She remembered that scent. She remembered the thin stripes in the mattress. The brown stains on the floor. The spiders crawling across her face when she could do nothing about it.
She’d been here. The memory and the knowledge doubled her over.
She grabbed her radio and pressed the Talk button. “Quince, get down here.”
“What happened?” he asked in alarm.
“Nothing. It’s empty, but I want this entire area cordoned off and processed. Do not let that team leave until every inch of this valley has been photographed, bagged, and tagged.”
“I’m on my way,” he said, and she could hear him running. Then she heard the ATV speeding toward the copse of trees, and she lay in the snow, her vision blurry, her stomach on the verge of emptying its contents right then and there.
She’d had the same reaction to Sybil’s letter. The same feeling of helplessness. Of darkness. Of fear.
And the blood. There was blood everywhere. Hers? She couldn’t remember. But she did remember it on her hands. The sticky liquid drying in her nose and between her fingers.
The ATV slid to a halt in the snow just as her stomach did what it’d warned her it would. Coffee rushed up her throat, and she heaved it onto the snow as a booted foot came into her periphery.
But it wasn’t Quincy’s boot.
* * *
“Thanks, Lynelle,” Liam said, the screen too bright and the voices too loud.
Auri watched in horror as the story unfolded. As her story unfolded. “The town of Del Sol has spoken, and we have a new sheriff, but what do we really know about her?”
Her mom’s senior picture popped onto the screen. “Sunshine Vicram was born Sunshine Blaze Freyr to a military intelligence officer and a Vegas showgirl. She grew up in this sleepy town where the coffee is hot and the people are cool.”
“She loves Del Sol,” an interviewee said into the microphone. An interviewee named Quincy Cooper. He smiled into the camera. “She couldn’t wait to come back.”
“And we’re glad to hear it,” Liam said. “But what drove her away in the first place? We have uncovered a dark secret the Freyr family has spent a fortune to keep under wraps, and we feel the citizens of Del Sol have a right to know.”
“That’s right, Liam.” Lynelle walked onto the screen to join Liam in front of the monument. “You see, a little over fifteen years ago, the woman we know as Sunshine Vicram met and married a man who, according to public records, never existed.”
“That’s right, Lynelle. We followed up on a tip we received while trying to get to know our new sheriff better and discovered that her claims of marriage at seventeen, only to have her husband shipped out the next day and later killed in action in Afghanistan, are completely fabricated.”
Lynelle gasped. “Liam, how is that even possible?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, but we visited the county clerk’s office. There is no record of a marriage between a Sunshine Freyr and a Samson Vicram. In fact, there’s no record of a Samson Vicram at all.” The camera zoomed in on his face. “Because Samson Vicram never existed.”
The teacher was on the phone, ordering the person on the other end to stop the broadcast, but Auri sat frozen, so stunned she couldn’t breathe. So shocked she couldn’t look away. She felt wetness streaming down her face and dripping off her chin, and yet she was too dumbstruck to move.
The camera cut to Lynelle. “In fact, the only record we did find with our sheriff’s name on it was a petition to change her surname from Freyr to Vicram mere weeks before this memorial went up in Town Square. It was created to honor the fallen soldiers from Del Sol. And at the top of the list?”
The camera zoomed in on the first name.
“Samson Elio Vicram.”
“But, Lynelle,” Liam said, gesturing toward the monument, “what about all the soldiers who did die in action? What does this callous disregard for their sacrifice say about the woman who is supposed to serve and protect this great town for the next four years?”
In the back of Auri’s mind, she registered appalled glances from her classmates, but for the most part, she just stared.
“Exactly.” The camera zoomed in on Lynelle. “These reporters want to know why our new sheriff deceived the entire town. We want to know what she’s hiding.”
“And we want to know if this deception has anything to do with Sheriff Vicram’s five-day disappearance that resulted in a hushed pregnancy.”
“Where is my remote?” the teacher asked, tearing through her desk to find it.
The shot of the sheriff’s station popped onto the screen again, and the camera panned back to Lynelle. “Del Sol is teeming with rumors. Some say the sheriff ran off with a drummer who dumped her at a gas station in Truth or Consequences.”
“Others say she was kidnapped and held for ransom by a depraved predator,” Liam said with way too much enthusiasm.
“Whatever the case may be, we will stop at nothing to uncover the truth about our new sheriff, but for now, we must stress that none of this is poor Auri’s fault. Whether her mother is a law enforcement officer or a con artist.”
“Whether her father was a war hero or a violent criminal, we all need to welcome Auri Vicram with open—”
The broadcast stopped, the TV went black, and the only sound Auri could hear was the rush of her own blood in her ears. A sea of faces stared back at her. Some sympathetic. Some mortified. Some triumphant, relishing the moment.
“Auri,” the teacher said, rushing toward her. “I’m so sorry. Those televisions are controlled by the AV department and the plug is in the ceiling and I couldn’t find my stupid remote. I couldn’t just turn it off.”
Auri pushed off her desk and stumbled toward the door, her vision blurring so much she couldn’t find the handle. Her fingers finally curved around it. She shoved open the door only to fall onto the tile floor in the hall.
