of feeling sorry for himself. He went into the bathroom and washed the tears away.

When he returned, Morg stretched out on the bed and laced his fingers behind his head. His brain was tormented by a dozen questions, but one kept coming back over and over again; was this Bob character the only one, or were there more?

He felt like such a sucker, such a loser. While he was at work, trying to build a future for the two of them, his wife was out catting around with other men. He kept chastising himself. How could he have been so naïve, so downright stupid? On top of that, Cory evidently knew and never said anything.

The more he tried to calm himself, the more his thoughts turned to the swine she was sleeping with...Robert Castens. All he had was the name. He thought about Jerrod issuing the APB and actually found it a little amusing. 'He thought I knew where the prick lived,' he remembered. 'I wish I did. There's got to be a way to find out, but how?' He laughed at the irony, in today's world, privacy is almost non-existent, yet it's harder to find someone's address than it was in the days of land lines and telephone books.

He stared up at the plain white ceiling while his brain ran through the possibilities. He knew it was a long shot, but the only thing he could think of was the motel where asshole had taken Brea. 'Maybe he works around there or somebody knows him,' he thought.

He took a couple of deep breaths and decided to try and get some sleep. He was physically tired and emotionally exhausted. He'd be able to think better in the morning.

The light of a new day could barely break through the dark curtain hanging over the following dawn. Cory and Brea had fallen asleep on the couch and woke up with stiff necks and heavy hearts.

Morgan had drifted in and out of consciousness several times through the night but finally gave up on trying for any real sleep when he saw light coming through the drapes.

Even Jerrod had a restless night. He had gotten to know Morgan better while dating Cory, and what he knew, he liked. He had seen it too many times; guys who were the real victims wind up losing their jobs and even spending time in county for doing something stupid. He didn't want to see it happen to Jerrod.

On the way to his office, Jerrod spotted Charlie Watt, the officer who was standing guard outside Cory's hospital room. He remembered Charlie talking about Morg. "Hey, Charlie, can I see you in my office a minute?"

"Sure thing, Lieutenant, what's up," he asked as he followed his boss.

"Charlie, how well do you know Morg Johnson?"

"Ah, pretty well, I guess. My wife and I have gone to a few shows and things with him and Brea, and we play golf together sometimes, why?"

"Is he the kind of guy to seek revenge against someone who did him wrong?"

Charlie's mouth dropped open. "What'd you do, boss?"

"Not me, you idiot," he said, somewhat jokingly, "just anyone who crossed him."

Now he had Charlie worried. "I don't know. I know he doesn't back down. He went with us when we raided that whorehouse last year. One of the johns threatened him, said he'd ram the camera up Morg's ass if he took a picture. Before I could even say anything, Morg pinned the guy against the wall and snarled something to him. I didn't hear what he said, but it looked like he put the fear of God into that guy. When Morg let him go, he took half a dozen shots of him, and no more was said. I don't know about revenge, but I wouldn't want to be on his bad side."

That really wasn't what Jerrod was hoping to hear. "Okay, thanks, Charlie."

"What's going on, Lieutenant? Is he in trouble?"

"I can't really say, Charlie, but you might want to reach out to him after your shift, today."

Brea and Cory sat at the kitchen table with their coffees, discussing what to do. They didn't want to crowd him, but neither did they want to give him the idea they didn't care. They decided to send him several texts throughout the day. Brea sent the first one a little after eight a.m.

Please believe me when I tell you I never had sex with Bob nor did I intend to. I do admit, some of the things we did would not have passed the husband test, and for that, I am deeply, deeply sorry.

Cory sent the next one a couple hours later. It was short and to the point.

I owe you so much. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I just didn't have it in me to hurt you like that.

Morg was at a Denny's restaurant having breakfast when the first text came in. He looked at it, but the words meant nothing to him. He was too busy trying to figure out how he would get Casten's address if things didn't pan out at the motel.

Throughout the day, he'd heard his phone buzz with a few more text messages but he hadn't checked them. He had other things on his mind. He was headed into work when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and saw it was Charlie. After answering, Charlie asked him out for a beer but was disappointed when Morg told him he was on the night shift for the rest of the week. Reluctantly, Charlie said goodbye without learning what was so concerning to Jerrod.

As soon as Morgan walked into the newsroom he grabbed his assignments and went through them. He made one phone call and got one of them moved up half an hour. That gave him a big enough window between jobs to get over to the Cherry Lane Motel and ask some questions.

He got there a little after seven. The lobby was empty when he walked in and there was only one young man behind the desk. Morg put on his biggest, friendliest smile and approached. "Hi," he greeted.

The young man matched his smile. "Yes, sir, how can I help you?"

"I was just wondering if you were working this shift last month when you had that robbery?"

"Are you a detective? Did you catch him?"

For a second, Morg thought of lying but changed his mind. "No, just a concerned citizen," he answered.

"Oh?" The smile slipped from the young man's face. "I know it wasn't your stuff that was stolen, so what concern is it of yours?"

