Tears streamed down Rosie’s face, but she didn’t wipe them away. Bastian could feel the heat of grief building inside, and it exploded so quickly he didn’t realize he was falling to his knees, not until the ground met him and Rosie held onto him. He couldn’t tell how long the grief seized him, so tightly breathing through his tears seemed impossible, but Rosie somehow anchored him to this world, waiting until he’d finally returned before she pecked him on the cheek. Then she stood and walked away, her shoulders bowed. Bastian wiped his face savagely and raked his fingers through his hair.
“I guess this is where the promise comes in, isn’t it?”
He looked at the beautiful wooden casket Denna had selected—the best money could buy. Bastian touched the dirt where he sat, wishing he could just crawl into the hole and lie atop that box. But somehow Kaylee had thought of that, too. There had been a time when he could’ve chosen to die for himself, but not when he needed to live for her.
“The doctor said it was supposed to be months. I would have taken that in a heartbeat, but we both know it wouldn’t have been enough. Loving you for a lifetime wouldn’t be enough. Where are you now, Kaylee? In the earth, the sky, the air? ”
He exhaled sharply, and his breath rose in bursts of steam. The muscles constricted in his throat, and his vision blurred. He blinked at the white storm, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a shard from the vase. Although he tried to be careful, the glass gouged his skin, and a bubble of blood appeared.
“You said you’d rather have the pieces. I would, too. You just didn’t tell me they cut so deeply.”
He looked at the cut and tossed the fragment into the hole before standing and stepping out into that furious white. Although he’d thought he was alone, he came face-to-face with Angie carrying a bouquet of daisies.
“I came because I thought you might need me.” Angie handed Bastian the flowers. “I miss you.” She stepped toward him, and they embraced. As Bastian clutched the warmth of his sister, he wept in her arms, both for Kaylee and his mother.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ONE YEAR LATER
“There's one big difference between good and real art,” Bastian said as he perched on a stool before his students–a diverse group of fifteen who stared back at him. Among them were a sixty-three-year-old woman who wanted to leave a legacy for her grandchildren, a sixteen-year-old kid who had wanted to paint his girlfriend in the nude, and a thirty-year- old woman who had tried everything to forget the face of the man who’d raped her. Each of them had a story to tell, and it was up to Bastian to teach them how best to tell it.
“Real art isn’t simply paint on canvas. It lives and it breathes. And it does so whether anyone is there to see it or not. Real art is its own beginning, its own ending, and we become part of it just as it becomes part of us. It is who we are, who we have been—and what we will become.” He looked at the portrait of Kaylee he’d painted based on Denna’s Christmas gift. Kaylee dressed in an angel’s costume.
He closed his eyes and almost thought he could feel her tulle wings between his fingertips, her soft breath caressing his cheek, the peals of her laughter ringing out. He could see the white ribbons and lace of her dress fluttering in the air, her luminous eyes glowing with youthful bliss. He smiled and opened his eyes.
“Next week we’ll start painting faces. Perhaps it’s best to start with someone close to you. Have a good weekend.” His voice thinned, and he clenched his teeth, counting each breath until the tears stopped threatening. He looked at the drawing of Kaylee he’d completed just after they’d met, and a lump thickened in his throat.
Bastian began clearing his desk. His throat still hurt from keeping his emotions in check, and he sank into his chair, leaning forward, wondering if this pain would ever lessen.
“Bastian?”
He jerked upright and found Denna Renard standing in the doorway. “How have you been, Ms. Renard?”
“Some days are better than others. Did you do all of these?” Her pale face and unsure step told him all he needed to know, and her words confirmed it. As she moved to his desk, she looked at the portraits of Kaylee scattered throughout the room. Bastian shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced at his work.
“Yes.” Heels clattering across the floor, she stole about the room, scrutinizing each one. She ended up in front of the painting of Kaylee in the Halloween costume, the same one Bastian had always been drawn to. As she stood there, Bastian noticed her shoulders begin to sag, and she lowered her head.
“Kaylee was my only living child. The others I miscarried. Five of them. She was the last one I could have, and she was a miracle. Only I didn’t see it.” Denna lifted her trembling hand and touched her hair as though checking to make sure it were perfect. Sometimes, Bastian thought, People just need something to do to keep their hands busy.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. He looked out the window as dusk descended upon the busy city. He picked out the headlights of a single distant car and watched draw closer. Something to keep me busy, he thought.
“No, I’m sorry.” Denna turned to him, her eyes shining with unspent tears. “I never told Kaylee about the miscarriages, and she thought the charities were for other children because I didn’t love her. What else could she have thought?” She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her hands up and down them as though chilled, despite the fur coat she wore.
“You don’t have to tell me this,” Bastian said, staring at the car. It was a Mercedes, not unlike Kaylee’s, but blue—blue like her eyes. Bastian winced.
