Storm Vengeance

by Pamela Cowan

When Storm got up in the morning, Dannisha was gone, the blanket she’d used neatly folded, her pillow on top. She found Joel in the kitchen at the breakfast bar coloring some pages he’d brought home from school.

  “You’re up early,” she said to him.

  “Daddy’s coming home today,” he said by way of explanation.

  “That’s right. You’re pretty excited about that, huh?”

  Joel didn’t answer, just ducked his head and kept writing. He was already getting to that age where he preferred to keep his thoughts to himself. The first of the little rebellions that would separate him from his parents and turn him into his own person. It was an inevitable and necessary process, but Storm didn’t have to like it. “What should we do about breakfast?” she asked. “Pancakes, or bacon and eggs.”

  “Pancakes,” said Joel. “I want mine shaped like elephants please.” He gave his mother a bright enthusiastic smile and she smiled back. Storm was just as eager for Tom’s return. Even though they’d been arguing more than usual lately, she still missed having him to talk to, to share her day with. Though, of course, not everything in her day.

  Lindsey woke in a good mood as well and joined in on pancakes and bacon. Then Storm suggested they all go for a run to work off breakfast. Both kids were excited by the prospect, especially Lindsey, and dashed off to dress in sweats and sneakers.

  Since college, Storm had been in the habit of rising early and running at least three miles. She’d loved the way it felt to be out there before most of the world. How quiet everything was, how different it all looked. She’d never realized that her daughter might have been waiting for an invitation to join her. There were so many nuances to being a good parent. Being attentive was important, but since Howard and their strange partnership, Storm’s attention to her children, and to Tom, she admitted, had been intermittent at best. Time to fix that.

  Donning hooded sweatshirts, the trio moved outside. The sun was up, mist rising from all the surfaces soaked by last night’s hard rain. It caught the bright spots of mica in the sidewalk and made it seem filled with glitter.

  “Let’s stretch first,” she told them, and she demonstrated by bending forward to touch her toes. They followed her through her stretching routine. Joel full of giggles and Lindsey with a frown of concentration furrowing her forehead. Then they were off at a slow jog. Joel ran ahead in bursts of speed and then spun around and began to run clumsily backward. Mother and daughter exchanged a glance of perfect understanding. They smiled tolerantly at Joel’s immature behavior, then ran on, side by side.

  When Tom arrived, the entire family trooped out to welcome him home. Dinner was a feast and, for the first time in months, Storm felt that she was a vital part of her family. For wide swaths of time that seemed like the beginning of forever, she had felt like she was on the outside looking in. She hated that and wanted desperately to be free of her demons and the façade of secrets that stood like a barrier between her and the people she loved.

  After they tucked the kids in, Tom and Storm headed to bed. They were both exhausted, almost too tired to speak. Unwilling to wait for each other, they undressed and got into the shower together. Yawning, Storm soaped Tom’s back, then handed him the sponge and turned around. He washed her back thoroughly and then slid the sponge around her waist to her stomach. The last time they’d shared a shower, Storm had used sex to distract Tom from any questions he might have about the injuries she’d received in Lauren’s basement. This time it was she who was distracted.

  For a moment she drew back, even began to protest that they both needed sleep. But the sponge was sliding across her breasts, her nipples responding to the rough surface. His hand was sliding down her stomach, down and down. “Tom,” she said. But there was no protest in her tone. Instead she leaned back into him, lost herself in the sensations his fingers teased from her. Hissing between her teeth, a sound so low only the two of them could hear it, she let the stress of the last few days flow through her. His fingers slid into her faster and faster until there was nothing but sensation and then a fevered pulsing as she tightened around his fingers. Until the pulsing reached a crescendo and she fell, a long, sliding fall into an orgasm so powerful she moaned.

