Only When I Sleep

by E V Lind

  “I doubt we’ll find anything,” Ryan continued, moving a little closer. “Aggie was probably just making stuff up. You have to realize, she’s been like this for years—always running off about something.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?” Beth lifted her face to look at him. “You wouldn’t be going to this bother if you didn’t think there was something there.”

  Ryan met her gaze steadily then looked away. “You’re right. I just hope to hell you’re wrong.”

  “Don’t you think they deserve the closure.”

  His jaw tightened. “Everyone deserves closure, but you realize that if anyone is there it’ll mean the police will be back again.” He glanced back at the old farmhouse. “Damn place is turning into a house of horrors.”

  Beth felt the all too familiar icy trickle down her spine. The cold that burned between her shoulder blades making her feel as though eyes were on her, always on her. Always finding her wanting. Always waiting to strike.

  She straightened her shoulders. She wouldn’t let it bother her today. Not now. Not with Ryan standing by her side like some avenging angel. She took in a breath and watched as the arm of the backhoe extended and the claw steadily dropped to the tumble of roofing iron and old timber. The screech of the iron being forced to shift rent the air and every last nerve in Beth’s body went on high alert. She couldn’t help it. She looked around her, even though she knew that there was nowhere left for anyone to hide this close to the house.

  Even so, she couldn’t shake the sensation.

  “Take it easy, Steve!” Ryan shouted to the backhoe operator. “We’ll try a little at a time, okay?”

  “Sure thing, boss,” the man in the cab called back.

  Time hung in suspension as first the old iron was lifted and pulled away and then, plank by plank, the last of the timber. The two farm hands stacked the iron on a flatbed truck, one of them hissing in pain as he cut his hand. Ryan looked grim as he checked the wound and directed Peter to take Elliot to the medical center in town.

  “Sorry, boss,” Elliot said. “I don’t know what happened. One minute the sheet was fine, the next it just shifted and caught my hand.”

  “Don’t worry, Elliot. Just get it seen to and make sure you get a tetanus shot while you’re at it,” Ryan directed.

  Beth watched as the younger men drove away. She couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t Elliot’s fault he’d cut himself. Disapproval simmered in the air around them. As crazy as it sounded, she felt like it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that somehow Mrs. MacDonald was trying to stop them, like she’d tried the day Beth discovered Lizzie’s baby.

  Without the other men’s assistance, the going was even slower, especially since Ryan wouldn’t allow Beth to lend a hand. She stood off to one side, her feet growing numb in her shoes. A light drizzle began to fall, misting across the scene as if it could blur the old shed out completely if it just lasted long enough.

  “Hold up!” Ryan shouted, raising an arm.

  “What is it, can you see something?” Beth hurried forward.

  “Stay back, we don’t know how stable it is under there. We’re at floor level for the shed. Do you remember if Lizzie said anything about it having a wooden or a dirt floor?”

  “She didn’t say. When she talked about it in her diary she only mentioned that it had smelled bad in the shed a few years earlier.”

  Ryan nodded. “Okay, well it looks as though it’s just dirt so we’ll be working with shovels from here on in. You want to go back up to the big house.”

  “I’d rather wait here.”

  “You’re not too cold?”

  She was, but it was the last thing she’d admit to because she very definitely didn’t want to be alone. “I’m fine.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He turned away and grabbed a shovel. Steve did the same. They worked carefully. First loosening the soil before shoveling it away to one side. The drizzle stopped and a watery sun briefly poked out from behind the clouds. It had no warmth to it and was soon covered by another gray cloud—a bit like the mood that blanketed them all—somber and threatening. Ryan and Steve hadn’t gone very deep when Steve stopped mid-action.

  “Boss, I think I’ve hit something,” Steve said in a low voice.

  Ryan squatted down for a closer look. He pulled at what looked like a bunch of rotten, knotted fibers and lifted them for a closer look. “What do you reckon this is?”