From the guy's answers so far, Morg was convinced he had the right person. He was going to level with him. "There was another incident that night. A guy came in with a woman who was probably drunk and got a room while the detective was standing here, remember?"

He did remember, but he wasn't going to admit to anything and he didn't like being interrogated. "Look," he said a little unkindly, "if you'd like to rent a room, I'd be happy to help you; otherwise, I have work to do."

"The woman is my wife," Morgan exclaimed, "and I think that guy drugged her."

That seemed to change the clerk's attitude. "Oh," he said with what sounded like empathy. "Look, nothing happened. I gave that detective a key-card to the room and he took her out of there and put her in a cab. They didn't have time to do anything together.

"I can't give you the surveillance tapes. I already gave them to the detective because of the robbery that night."

Shit. Morgan cussed himself out under his breath. Surveillance tapes, he'd never even thought of that. "Okay, I've already got the guy's name, but I'd really like to track him down. By any chance do you know if he works around here, or have any idea how I can find out where he lives?" Morgan's hopes went up when he saw how the young man looked at him.

"What are you going to do? You're not going to kill him or anything, are you?"

"No, I'm not going to kill him. I just want to know if he drugged her and if it was the only time."

That sounded reasonable to the clerk. "The guy's been in here several times, mostly with a pretty blond, but I've seen him with a few others as well. I don't know where he works, but he has a vanity plate on his car. He drives a silver Hyundai with 'castcar' on the license."

The smile on Morg's face suddenly stretched from ear to ear. He started to pull a twenty out of his wallet.

"Uh, sir, I can't take that. You're on candid camera," the young man said with a slight nod of his head toward a camera in the corner. "If the manager saw me take the money he'd wonder why, and I'd rather keep this conversation between the two of us."

"Okay, here," Morg replied. "If they see me give you a business card, they'll just think I'm a salesman. Do you by any chance have any older relatives with a birthday coming up?"

"Ah, well, I've got a grandmother who's going to be seventy-five this year. I don't know exactly when though."

"Well, when you find out, give me a call at this number and I'll make sure she gets her picture in the paper on her birthday."

The clerk picked the business card up from the counter and saw he was a photographer with The Tribute. "Really? Hey thanks, she'll love that."

Morgan had a new spring in his step as he walked back to his car. His first thought was to ask Charlie to run the plate for him but then had second thoughts. Rarely did Charlie ever call him to go out for beers after work. He had a wife and kids and loved spending his spare time at home with his family. Morg wasn't stupid. He figured Jerrod blabbed about his problem so Charlie would be reluctant to give him any info. That was okay. He knew a ton of other cops all over the city. He'd find one to run the plate for him.

That night, as he was finishing up at the paper, Morg decided to go home. Even at sixty-five dollars a night, he couldn't afford to live at the motel. Brea's heart started to pound as she saw him walk through the door. He still had on the same clothes from the night before, which made her wonder if he was staying or just grabbing a wardrobe change.

She stood, frozen with fear until she saw him put his photography bag away. That was a good indication he was going to spend the night, anyway.

"Where's Cory?" he asked as he passed her on the way to the fridge for beer.

She almost didn't recognize his voice. It sounded flat and uncaring. Maybe it was just her guilt that perceived it that way. "Ah, she's out with Jerrod."

"Huh, I would have thought she'd stay home and keep you company," he commented, snidely.

"She offered, but I was hoping you'd come home and I thought maybe we could sit down and talk. I... I know I..."

"I'm not in the mood to talk yet, Brea. I don't know if I'm more hurt or angry right now, but I'm certainly not ready to discuss anything." He walked over and plopped down in a kitchen chair, took a sip of Miller's, and set the bottle on the table. "I just don't get it. I thought we were so happy. I thought you felt the same way I did, that you loved me like I loved you."

"I do love you, Morg. Please believe me, I never had any intention of having sex with him, not really."

"Not really? What does that mean, not really? What--you were playing some kind of game or something, catch me if you can?"

"No, no, I..."

Morg raised his hand and shook his head. "Forget it. I'm sorry I brought it up. I really don't want to talk about it right now."

Just then they heard the door open. Both Jerrod and Cory saw Morg's car in the lot so Jerrod decided to come in and just make sure things were okay. Morgan didn't feel very sociable.

"There he is, public enemy number one," joked Jerrod, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, ha, ha," Morgan sneered. "Whatever gave you the idea I knew where this asshole lives?"

"Don't you?"

"No, of course not. How would I?"

"Well, you know a lot of people, Morg, a lot of cops and people in high places; it's not unreasonable to think you might have gotten his address somehow."

"Yeah, well I didn't."

"Where were you going then?"

"Anywhere but here," he emphatically responded.

Everyone could see Morg was still in no mood to talk to anybody. Jerrod bent over and kissed Cory. "I'd better get going," he said.

"Yeah, I have an appointment with Dr. Wahlburg tomorrow, so I'd better get some sleep as well," Cory replied.

