Mitchell was waiting at the front door when Trisha unlocked it and peered inside.
“Where have you been?”
“I didn’t think you’d be home so soon.” Was her voice a little too bright? “I went out for a walk and thought I’d get something for dinner.” She picked up a pizza box from the wrought-iron bench on the porch and carried it inside.
He glanced at the jeans that hung down around her hips and one of his shirts he’d given her to wear, with the tails tied around her stomach to reveal her navel and far too much of her abdomen.
“Where did you get the money?”
“I raided the cash you always leave on your dresser. You’ve done that forever, Dad. And you don’t have a lot of food in the house.”
He could smell the sharp smoky scents of tomato sauce and cheese and the mellow aroma of freshly baked bread. For just a moment he allowed himself to be relieved. She was home. And she was hungry.
But as he followed her into the kitchen his relief ebbed. Something about the way she behaved—a little too quick to explain where she’d been, unwilling to meet his gaze...
“I don’t suppose you happened to run into any of your old friends while you were out walking.” He pulled some plates from the cabinet and set them on the table.
“No.” None of the defensiveness he would have expected from her.
He gave her a brief look as he took napkins from another counter. “You might not have heard about the major meth house raid we had a week before Simon died. Tony Dalton organized it and they took down some major players. They’ve caught a few more since then. Even blind, Tony is very vigilant and the drug trade has dwindled a great deal recently.”
She gave that one-shoulder shrug. “So why are you telling me this?”
The effort to appear nonchalant didn’t fool him. “Because I don’t want you to waste time looking for something that isn’t there.”
A flush rose to her face. She didn’t reply.
It almost confirmed his suspicions and it frightened him. “Tell me something, Trisha. Why did you really come back to Dogwood Springs?”
She opened the box of pizza, fumbling with the cardboard. “Because I was kicked out of my apartment and didn’t have any place else to go.”
“Any other reason?”
She shot him an irritated glance and grabbed one of the plates from the table, shoved a slice of pizza onto it, slapped it onto the table at his place. “Why don’t you tell me since you seem to know so much.”
He secretly suspected her source ran dry in Springfield and she thought she could con her parents out of more money if she came home and played the contrite daughter.
She waited for him to answer. He shook his head. “I couldn’t say.”
He gestured toward the pizza. “Are we going to eat?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you really think first?”
How was he supposed to handle this? She was behaving like an immature teenager. He’d never lived with a junkie before so he didn’t know what to expect, but he knew he didn’t want to lose her to the drugs again. He must not drive her away.
“You’ve already told me you don’t have a place to stay. Home was your last resort.” He swallowed his suspicions. “I guess it’s enough for now that you still see this as a place of safety, even if it is the last place you’d come.”
“I could have done other things,” she said. ‘I could have stolen the ingredients and cooked a batch of meth for myself and enough extra to sell. I could have resorted to selling my body on the streets.”
“Then I have that to be thankful for.”
She looked down at her plate.
“I know I’m coming across as suspicious, even hostile,” he said. “I’m sorry. You can stay here and let me help you through this or you can go out there and take your chances. I have a feeling that as mean as I am, your drug buddies can be meaner.”
As she continued to stare at her plate his own thoughts mocked him. What made him think he could help her now? He couldn’t even help himself.
***
“It wasn’t Archer!” Dwight’s cry shot through the house, interrupting prayers and tears and bringing a loud gasp from Helen.
He came dancing into the kitchen, holding his cell phone above his head as if it were proof of his words. “Said it wasn’t him!”
“You sure?” John asked.
“Yep. Said it was some older guy with gray hair. They’re trying to find some ID now, but it wasn’t our Archer!”
The house erupted. John Netz hugged his wife. Eileen caught Jessica in a choking grip, tears streaming down her face. Over Eileen’s shoulder, Jessica saw Lauren cover her face with her hands and slump into a chair.
“Thank you, God,” Jessica whispered as her mother-in-law released her and turned to the others. “Thank you.”