  Steve rubbed a hand across his face before answering. “Could it be carpet fibers, maybe? I remember when I was a kid, my gran had a knotted carpet that she was real proud of. Something her parents had brought out from the old country and carted West. Do you think it could be from something like that?”

  “I think it could be exactly like that.”

  Beth watched as Ryan straightened, saw the swiftly disguised grimace of pain on his face. She ached to tell him to stop and take a rest but she knew, even if she had the right to tell him what to do, it would be futile. He took orders from no one but himself. Inside, the pit of her stomach jittered with nerves but at the same time a sense of urgency infused her and she wanted to tell them to hurry up. To uncover what it was that had lain hidden there for so long. But Ryan obviously wouldn’t be hurried.

  He took his shovel and gently scraped at the soil a foot or so in four compass point directions around the discovery.

  “What do you think, Steve? North-South?”

  Steve’s face took on a seriousness that hadn’t been there before. “Looks that way, boss.”

  “Okay, let’s do this. Get those brushes from my truck then I’ll scrape and you can sweep the soil away until we get a better handle on what we’re dealing with here.”

  “Brushes?” Beth asked.

  “Yeah, I did a bit of research online. If there is someone buried here, we need to be careful not to destroy anything. It’s all going to be evidence.”

  “Shouldn’t you call the police now?”

  Even though she desperately didn’t want the police anywhere near her, even she understood the seriousness of what they might reveal and what it might mean to Riverbend. There was bound to be publicity and, of course, ghoulish interest. As if the mummified baby wasn’t enough, another body found on the same property would create a media buzz that would bring all kinds of attention to the area. Attention she didn’t want anywhere near her.

  “This could be nothing. The shed could have been built over a household dump for all we know. Let’s wait and see if we’ve even found anything yet,” Ryan reasoned.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Once the rotted, rolled up carpet was fully exposed, Ryan used the tip of his shovel to flick some of it away.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Steve said on a long breath that managed to express shock and awe in equal proportions.

  Beth moved forward on legs that had become as wobbly as a newborn calf’s. “What is it?”

  “Don’t come any closer. At a wild guess, I’d say we’ve found Mr. MacDonald.”

  Beth reeled back. “Not Lizzie?”

  Ryan nodded grimly. “Not judging by what’s left of those leather boots and that belt buckle. Looks like we have a whole shitload more questions on our plate.”

  Beth spun around and looked at the old farmhouse. She’d had the sense from the moment she’d arrived here weeks ago that it was waiting for something, or someone. Maybe it had been waiting for all its secrets to unfold. What kind of horror house had it become? The dead baby, Mr. MacDonald, and very likely Lizzie as well.

  She jumped as Ryan put his hands on her shoulders. “You should head back up to the main house. You’re frozen. Get something warm in you, okay? I’ll get Steve to drive you up. Make sure you lock all the doors.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m gonna call the police station and I imagine we’ll soon be swarming with people you don’t want to talk to. If you’d rather, drive on in to Ma’s and stay upstairs in her apartment. Once the people in town g
et a hold of this it’s going to go crazy.”

  Beth chewed at her lower lip. “Would it be better, do you think, if I left altogether? Moved on?”

  His gray eyes bored steadily into hers and his lips thinned. “I thought I made myself clear on that.”

  “You did, but…is that what you want?”

  Was it? She looked at the figure standing before her. It was crazy. She was hiding from a man, pregnant with his child, and yet right now the idea of seeking comfort in Ryan’s arms was an almost overwhelming compulsion. To stop herself from doing something stupid, like leaning into him and seeing what happened next, Beth wrapped her arms tight around her body.

  She carried on, “Maybe I should just think about it.”

  She didn’t realize how angry her words had made him until he spoke.

  “While you’re thinking about it, remind yourself that the instant you’re out there, you will have nothing and no one to protect you and your baby. You’re better off here. Any fool could tell you that.”