They both walked to the front door where they said their goodbyes a little more passionately. On the way to her bedroom, Cory called out, "Good night."

Brea was the only one who returned her adieu. Both she and Morgan sat at the table, neither knowing what to say to the other. Brea finally broke the silence.

"Are you coming to bed?"

"I'll sleep on the couch," Morg replied.

Brea felt hurt but wasn't surprised. She made a regretful sigh. "If you change your mind or find you're getting a stiff neck, you're more than welcome to join me, although I hope you already know that. Good night, Morg. I love you," she said as she got up and headed into the bedroom.

Morgan sat, sipping his now, lukewarm beer. He was more concerned with tracking down her lover. Originally, he was just wanted to deck the SOB, but he decided he'd rather ask the prick some questions that he'd later be able to ask Brea and see if their answers matched... then deck the SOB!

With Jerrod at the eighteenth district, he knew he couldn't go there to run the license plate, but he knew as many cops in the first district and he was sure he'd find one who would be accommodating. He had to make up a story as to why he wanted the information. He hated lying to anyone, but especially a cop. He had a good rapport with them and didn't like jeopardizing it.

It felt strange when he lay down on the couch. He really hated the situation he was in. He'd have given anything just to have things back the way they were.

The next morning, Brea was still tired as she sat up in bed. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying most of the night. The first thing she did as she walked to the kitchen was look over at the couch. He was gone. She assumed he'd be in the kitchen, but found only Cory making a fresh pot of coffee.

"Where's Morg?"

Cory turned her head and almost gasped at the sad-looking sight in the doorway. "I don't know. He was gone when I got up."

"Shit, I was hoping he'd at least stick around and have breakfast with us. What time is your appointment with the doctor?"

"Ten-thirty," Cory replied.

Morgan was already walking into the first district police headquarters, looking for a likely candidate. He saw Bill Taylor. "Hey, Bill."

"Morgan, how are you?"

"Doing good, thanks. Hey, do you think you could do me a favor?"

"If I can, what do you need?"

"Could you run this plate for me?" he asked while holding out a small piece of paper.

"Morg, we're not supposed to run plates for civilians, you know that."

"Yeah, I know, but this guy hit my wife's car yesterday. Our neighbor saw it and wrote down the plate for me. I'd really appreciate it."

"Just turn it into your insurance company, Morg. They'll take care of it."

Morgan hadn't expected that response, but he was a quick thinker. "Yeah, I know, but I thought I'd give the guy a chance to take care of it without going through the insurance companies. It's not that bad. It'll probably take a couple hundred bucks to fix. If it was me, I'd rather pay it out of my own pocket than go through my insurance."

"The guy hits your car, doesn't leave a note, and you still want to give him a break? You're a nicer guy than I am, Morg. Okay," he said, taking the paper from Morg's hand, "give me a minute." He walked over to one of the computers along the wall and logged in. He was back in just a few minutes and gave the paper back to Morgan. "Here you go."

"Thanks, Bill, I owe you one.

"You mean that? My wife and I just had a baby. I'd love a nice family photo."

"You got it, my friend." Morgan removed another business card from his wallet and handed it to the uniformed officer. "Call me and we'll get it scheduled."

The address was in Rosemont, normally a thirty-five-minute drive, but it was rush hour, he figured at least an hour. He looked at his watch. It was almost eight. Chances were the guy would be at work by the time he got there. The next day was Saturday, he was off. Tomorrow it is, he told himself.

Later that morning, Brea took a seat in the small waiting room of Dr. Walhlburg's office while her friend went in for her weekly session. As Cory took her seat, the doctor could immediately see something was wrong and asked about it. Cory told the doctor about Morg's discovery and how the situation had deteriorated. Dr. Wahlburg was sympathetic but had a more important agenda.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she told Cory. "You think they'd both be open to marriage counseling?"

"Would you?" Cory excitedly asked.

"No, not me. As I said before, it's not my area of expertise. I can, however, recommend some excellent therapists who specialize in that field. I'll be more than happy to give you a couple of names before you leave here today.

"However, this is your time, and I want to concentrate on getting you well, so I want you to sit back, close your eyes, and forget about your friend's problems for now. I want you to clear your mind."

It was easier said than done, but Cory did her best. After a couple minutes of silence, she felt relaxed. The doctor must have sensed it because only then did she speak.

"Cory, does the name Houston mean anything to you?"

She opened her eyes as she started to answer. "Well, I know it's in Tex... as," she said, drawing out the name of the state. She realized there was something familiar in the name as she was speaking. "Texas," she thought out loud, "for some reason," she hesitated for a moment, "I... I can hear kids... like on a playground... they're calling me that, they're calling me Texas. Am... am I from Texas? That doesn't seem right though. No, wait! Houston, that... that's me... that's my name, Corrine Houston," she almost shouted with excitement. Texas was my nickname in school." She looked up at her therapist in astonishment. She remembered!

"How did you know?" she asked the grinning doctor.

"Your name is Corrine Houston, you live in Stockton, Illinois, and you're twenty-six years old."