  She turned to face him, to press her mouth against his, to twist her tongue between his slick teeth. Then she leaned back, brought her left leg up and he bent his knees and rose up, sliding into her. She rode up and down in rhythm with his need. Moved faster as she felt his mouth on her shoulder, the bite of his sharp teeth on her neck, his hands sliding on her wet ass as he lifted and guided her, and once again she felt the insistent rise of the wave take her up and over and then smash her down so that she came, trembling and helpless, her head thrown back, barely aware that his orgasm pumped deep inside her.

  They kissed again, not the sweet kiss of long companionship, but the deep hungry kiss of two people in lust and celebrating their satisfaction. The kiss ended. Tom ran his fingertips gently across the rough red marks his teeth had left, mumbled an apology. Storm slid her fingers across the welts and felt triumphant along with a stir of arousal. These were the trophies proclaiming she’d slain him. Seeing those marks fade would make her sad. She’d mourn them once they were gone.

  A short time later, dry and dressed in their parent- appropriate pajamas, they snuggled in bed, too tired to fall right to sleep.

  “I’ve been thinking about New Mexico,” said Storm.

  “Shh. Let’s not talk about that.”

  “But Tom. I really—“

  “Look Stormy, here’s the thing. I did a lot of thinking while I was away. I see what a jerk I’ve been. I get it.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, look what happened? You worked you ass off at a really tough job. You supported me through college. You supported this family when I couldn’t. You got recognized for that work with a huge promotion, and what did I do? Did I spend one moment congratulating you, or thanking you? No, instead, on a whim, I told you to quit your job and, by the way, we’re moving. And when you didn’t jump at the chance, what did I do? I made you sound like the bad guy. Like you’re thoughtless or selfish. Well, I’m the selfish one. I’m a grade A jerk, and I don’t know why you put up with me.”

  “Tom,” said Storm, surprised and touched by his words.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” he said, pulling her toward him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. “I am,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead, “a total,” and he kissed her nose, “jerk,” and he kissed her eyelids, then her cheeks, and finally her mouth. He stopped a moment to say, “Rayden is taking the New Mexico gig. We’re gonna stay here and celebrate your promotion. Should we start now?”

  “Again?”

  “Well, isn’t this a good time to celebrate?”

  Feeling Tom’s hand slip under the elastic top of her pajama bottoms Storm thought, yes, now was a good time, a very good time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE QUESTION OF WHO Lauren really was haunted Storm. Once she had fulfilled her goal of making sure justice found the Prentices, there was nothing to distract her from trying to find out.

  She didn’t plan to confront Lauren directly. A woman with apparently limitless amounts of money and time was no one to mess with. Especially not when that woman had extensive knowledge of your sins. But there was one person she could confront, if she could find her—Tristan, her counselor. She knew who Lauren was, and Storm was determined to make her share that information. But how? Therapists, counselors, all of those people were trained to keep their client’s business confidential.

  Taking the card the woman had given her from her purse, she placed it on the center of her desk.

  Tristan Garrity, LMHC. She tapped the card with her fingertips. Think. Weren’t counselors supposed to share information if someone’s life was in danger? She thought so but wasn’t sure. Reaching for her keyboard, she pulled it forward and began typing. “When can therapists break client confidentiality.” Storm hit enter an
d saw 415,000 references. She chose the first, titled, “When Must your Therapist Break Client Confidentiality.” She clicked on it and found just what she was looking for. She read the most important sentence over twice.

  A psychologist or other mental health professional may be required to break confidentiality in order to protect the client or the person that they are threatening to harm.

  Perfect. So who was in danger of harm? Should she say that Lauren had threatened her? Would that convince the counselor to tell her who Lauren was? Would she feel she had to call the police? That was the last thing Storm wanted.

  Lost in thought, she was startled to hear a knock. She looked up to see Big Ed rapping his knuckles on the door frame of her office.

  “Got your order,” he said, and held up a glitter-covered gift bag with three rolls of gift wrap.

  For a moment Storm was puzzled, but then she remembered. “Your niece’s fund drive.”