“No, I do. I had always wanted a large family, and from the day I conceived each of those children, I had named them, only to lose them. I...wasn’t ready to let them go, and I thought I had time with Kaylee. I always thought I had time, but you were right. I did lose her in the end.”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Bastian winced. He shook his head and kept staring at the approaching car. Not a Mercedes at all, then—a Volvo, was it? There was a couple inside he noted—a man and a woman, and he wondered absently where they’d come from and where they were going. To the park, maybe, loaded down with bread for a few hungry ducks. Probably not. Maybe they weren’t going anywhere at all.
“Why? Because it was true? It was so true that I couldn’t sleep for weeks after...Oh, God,” she whispered, walking toward him. She placed one hand over her face as her voice thickened. Her knees wobbled, threatening to give way, but Bastian caught her by the arm, supporting her.
“There’s not time in this life for guilt, Mrs. Renard. It’s a pointless emotion, anyway. Maybe you shouldn’t have listened to me. It wasn’t my place to say anything.” He wrapped his arm around her and led her to a chair, but she refused to sit.
“I’m all right,” she whispered. The color had drained from her face. Her fingers latched onto him, and he didn’t have the heart to pull away. “You are the one person Kaylee loved, and now I finally understand why.” She stared at him. “You listened to her. It mattered to you what she thought and how she felt. I never once heard what she was trying to tell me.” She leaned on him, allowing Bastian to support her.
“It still wasn’t my place.”
“And whose place was it? I loved Kaylee, and so did you. Who else was going to say something to me? I was haughty and angry and so sure you were wrong, but the error was mine. I misjudged you, and I am sorry.” Denna finally straightened, and Bastian averted his eyes.
“If you ever need something, Bastian, call me. Even if you just want to talk. Maybe someday you can tell me about the woman my daughter became.” Denna turned and quietly drifted to the door. She looked back at the Halloween portrait.
The former haughtiness had vanished, leaving not a woman who held her shoulders square to the world but instead one whose body had been bowed by the sting of grief. She looked not above him, nor even ahead but instead at the floor. As much as loving Kaylee had hurt, he knew what not showing that love had cost Denna, and he pitied her.
“I have something for you,” Bastian called as he lifted the Halloween painting from the nails holding it to the wall.
“I couldn’t possibly….” As Bastian walked toward her, carrying the painting, she lifted her left hand. Tears pooled in her eyes and glittered in the fluorescent lighting.
“I insist.” Bastian smiled and touched her shoulder. “I was getting ready to lock up, anyhow, so I’ll carry it to the car for you.” He looked back at a portrait he’d painted of himself and Kaylee, standing in front of the ocean as the sun set. They were both smiling and young, so sure nothing could separate them. Maybe it wasn’t really either of them. Kaylee hadn’t been that carefree when they’d met, and he had never seen the ocean, but he knew she’d have shown it to him someday. It wouldn’t be in this life, but that didn’t matter. As hard as it was for him to imagine never having been to the beach, it was even harder still to imagine a life without her, and it helped to think of what she might have one day shared with him. No, the portrait wasn’t real, but it gave him hope of what might be possible someday.
Denna walked down the hall, leaving Bastian with the paintings, and he smiled.
“Good night, Kaylee.”
Silent Scream
(Sample Chapter)
by
Maria Rachel Hooley
Silent Scream
© 2010 Maria Rachel Hooley
Cover Image by Stephen Moeller
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—except for brief quotations in printed review without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
Chapter One
“The full moon really brings ‘em in, doesn’t it?” Maddie Gilcrest asked, pulling off her scrub cap
Yolanda smiled and grabbed a pen from her work space. “Yep. You look dead tired. You should head home and try to sleep.” She snatched up the last chart, checking to make sure the patient’s vitals had been noted.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Maddie strode down the hall and ducked into the physician’s lounge/changing area. She plopped onto a narrow bench and peeled the scrubs from her chinos and dress shirt. As she tossed the hat and scrubs in the linen hamper, she reached into her locker and retrieved her coat and purse. Tension corded her neck and back, bunching the muscles into taut, unyielding knots. She rolled her shoulders, trying to quell the ache.
As she left the lounge and walked past the nurses’ station, Yolanda waved. “Have a good evening, Maddie.”
“I will,” she replied, fishing keys from her purse. “Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone.”
Yolanda winked. “Don’t worry. We’ll give it all to Ashford. All for you. And just think—the woman in 12 is about to have triplets.”
Maddie grinned, picturing Ashford delivering babies. For a man in his forties and a doctor to boot, he knew about as much about women and babies as the Christmas cactus blooming in the corner. He assumed every woman liked the name Sweetie, and had Maddie been able to prove sexual harassment when he’d “accidentally” brushed his hands across her rear, she would’ve.
Maddie buttoned her coat. “Take down all the details, will you?”
Passing through the emergency room entrance, she stepped out into the November night, where winter’s chill lashed at her. As she walked through the almost empty garage, Maddie mused that most sane people were in bed at 2 a.m. Then again, Maddie had never claimed to be sane.
Moments later, she pulled out of the garage and headed to a home Yolanda said was too far away for comfort. Still, Maddie enjoyed the drive and her privacy, even if part of the trip did take her through the country in the blackest part of night.