A man was running toward her, Principal Jacobs, but her stomach heaved. She was going to be sick. She scrambled to her feet and fought the darkening of her vision to make it to the girls’ restroom.
She felt nothing but the vise around her chest, cracking her ribs and squeezing the air out of her lungs.
She closed the bathroom door and wedged the doorstop underneath it to keep him—no, everyone—out. After falling twice, she managed to get to the last stall. She locked the door, dropped to her knees, and emptied her stomach into the toilet.
Her body expelled the coffee and breakfast cereal she’d had that morning, but she hardly took note. She was numb. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t process what had just happened.
As though she were a thousand miles away, she wiped her mouth with toilet paper, flushed the commode, then wedged her body between it and the wall. She felt more tears and pressed her palms over her eyes to stop the flow, like putting pressure on a wound.
Noises drifted toward her from the hall, and a deep sob echoed off the walls. Then another, and another and she finally realized they were hers.
Which was odd because she didn’t realize she was crying.
A sharp thud sounded at the bathroom door followed by three more until the door opened and crashed against the wall. She heard steps. Breathing. Then another loud bang as the stall door almost flew off its hinges.
But she was still applying pressure. She had to stop the onslaught before she flooded the bathroom.
She felt hands wrap around her legs. They slid her out of her haven. She considered fighting, but if she released the pressure, the floods would start again.
At that precise moment, back in the clearing, Sun felt hands on her shoulders. She thought about fighting them off, but that would take effort, and she worried she would vomit again.
Auri felt herself being lifted.
Sun felt herself being lifted.
When another sob racked her body, Auri heard a soft shushing sound.
When she tried to push out of her rescuer’s arms, Sun heard a warning growl.
“You’re okay,” Cruz whispered in her ear as he cradled Auri against his chest and carried her out of the bathroom.
“You’ll be okay,” Levi said as he lifted Sun into his arms and carried her to his ATV.
And the next few moments were a blur of backpacks and trees and kids’ faces and law enforcement officers and arms. His arms. Wrapped around her in the best way possible.
* * *
Sun sat in the back of the ambulance that had been waiting to transport the DB to Albuquerque, still reeling from her rather humiliating experience.
Levi had carried her to his ATV and sat her on it. After being awake for over forty-eight hours and conducting a search-and-rescue operation in freezing weather and blizzard conditions for much of that, he picked her up and carried her.
She’d wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck, letting go of herself for just a minute. He smelled like campfire and snow and felt like warm steel all around her.
When he sat her down, she reeled herself back in and gulped huge rations of air to calm down.
“Slowly,” he said, kneeling beside her in the snow.
“I’ve been there,” she said, gasping. “I’ve been in that shed.”
“Lots of people have.”
“Not by the looks of it.”
“Yeah, well. I guess it’s been a while.”
She forced herself to calm down and took a moment to look at him. To appreciate the work of art he’d grown into. The amber in his eyes mesmerized her, and she could have stared at him all day, but she had cases to solve, and they were, as her father used to say, burning daylight.
She swallowed and delivered the bad news. “It’s your uncle, Levi. Your uncle Brick.”
His lashes narrowed. “How do you know we called him that?”
“I just heard it, I guess. I’m sorry, your uncle Kubrick.”
He let his gaze slide past her toward the incident site. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “He had a driver’s license in his pocket.”
He nodded, then looked down at the hand she’d unconsciously moved to his arm.
She pulled it back just as Quincy skidded to a halt beside them and jumped off the ATV. “What happened?” he asked, leaning down to her.
Sun shook her head. “Just get me out of here.”
Quincy helped her off the ATV and onto his as Levi stood back.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Levi.”
He shook his head. “Save it for someone worthier.”
Twenty minutes later, Sun was sitting in the back of an ambulance, being grilled by her bestie.
“What happened back there?” Quincy asked when the technician left her to her own devices. A dangerous place to just leave her willy-nilly.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, trying to loosen the cobwebs.
“Well, can you try to figure it out, because damn. You passed out.”
“I didn’t pass out.”
“First you threw up, then you passed out.”
“I didn’t pass out. I don’t think. I don’t know. I kind of lost touch with reality there for a minute.”
“Okay. That’s a start. So why are we processing a scene that hasn’t had a visitor in a decade, by the looks of it?”
She moved the ice pack to the back of her head. “Damn door.”
“They can be such dicks. The scene?”
After taking a quick glance around, she leaned in and said, “That’s where I was held.”
If she had slapped him, he wouldn’t have been more surprised.
“I remembered. The minute I walked in, I remembered the smell. The filthy mattress. The tiny windows where the sun would only stream in at certain times of day.”
He picked up his jaw and gaped at her. “I thought … I mean, your head injury.”
“I know. I’ve had dreams. Nightmares, really. But I honestly thought I’d just made them up.”
Quincy looked outside, then closed the doors for total privacy. “Okay, no more bullshit. Start from the beginning, or I swear to God, I’m quitting right here and now and becoming an opera singer.”
She smiled despite herself. “You can’t sing.”