  “Yep. Tomorrow’s the big day. The ten year celebration of Westside High School. They’re digging up a time capsule that was buried then. Be interesting to see what’s in it.”

  “Ten years doesn’t seem very long,” said Storm. She didn’t share another thought that had occurred to her, that she’d caught Lauren in another lie. She’d said she attended Westview, but if it had only been built ten years ago, that was impossible.

  “They buried two time capsules, one to open in ten years and one in twenty-five,” Ed explained. “Big deal at the time, I guess.”

  “Big deal to your niece now, I imagine. Thank her for the gift wrap.” Storm stood and took the bag from him, then bent to sit it on the floor beside her desk.”

  “Any decision about that supervisor’s position? I don’t want to put you on the spot, but if I have to list the job, it’s going to take a long time. You know how slow HR moves.”

  Storm was about to tell him that, no, she was going to change her mind, tell Tom to take the job after all. His business partner would understand. She’d have to make sure there was nothing and no one standing in the way of her leaving, like Lauren for instance. Then she’d be able to fully commit to the move to New Mexico and the start of a new life.

  But she wasn’t there yet. Or maybe she just wasn’t ready to say it. To make it final. “Can I let you know on Friday?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  After he’d gone, Storm sat down and picked up the business card again. Maybe she wasn’t ready to tell Ed she was moving on because she had unfinished business to attend to.

  She stepped across her office and shut the door. Today was a court day, so she had no clients coming in. She looked at the clock in her phone. Plenty of time before she had to head upstairs. She picked up the phone and called the number on the card.

  It rang only twice and then, “Hello.”

  “Hi, is this Tristan Garrity?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “We met at Bagley Park a few days ago. I’m Storm McKenzie. You warned me about your client, Lauren Barry.”

  “Sure. I remember you. But I told you when we met, I can’t talk about a client.”

  “I understand that. I do,” said Storm. “I appreciate your professional ethics, but I’ve got some concerns. I got a call from your client that has me worried. I think she’s getting ready to do something bad.”

  “Has she threatened you?”

  “No, not me,” Storm said. “It’s you. I think she’s thinking of doing something to you. We should meet to talk about this. You know her better than I do. Maybe I’m being paranoid and overreacting. But I am an officer of the court, and I can’t stand by and do nothing if I think someone might be in trouble.”

  “I understand, and client privilege only goes so far. If Lauren has threatened me, then—.”

  “That’s just it, I’m not sure if what she said was a threat, or just idle talk. Can you meet with me?”

  The woman agreed and they arranged to meet at the end of Storm’s work day at the same park they’d met at before.

  Planning to leave for home after talking to the counselor, Storm walked to the garage and drove her car to the park. She pulled up right behind the dark green car she’d seen the counselor driving before. This time she jotted down her license plate, thinking she might run her through the LEDS database, just to see if she was who she said she was. Anyone could have a business card made.

  The by now familiar dark-haired woman was sitting on top of one of the picnic tables, her feet on the bench below. Storm walked up and joined her, climbing onto the table. Hunched over, with her elbows on her knees, she was oddly comfortable.

  “You need to tell me what you know about Lauren Barry,” she said, without preamble.

  “I’m not sure that’s—”

  “Don’t tell me about your ethical dilemma,” Storm said firmly. “I know that you’re smart enough to know when rules should be broken. Lauren is dangerous. Maybe most dangerous to you. At least she’s made it clear that she’s getting sick of you being around all the time. I don’t want anything to happen to you, or to her. I know she’s your client, but she’s my friend. Tell me what I need to know to help her.”

  The woman took a deep drag from her cigarette, then snapped it away.

  “Look, Ms. Garrity, this is important,” Storm said.

  “Please, call me Tristan.”

  “Okay, Tristan. Talk to me. Please.”

  Tristan nodded, twisting to face Storm. “The woman who told you she’s Lauren Barry is really Rhiannon Welkin, a former patient at the Salem Mental Hospital, where she was committed by her parents. They went to court to prove she was a danger to herself.”