The full moon glowed in the bluish-black sky and gleamed off the black Lexus Maddie drove. An unexpected cold front had moved in earlier, and even the steering wheel felt frozen. Maddie shivered and glanced at the heater. Most of the windshield was glazed over save for the small patch the wipers had cleared.
“By the time I get home, the heater should blow warm air,” she muttered, shivering. One hand gripped the wheel, and the other drew her coat collar tighter about her neck. She ducked low to peer out of the only clear patches on the glass.
The miles passed, and she plucked the hair clip loose, letting her long, brown hair spill over her shoulders and down her back, cascading free of its rigid bun. Covering her neck, it hampered the cold air. “Damn, it’s brisk,” she snapped, switching hands on the wheel and thrusting the other into the folds of her coat. She’d repeated the process three times—or was it four—before the turn came at last and found her on the dark country lane that would eventually lead her home.
She double-checked the defroster’s setting again. The frost coating the glass refused to give up. When she glanced up again, she saw a brake lights not fifty feet ahead.
“Oh, God!” Maddie stomped on the brakes. She wrenched the wheel to the left and swerved, but too late–the Lexus slid into a battered white truck.
Thankfully, the collision was mild; still, Maddie gripped her sides as an ache seized her muscles, and she sucked air. Seconds later the pain abated as she eased open the door. Stepping out, she wrapped her arms around her torso and scurried from the car to the truck. Her hood had crumpled into the unyielding wall of the truck’s fender. “I can’t believe I just did that,” she stammered, staring at the small dent in the primer-spotted truck and the crunched fender of her car. “I am so sorry.”
“Are you, now?” a flat masculine voice replied as a tall, twenty-something guy stepped away from the driver’s side and walked to where Maddie stood. She noticed first his crisp, white shirt and the moonlight glinting off the ring he wore. She glanced at his face, taking in the hard line of his jaw as he gritted his teeth. The same rigidity gripped his shoulders and the rest of his body, over six feet of it. Frowning, Maddie sized him upas she did with a lot of the male patients she saw in the ER. It was a habit anymore, considering how sometimes she had to move them in a hurry, and as she looked at this man, she knew he weighed at least 240, his broad shoulders revealed that much. His boots snapped amid the gravel of the road as he ambled toward her. His breath, seasoned with alcohol, sounded like he had been running. He was just a few feet away.
Maddie turned her attention to her surroundings as she realized just how isolated she was-a stretch of road that hardly anyone drove during the day. No cars. No streetlights. No cops.
“I’ll get my insurance card,” she said, thinking of the mace in her purse.
As she turned, he whistled. “Baby, you don’t have to do that. I’ll let you work off what you owe.” She felt his hand creep between her legs and grab her, pinching. “I’ll just put a fucking dent in you, and we’ll be even.”
She jerked away. “Stop it!” She hurried to the driver’s door. Please, God, just let me get inside this car! Her fingers curled under the handle, and she jerked open the door. Half-falling into the driver’s seat, she tried to pull the door closed, but his body blocked it as he reached for her. She grabbed one of his hands, but the other wrapped around her throat. She dug her nails into his skin until he yelped and she could pull his hand away.
He grabbed her hair and yanked her back against him. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” he seethed, reaching to savagely squeeze one breast, kneading the flesh so hard she could almost feel the bruising.
Maddie tried to grab his hand, and as she couldn’t release his grip, she raked her fingernails across it, gouging his skin.
“Bitch!” he snarled, grabbing her arm, twisting it until it protruded upward just a scant inch from snapping. “You fucked up my truck. Now it’s my turn to fuck you up!” He pushed her elbow higher, snapping the bone.
A white pain filled her. She screamed. Her body started to fall, but he grabbed her, half-carrying, half-dragging her to his truck. He shoved her inside and climbed in behind the wheel. “Shut
up!” he yelled, slamming his fist across her face, her stomach.
Still, she screamed.
He grabbed her throat and squeezed.
Maddie gasped and slumped against the passenger door. Darkness danced in her vision. Despite the fog suffocating her brain and the pain blistering her arm, she thought, Sweet Jesus, He’s going to kill me.
* * *
“Don’t look at me like that, Donner—it’s 15 degrees out there and three in the morning. It’s not going to take that long to get home.” Gabriel Martin gripped the wheel tightly as he navigated the highway, his high beams the only thing unsettling the darkness swallowing his truck. Still he looked at the German shepherd pawing and whining at door, its brown eyes pleading for freedom. As Gabriel spoke, the dog scratched harder, wagging its tail and whining more.
“You’re actually serious,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. Sighing, he reluctantly flipped the blinker so he could turn down a side road. While Donner was pretty-well trained, he wasn’t taking any chances about getting the fire house mascot hit—never mind that the damned dog had bounded into his vehicle earlier this evening with great expectations. Nobody’d been able to coax him out, so Gabriel had taken him along to see his brother. “I hate winter,” he growled, sliding one arm into a coat sleeve and then the other. As Gabriel grabbed the leash, the dog darted forward and jumped upon him, allowing Gabriel to fasten the leash to the dog’s collar. Gabriel opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air.
“Let’s get down to business,” he said, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “I’m not standing out here all night.”
When Angels Cry Page 22