  His voice was low, intense, and cut straight through her making her feel both protected and horribly vulnerable at the same time.

  “Fine. It was just a suggestion. I won’t do anything without discussing it with you first.”

  He gave her a curt nod. “I better make that call.”

  Ryan called Steve over and tossed him the keys to the truck and asked him to return once Beth was safely back at the house. The whole time Ryan looked at her as if daring her to contradict his instructions.

  “I’ll see you later then,” she said tightly.

  Ryan merely flicked his eyebrows in acknowledgement before extracting his phone from his jeans pocket and punching at the screen with a grubby index finger.

  *

  Ryan’s leg was killing him but he wasn’t going anywhere until the remains were gone from the property. Peter and Elliot had returned from the medical center at around the same time the police had showed up. After discovering that Elliot had needed no more than a couple of stitches and a tetanus shot Ryan had sent him home and directed Peter back up to the farm to prepare for the afternoon milking. Whether the MacDonald place happened to be littered with bodies or not, the cows still needed to be attended to. Once the police had taken a statement from Steve, Ryan had sent him up to assist Peter. Leaving just him and Frank, the grizzled chief of police, to talk while a team carefully examined the dig site, took multiple photos and then eventually extracted the skeleton and the soil around it.

  “What the hell inspired you to dig this up, boy?” the chief asked, scratching the back of his head.

  “Something Aggie said the night she was found here. It stuck with me. After finding the baby, it made me want to be sure.”

  “Do you think she did it?”

  “Who? Aggie?”

  When the chief nodded, Ryan shook his head emphatically. “She wouldn’t even kill a chicken for her supper, remember?”

  The chief nodded and gave a brief bark of laughter. “Helluva thing when she walked that bird all the way into the station and asked me to kill it for her.”

  Ryan cracked a rare grin.

  “So, what next? Got any more surprises up your sleeve, Ryan?” Frank asked.

  His tone was such that it was hard to tell if he was kidding around or deadly serious. Ryan opted to answer the latter.

  “I sure as hell hope not but I have a feeling that Lizzie MacDonald might still be around here.”

  Frank cocked an eyebrow. “A feeling? Like your mom’s feelings?”

  Ryan bit back an epithet. His mom’s intuition was well known in the county, but for some it was a joke. He hoped Frank wasn’t one of those people.

  “Just speculating based on what we’ve found so far, together with the fact that no one’s ever been able to track Lizzie down. From what everyone around here knows about her, I can’t believe she’d have willingly gone to be honest. From all accounts, she loved my grandfather. Why would she have left?”

  Frank scratched the back of his bull-like neck. “Who knows why women do anything.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Ryan muttered in agreement.

  “Your mom mentioned there were some diaries. Do you think they might shed some light on any of this? Historical evidence?”

  “She told you about those, huh? I guess it’s possible. They’re up at my house. I can drop them by the station next time I’m in town if you like.”

  “Tomorrow would be good, thanks.”

  Frank surveyed the scene in front of them. Floodlights illuminated the dig site, casting everything beyond their bright flare into shadows. “Helluva thing,” he muttered. “Who’d have thought Mrs. MacDonald had so many secrets? I never did like the woman—no damn tolerance and always quick to judge.”

  “So I heard. I don’t remember much about her.”

  “Probably best that way. Could never understand how a woman like that could raise someone as sweet as Aggie. She’s always been such a honey, even if she is a bit odd.”

  Ryan grunted his agreement. “If she grew up with all this around her, it’s no wonder she retreated inside her head.”

  “Food for thought, huh?” The chief stood silent for a few minutes before sighing heavily. “I guess someone’s gonna have to tell her about this.”

  “Let’s wait until we know for sure that it is her daddy.”

  “You got reason to believe it could be someone else?”

  Ryan paused and took a breath. “Nope. Aggie had a bee in her bonnet about getting her daddy out of there the night the shed came down and broke her leg. I think she knew exactly what she was doing.”

