While Gumshu and QT-PI went rounds on how disfigured I’d likely become, I considered for the hundredth time that week whether I should quit. The three-inch scar on my cheekbone probably wouldn’t allow me to work as a receptionist like my mother hoped, but maybe there was some dungeon where I could work as a janitor.
The page stopped scrolling and I looked to see that one member of PI Net had called the other two into check. Sleuth28 had written, “Clearly you’re both threatened by her skill if this is all you’ve got to talk about. Her record speaks for itself.”
I stared at the words and the blank screen underneath it. Finally I wrote, “Thank you.”
I’d never been vain. I’d never thought of myself as beautiful, but the knife had taken something from me, and I hated it. Every time I looked in the mirror, the long scar was a reminder of what I’d survived and, while it meant I was strong, it also meant that I wasn’t beautiful and likely never would be.
An alert popped up on my phone for PI Net.
“BC Employer $50, 24 hours.”
My finger pressed the accept button before I finished reading the bid. Background checks were something I could do. It meant I was that much closer to some sense of normalcy.
Avery wrote something harsh and derogatory on the board, but Sleuth28 wrote, “Welcome back, Lindy,” and I smiled.
Chapter 2
Even before I was held captive in a cabin for over a week, my clothes, rather Cassidy’s clothes, no longer fit. My daily riding schedule had toned and trimmed my body, and the hospital stay had only emaciated me further. My mother didn’t approve of my all ice cream diet to fit back into the clothes that I wore before the Rockin’ B Ranch. She finally insisted that we go shopping. Knowing Ferndale would be a bust for options, we ventured to the Bellingham Mall.
I’d always hated shopping, especially for clothes. It was likely why my wardrobe had typically consisted of plain jeans and t-shirts. I knew my size and I could buy it at the local superstore in bulk. The extra pieces in my wardrobe were gifts, Eleanor’s castoffs, and in the past, Stella’s presents. A sharp twinge jabbed into my heart as I thought of my aunt and her passing. I hated to admit it, but life would be easier if Stella were shopping with me, rather than my overprotective mother.
“Lin, look at this one. It’s a zipper pullover, then you don’t have to deal with all those buttons you’re struggling with.” She shook the red pullover with delight, as if it had solved world hunger. Meanwhile, I wanted to crawl under a rock. Why did she have to act like I was an invalid?
I pushed through a few racks of clothes and checked tags on a navy blue long sleeve top. It looked small enough, and I was more than happy to hide the marks that hadn’t had enough time to heal. The woman at the next rack over glanced at my arm. Her lips puckered together as if the air itself had become sour. I knew what it looked like.
Little pink nicks and a few long red blemishes still marked my skin. It didn’t matter that there had once been more. It didn’t matter that every single one was a mark of my bravery in the face of pure evil. No, all she saw was a twenty-eight-year-old woman who’d mutilated herself. Clearly, she didn’t approve. It wasn’t like I could explain myself either. Could I actually say, “Oh, I don’t hurt myself. My ex-boyfriend ended up being a psychopathic killer who thought my blood would make him stronger, that’s all.”
A short laugh broke free of my lungs at the thought of her expression if I’d actually said it. Her eyes narrowed and she moved away to another rack.
Good riddance.
I selected another top and slung it over my arm in the hopes that it would eliminate any future stares. The doctor assured me that with time all of my wounds would heal. He had tacked on one word after his promise, “Mostly,” and that was what worried me.
Where was the line drawn for “mostly?” I knew my skin would never be smooth again, but would they all scar? Was I destined to look like a patchwork doll? Would I ever stare into a mirror and not see Dallas?
A lilting laugh broke my concentration, and I glanced around to spot it. For a second, I thought it was my old roommate Dixie, but, as I placed it, I knew how wrong I was. Her hair was longer than I remembered, but still as dark, curled at the ends, and perfect. Her skin was still mocha, despite the lack of sun in Washington. He’d made her laugh, and the smiles were still fresh on both of their faces. My breath trapped tight in my lungs as I watched him across the store, thankfully still thirty feet away, or he might have heard my gasp of surprise. She went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, and I knew Vanessa and Ryder were still a couple.
She had a way of gliding when she walked, and he watched her disappear into the dressing room with an unwavering stare. He looked exactly the same, and it hurt to see him that way while I knew I was nothing like I’d once been.
“Lindy!” my mother shouted, “Lindy! Where are you? I found some jeans with elastic in the back. No buttons!”
His eyes widened at the sound of my name. Ryder searched with frantic desperation for my face. As I was about to duck behind a rack of clothes, our eyes met and time stopped. Though I had a terrible time keeping track of minutes when they passed, I felt as though I was lost there in his gaze for a lifetime. I felt every moment that he’d ever held me, every touch he’d ever placed on my skin, and every word he’d ever spoken. His lips were parted, words that wanted to come, but there was distance between us, not only the space of the store and the racks of clothes that spanned us, but the emotional distance I’d built with two little words.
He had to be thinking about it too. His tongue ran along his bottom lip. Wrinkles in his forehead deepened with frustration. My mind went back to that moment. The asphalt, the rain, my agony, and my mother’s screams as I died in that parking lot. I hoped I looked better than I had that day.