“Which is why it would be tragic.” He leaned closer and took her hand. “Look, I get it, Sun. You don’t like to talk about it, but all I know is that you were abducted in high school and held for almost a week. Then you magically ended up in the ICU at St. Vincent’s in Santa Fe with a traumatic brain injury. A month later, you woke up from a coma with retrograde amnesia. Oh, and a bun in the oven. So, mind filling in the blanks?”
“Quince, you know almost as much as I do.”
“Bullshit.” He curled his hands into fists and sat back in the paramedic’s seat. “I see how you go off into space sometimes. The look on your face when you come back is not nothing. You’re remembering something. Tell me I’m wrong.”
She blew out a breathy laugh. “It’s just, I don’t want my parents to know.”
“Like I’m going to tell them.”
“Please, my mother has you so wrapped around her little finger, it’s a wonder you can walk in a straight line.”
He shook his head. “Wrong. It’s the other way around. I have her wrapped around this finger right here.” He lifted his middle finger, sending Sun a message in crystal-clear Technicolor.
“Ah. Well, she wanted to know if you could take a look at her carburetor.”
He sat up straighter. “Really? Is tonight okay?”
She chuckled. “You’re so whipped. Does she even have a carburetor?”
He bit back a curse. “I can’t help it. I’m in love with her. And it’s more than that pitiful crush I had on her when we were kids.”
“Had? And what about my father?”
A patient smile spread across his face. “I know what you’re doing.”
“What?” When realization dawned, she shrugged. “Maybe. It’s just hard to talk about.”
“Well, get the fuck over it. Tell me everything, or I walk.”
She knew he wouldn’t, of course, but he did deserve to know what she knew. He’d stood by her every second of every day and never questioned any of her decisions, though he wasn’t very happy about her initial exodus.
Anita came over the radio for her. “Sheriff, what’s your 10-20?”
“We’re at the SAR site.”
“Copy that. We have a 10-39 at the high school. Sheriff, it’s your daughter.”
They looked at each other for 2.4 seconds and then tore out of the ambulance and headed for town.
18
Our favorite flavor of cake is more.
—SIGN AT THE SUGAR SHACK
Auri curled her fingers into Cruz’s hair in something akin to a death grip. They were sitting on the cot in the nurse’s office, her legs draped over his lap, as she sobbed until her chest hurt.
How would she face her mother now? How could she?
With her world collapsing around her, Auri contemplated the penultimate of last resorts again. She’d done it before, but it had been years.
And Cruz—tall, gorgeous, charismatic Cruz—was letting her slobber into his jacket. Why? Didn’t he see the broadcast? Didn’t he realize what she was?
He tucked a strand of hair over her ear and ran his fingertip over the outer edge. He felt good. Soothing. Wet.
She pulled back, suddenly mortified. Well, more mortified than she had been five minutes ago. His jacket was wet from her sobs. She reached over, grabbed a tissue, and tried to pat it dry.
He caught her hand in his and held it to his chest.
Then she realized she was sitting on him and tried to wiggle off. He caught her legs and pulled her even closer to him.
She let him, but did feel the need to protest. “I’m too heavy.”
“Please,” he said with a scoff.
“I can’t believe that just happened.”
“Sadly, I can.”
“You don’t have to wait with me.�
� She dragged out her inhaler and breathed in two pumps before continuing. “I’ll understand if you need to go.”
“Good for you.”
She turned to face him. “No, really. It’s okay. You don’t have to hang out.”
He cocked his head to one side. “And why wouldn’t I want to?”
She shifted away. “You saw the video, Cruz.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I don’t know, you saw the video.” She began feeling defensive.
“Okay, so, I’m supposed to be scared of you now?”
“No. Not scared. Just … All I’m saying is I’ll understand.” Just then, she noticed his hands. His scraped and blood-covered hands. She leaned away from him. “Cruz, what happened?”
He examined them. “Something that’s going to get me grounded for a very long time.”
Her lids rounded, but before she could ask him about it, Principle Jacobs walked in. “Auri, your mother is here.”
And the world fell out from under her. She covered her face with her free hand, unable to face her, as the sobs started anew.
“Auri!” she heard her mom say. She felt arms fly around her as she was practically plucked off Cruz’s lap and held close by her mom. “Auri, sweetheart, you’re okay. You’re okay.”
There were some things in life that a person just could not handle, no matter how hard she tried. No matter how cheerful the spin she put on it. It was different for everyone. Maybe it was the loss of a loved one. Or being abandoned by a parent. For Auri, it was the fact that she’d single-handedly ruined her mother’s life.
She had to know it. Her mom. She’d never said it out loud, but there was simply no other way to look at it. She was at the root of everything bad that had ever happened to her mother. And now, her mom would know that she knew.
She’d tell Auri she was wrong, of course. She’d tell Auri that she was all that mattered and that her life would have been so different without her.
And she would be right. But what she wouldn’t say, because Sunshine Vicram was not that kind of mother, was that she’d had plans. She’d had dreams and aspirations. Her grandparents had slipped once and told Auri about her mom’s childhood dream of becoming a jet pilot in the navy. How it was all she’d talked about. All she’d ever wanted to do.
A Bad Day for Sunshine--A Novel Page 23