  “This isn’t likely to come as a surprise to her, then.”

  “I guess that all depends on what kind of day she’s having.”

  “Damn. I’ll go with the tech to see her tomorrow to get a DNA sample. If she’s up to it, I’ll try to explain a little then.” Frank blew out another breath on the cold, late afternoon air. He stamped his feet and hunched deeper into his jacket.

  Ryan had gone beyond feeling the cold. All the standing around and waiting was giving his leg hell which in turn was giving him hell. Frank gave him a hard look.

  “You look like shit, Ryan,” he said bluntly. “Head on home. We don’t need you here to finish up.”

  “My land, my responsibility. I’ll wait,” he answered firmly.

  He stood vigil until the last piece of equipment had been packed up and put away then followed the tail lights of the chief’s cruiser out the driveway. His leg was screaming with pain as he pulled up outside the house. Light glowed from the downstairs windows and it felt good to know there was someone inside waiting for him. Too good.

  He swore a blue streak as he got down from the truck and limped to the back porch. The door swung open as he approached.

  “You didn’t rest up at all, did you?” Beth demanded in a stern voice as he drew near.

  “Not enough armchairs,” he replied, with a feeble attempt at humor.

  A cold sweat broke out on his brow. The pain was getting worse, the damaged and wasted muscles in his thigh knotting so tight that even the few steps up to the back porch looked insurmountable. He dug deep, the way he always did, and started up the stairs. Beth swiftly moved to his side, tucking her right shoulder under his left arm and wrapping her arm around his waist.

  “Stubborn mule,” she muttered under her breath, but obviously loud enough for him to hear it.

  He chose not to answer. Right now, it was all he could do not to drop to the floor and cry like a baby. Inside the kitchen, Beth helped him to a chair. He gritted his teeth and sank into it then stretched his leg out before him, his fingertips futilely rubbing at the knotted tissue beneath his jeans.

  “What do you usually do when it gets like this?”

  “It?” he asked, being deliberately obtuse. He hated the weakness, hated that it made him vulnerable, less able. Less of the man he used to be.

  To his surprise, Beth cuffed him lightly across the back o
f his head.

  “Hey! I’m the wounded party here.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “And you’re sounding a lot like Ma,” he retaliated.

  Beth didn’t respond. Instead she fisted her tiny hands on her hips and stared him down. Yup, just like his Ma. Strangely, that didn’t actually bother him as much as it ought to. Instead, it drew a strained smile on his face. The pain notched up another level.

  “Painkillers, in the top drawer next to my bed. Right hand side,” he said through clenched teeth.

  She was back in a flash. She passed him the container and got him a glass of water. “What else?” she demanded.

  “Liniment.”

  “Where?”

  Ryan gestured to the top of the refrigerator. Beth got the small tub down and brought it over to the table.

  “Drop your pants.”

  “I didn’t think we had that kind of a relationship.”

  “Ryan, stop pissing me off. You’re in pain. Now, unless you want to stay that way, drop your damn pants.”

  “I’ll take care of it later,” he said, trying to defer her determination.

  “We’ll take care of it now. Where is it?”

  She looked so fierce. So different from the woman he and Ma had picked up from the side of the road not so very long ago.

  “Fine,” he grumbled, reaching for his belt buckle. “Have it your way.”

  He didn’t want to see her pity. Didn’t want to expose his vulnerability. The leg that was misshapen and scarred. The leg that would never again be as strong as it once was. The leg that was doing its level best to kill him right now. He shuffled in the chair until he could shove down his pants. The only sign that Beth had even registered the pathetic limb he’d exposed was a swiftly indrawn breath but then she was all business. She twisted the lid off the tub of liniment and smoothed a little on her hands.

  “You don’t have to,” he protested as she applied those hands to his leg.

  “Just shut up and put up with it,” she said grimly, deepening the stroke of her palms over his tortured thigh.