My hand rose up with timid determination, and I gave a small wave as I mouthed the word hi.
Months apart from each other and all I could manage was hi?
It was no wonder I was always alone.
Still, it was enough, and he began to weave through the racks toward me. The pounding within my chest increased as he came closer and I faced my primal need for fight or flight. My mouth went dry as he pressed through the last rack and knocked a few shirts to the ground. He paused as if he might pick them up, but instead took another step toward me.
“It’s really you,” he said as if he hadn’t dared to believe it. “You look better.”
I pressed my lips together and dropped my head in shame. Ryder didn’t know how to lie like I did. He couldn’t say ‘you look great’ because I didn’t look great, but I’d improved since the last time he’d seen me.
He noticed my expression and stumbled over his words. “Are you here with— I mean, of course—the last time I saw you—” The pain twisted across his face until he finally whispered, “Hi.”
I smiled in response, not because I couldn’t speak, but because I didn’t know what came after ‘hi.’ I wasn’t sure how to breach the rest of the conversation. I had no planned protocols for whatever the place was where we’d ended up.
Ryder’s eyes widened. “Are you speaking now? I mean, can you talk again?”
He was worried that I couldn’t answer him. An MS relapse had stolen my voice for a while. Likely, he remembered the way I’d struggled in our last conversation.
“A little.” I swallowed what felt like way too much saliva in my mouth. “It’s still slow.”
Hope sparked in his dark eyes, and his palm brushed over his smile as if to hide it away. “And you’re walking again.”
“I’m a little sticky on the right, but,” I tried to still my fidgeting hands before I finished, “I can manage.”
His fingers reached out to touch the scar on my cheek, but instinct jerked me back. I was sure he saw the fear in my face, the lack of trust that he didn’t deserve, but everyone had earned. The hope burned out in an instant.
“Sorry. It just looks so much better.”
My
head shook as I took another step back and felt the hangers from the rack press into my shoulder-blades. “I’m still skittish. I don’t like being touched,” I felt the need to add, “by anyone.”
Ryder’s body remained fluid, as if he needed to reach out and take me to him, but he resisted out of respect for me, and the knowledge that his girlfriend would step out of the dressing room at any moment.
“Are you working yet?”
The background check had gone smoothly, and I’d picked up another one that morning. “Yes, I’m easing into it.” I couldn’t help but tease him. “Why? Do you need me to go off and save another family member of yours? I haven’t lost any limbs yet, so that’s up for grabs.”
As usual my dark humor was ill-timed.
“I can’t say sorry enough, Huckleberry. I never should’ve sent you. I feel like it’s all my—”
I held up my hand to stop him. “It’s not your fault. My job can be dangerous. Heaven knows, I made my own mistakes.”
“Lindy!” My mother called from the other side of the rack. “Lindy, I want you to try on these pants!” She stepped into our little clearing before I could hide again. “There you are. Look at these, elastic waistband so you won’t need help, isn’t that great?”
Ryder ducked his head away as my cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“Mom, I can get dressed.”
“Well now you can, but what about next tim—”
“Mom, I’m sure you remember Ryder Billings?” I interrupted before she could humiliate me any further.
She hadn’t seen him at first. A chill ran down my spine as she took him in for the first time.
“Mr. Billings, what a surprise.”
I would’ve apologized for her demeanor, but Ryder felt no better. His jaw went rigid, and his full lips thinned into a tight line.
“It was a surprise, I assure you,” he said.
“Ryder is here with Vanessa, his girlfriend. I saw him and waved him over.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but with the way my mother glared at him I felt the need to defend him.
“Well, I’m sure she’s going to be wondering where you’ve run off to, won’t she?” I’d never heard my mother so snarky before.
Ryder ignored her and looked back at me. “Can I come by this week? Just a friend checking in?”
My mother pressed in on the space between us. “Lindy is very busy with physical therapy this week.”
He took a step to his right to move beyond her overbearing shadow. “Then next week?”
Beyond whatever had happened between us, we were friends, and I was in desperate need of a friend.
“Call me.”
The nod was slight, and the glance at my mother was momentary. “Same number?”
I confirmed it, and he waved once as he walked away.
Turning back to the rack of clothes, I noticed my mother didn’t follow suit. She tracked him until he was gone. I swapped racks and ignored her behavior. A small derisive giggle released from mom’s chest a moment later, and I followed her eye line. Vanessa had returned, and there was no doubt that she’d seen us together. I couldn’t hear her words, but her waving arms told me she was unhappy. Moving to a taller rack that would offer me shelter, I listened carefully.
“What? I can’t have friends? You want to control that too?” Ryder asked.
“I don’t care who you’re friends with, but nothing about your relationship with her is just friends.”
“We’ve been through a lot. She’s done so much for me. I don’t understand why you’re neurotic about this.”
“Because you’re blind when it comes to her. I can’t let you get mixed up in something dangerous.” Her voice softened. “You know I love you too much.”