  “Which, she probably was.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly. But more importantly, especially for you, is that while she was there she shared a room with a woman named Lauren Barry.”

  A shiver ran down Storm’s back. “Of course she did. That’s why she knows so much about me and my family.”

  Tristan nodded. “There’s even more to it than just knowing Lauren. You see, Rhiannon was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. She had anger issues, depression, and anxiety. She acted out by being aggressive and hurting herself. She would cut herself, and at least twice she tried to hang herself. In college she seemed to struggle with goal setting. Her sense of self seemed, I don’t know, I guess you could call it chameleon like, ethereal. It was fragile at best.

  “She changed majors frequently and finally dropped out. After that she tried working but never stayed in a job more than a few weeks. Don’t get me wrong, Rhiannon isn’t a split personality. She doesn’t have what’s called dissociative disorder. She’s not two people inside one body. It’s more that she’s unable to stabilize her values or decide who she is. It makes life very hard. I suspect that being in a fairly long-term, consistent relationship with Lauren—they were in the hospital together for nearly three months and then rented an apartment and lived together for nearly a year—helped Rhiannon become more centered. She adopted Lauren’s beliefs, her ethics and morals.”

  “But she went further than that,” said Storm.

  Tristan nodded. “When Lauren died, Rhiannon ‘became’ her,” she said, drawing quotes in the air with her fingers. “She cut and dyed her hair like Lauren’s. Changed her name. Adopted Lauren’s hate for your father for hitting her with his car and leaving her with terrible injuries. Of course, Rhiannon wasn’t even in the same state when that accident happened.”

  “But at some point she came looking for me.”

  “Yes, she did,” agreed Tristan. “She took off. It took me awhile to figure out where she—where Lauren would go. I found her here, using Lauren’s name, and I’ve been keeping an eye on her ever since.” She reached into a huge leather purse and fished out a pack of cigarettes, lit up, and drew the smoke deeply into her lungs, then exhaled with a tired sigh.

  The acrid smell of tobacco smoke would normally have caused Storm to move away, but she barely noticed. Instead she was focused on the couns
elor’s trembling fingers and her sidelong glances, all of which telegraphed her feelings of guilt.

  “You knew she had found me, was pretending to be a new friend—”

  “I didn’t think she was dangerous. I’m still not sure. Both she and Lauren were more self-destructive than violent. But now you’re telling me she’s made some sort of threat?”

  “She has, and more than once,” Storm confided, leaning closer. “I haven’t known her long. We had one of those chance meetings. I was having coffee at the Starbucks on the corner near my office. The place was busy, and she took a seat near me. She asked me something, I don’t remember what, directions to somewhere, I think. Then we just started talking. After that I ran into her at my favorite lunch place. She asked if she could join me, and then we just sort of started having lunch, maybe once a week or so.”

  “She must have been following you. Got to know your schedule.”

  “Yes, and I’m so predictable I made it easy for her.” Storm swept her fingers through her hair, going for frustrated and trying not to overplay it. Acting had never been an interest, but she had a part to play.

  “She’s an incredibly smart person,” Tristan said in a soothing voice. “There was no way you could have known. But tell me what happened. What did she say that made you call me?”

  “Well, it was pretty early on, about the fourth time we got together, I think.” Storm paused, staring down at the top of the table as if she were trying to remember the details. “She said there was this crazy woman following her. Said she’d been dating this man and one night they were in bed, and a woman walked in. Apparently she had a key, and she attacked them with a baseball bat. They managed to get to the bathroom and lock themselves in, found his cell phone in the pocket of the jeans he’d left on the floor, and called the cops.”

  “And this crazy woman, that was supposed to be me, right?”

  “I think so,” agreed Storm, nodding. “I think she was setting me up so that if I saw you hanging around, I’d assume you were stalking her.”