The sound of their kiss tore into me and ripped open old wounds. He wouldn’t call. There was no point in waiting for it. They were in love, and I was the anchor that held him back. I was right to cut him free.
“Are you ready?” my mother asked. “Can we go now?”
I followed her to the line at the register. Ryder was gone again, and I had to remind myself that it was the first I’d seen him since I’d nearly died. For as much as he’d always said he could handle a relapse, he obviously couldn’t. I shoved my card out in front of my mother’s and signed the digital screen. Actions like those always increased her frustration, but I craved the ability to take care of myself again.
We pushed back out through the glass doors into the chilly autumn air. She slowed to adapt to my pace, but I pushed myself to find an increased speed. It was an unspoken competition, my wobbling gait against her perfectly poised walk. I needed to show her that I was strong, that while her help was appreciated, it was smothering me.
As I was nearly at a jog, she grabbed my arm and yanked me to a stop.
“Lindy, wait. This is ridiculous. You need to come home with me. I have tickets for both of us. We’re leaving Saturday.”
I jerked my arm free and steeled my gaze. “That isn’t happening.”
“Lindy, you need someone with you twenty-four hours a day. I have a life back home, and you’ll adjust.”
“No. I won’t adjust. I don’t need a babysitter, and I’m not coming with you,” I drew in a breath before I said, “but I think you should go.”
“You can’t even drive yet. How are you going to—”
“I’ll figure it out. Shane can drive me when I need it.” The last thing I want to do is hurt her, so I talk faster. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done, because I do. But I need to do it myself. I need my independence, even if it means that I’ll fail at first.”
Her shoulders tensed and then fell. “Why can’t you be a normal girl for once? Why have you always been so difficult?” Beyond the frustration I knew the deep love she held for me held true.
I smirked. “Someone had to keep you on your toes.”
She unlocked the car and shook her head in consternation. “And you’ve always been good at it.”
In her own way it was her way of telling me that I’d always been strong. Despite the fear I felt at her leaving, the thought gave me a little solace that I might make it.
Chapter 3
I bought a car before mom flew back to California, a little SUV the salesman called a crossover, whatever that meant. Though driving made me nervous, I knew it would get better with time. Everything would get better with time.
Almost everything, at least.
On my own wasn’t easy, but it was exactly what I needed. I’d read a study once that explained that when a person does something the hard way, driving to an unfamiliar place without directions or practicing a speech without notes, they are more likely to learn and remember what they struggled through.
That was how I felt. Each task was difficult without my mother there to buff the rough parts away, but every time I felt myself getting stronger, or rather remembering I was strong all along. Time lapses faded quickly and the cognitive fog I’d fought began to thin. When I returned from my first solo trip driving to the grocery store, I felt as though I’d climbed Everest.
I started wearing makeup, a little cover up to downplay the scar on my face. It helped not to see the reminder every time I looked in the mirror. I knew if I wanted to move on I’d need to bury the memories. The answers would never come, so there was no point in asking them. I returned to my punching bag within a week of my mother’s departure. While yoga strengthened me, and walking gave me peace, my time with my heavy bag helped me to build my walls back up.
Each time my glove collided with the bag, it was like a brick set on another, protecting me and isolating me from outside threats. It was the only place I let my scars show. There, on the back porch of my little house on my half acre of land, I was a warrior. I’d always been a warrior, but with all the marks that proved my survival, I actually felt it.
Uncle Shane waited two weeks after my mother left before he asked me to meet him at the station. I knew what he wanted. I’d heard his secret
conversation. It wasn’t until I heard myself say, “Yes, I’ll come this afternoon,” that I admitted to myself that I was ready, even if it wasn’t true.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Hey slugger,” Uncle Shane said as I came around the corner toward his desk. He didn’t bother to hug me. I’d feel unnatural. That had been Aunt Stella’s job and, though I felt the void in her absence, the police station was hardly the place for all that mushy stuff.
I’d taken a little extra time to hide the scar on my face, and I wore a long sleeve blouse and black slacks to cover the rest. Still, I felt the stare of every officer as I walked to my uncle’s desk. They all knew the story and surely they wanted to see the newest attraction at the freak show, the patchwork woman. I fought the urge to fight and simply ignored the prying eyes instead.
“Hey Uncle Shane,” I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, “what are you working on?”
I’d been practicing what normal looked like. I didn’t want anyone to see what was beneath the surface of my calm.
Scared.
Jumpy.
Ready to explode at a moment’s notice.
None of that would help me find normal again. None of that would help me forget. If Uncle Shane noticed any deception on my part, he didn’t mention it.
Uncle Shane set his file on the desk. “A string of bank robberies down south have the locals nervous. I get to help the banks in town run through some scenarios today, lucky me.” Maybe he saw my worry that he might ask me along because he quickly tacked on, “Chief has a case for you. He’s ready whenever you are.”
I straightened my top and resisted the urge to button the top button. A dark red slash poked out a half-inch beyond the shield. The scar called out like a neon sign directing everyone to stare.
It’s all in your head, I assured myself, no one is looking. No one cares.
Sparrows & Sacrifice Page 2