“But who was the poor man?” Helen asked softly.
“Guess we’ll wait and find out,” Dwight said.
***
Archer awakened shivering, teeth chattering. He found himself lying in a tangle of leaves and vines with water trickling nearby. The pain was gone. For a moment, he allowed himself time to appreciate the relief. Maybe the soak in river water had reduced some of the swelling in his back.
He welcomed the respite, and for a moment he lay still, with his forehead resting in the cold, clammy leaves and pine needles. Amazingly, he was alive after his tumultuous ride. As rotten a swimmer as he’d always been, that in itself was another miracle.
“Thank you, Lord,” he whispered through chattering teeth. “Now can I go home?”
Still shivering, he reached through the darkness for the log that had carried him here. The scent of pine wafted over him, and his hand came into contact with the lower branch of an evergreen of some kind. He tried to bend his knees, test his legs, see if he could at least move them beneath him for leverage. A branch must have snagged on his slacks, because he couldn’t jerk free.
He angled for a firmer hold on the branch with both hands and tried again to bend his knees.
Nothing.
He reached down with his left hand and felt around to discover where he was caught. He couldn’t feel his own hand touching his leg.
The cold shock of awful knowledge took his breath.
He couldn’t feel anything below his waist.
The litany of prayer that he had continued in his heart, even through the black unconsciousness, now drifted into silence as the discovery surged through him like knives of ice. He was paralyzed.
Panic screamed through him with such violence that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. He could only grit his teeth and try to still the racing, black ugliness of his deepest fears. He clenched his hands and screamed into the night for help, heard the echo of his voice from the cliffs, screamed again.
“No!” he cried. He gritted his teeth and heaved another cry into the damp earth. “I’m going to die here, crippled and helpless, after all this... No!”
An overwhelming sense of defeat paralyzed his mind just as the river had done to his legs. He hated this river that had wrenched him into its depths like a black demon tide. It seemed as if the storms that had attacked Dogwood Springs lately had narrowed their focus to him personally.
No one was there to hear him.
He grasped the lower branches of the tree and pulled himself, inch by inch, away from the water’s edge. He rested his head on a cluster of pine needles, fighting despair, shivering, teeth chattering.
He’d never been this helpless before.
Pulling his jacket more closely around him, Archer collapsed, still shivering, abandoned.
***
Jessica climbed into Lauren’s truck, pulled the seat belt snugly around her, and leaned back. “I’ll never forget this, Lauren. You should be with the Sheldons tonight—I heard you on the phone.”
“They’ll understand once they know. You obviously needed some time alone, especially after that awful scare. I can’t believe Dwight did that. Couldn’t he have w
aited until they knew who the victim was? Or at least who he wasn’t?”
“It wasn’t just Dwight that had me upset. I’ve never been this weepy and emotional and you should have heard me with poor Mrs. Netz before Dwight even came to the house. I nearly snapped her head off.”
“Hormones.”
“Hormones?”
Lauren took Jessica’s arm and squeezed it. She still hadn’t started the truck. “Get used to it. You’re pregnant. Add to that the fact that you’re nearly out of your mind with worry—”
“Which is a sin, as I’ve been reminded tonight—”
“Which is a human emotion. Would you lighten up on yourself a little bit? Emotion is not sin.”
“Sorry. Helen knows how to push my buttons.”
“She does seem to have some kind of a hang-up about you. Guess you’ll have to deal with her the way I deal with my mom when she starts interfering a little too much.”
“How’s that?”
“Kill her with kindness and pray really hard for her.”
Jessica smiled. “I’ll try both.”
“So I bet you’re dying to talk about babies, right?” Lauren said. “Did you know twins run in Archer’s family? I think he said once that his mother was a twin, and he had twin cousins. I know a little about that since I have twins in my family and I’m considering the possibility of marrying a man who also has them.”
It was the right thing to say. Jessica chuckled. “Can you imagine if we had quadruplets?”
“I wouldn’t want to think about it.”
Jessica placed a hand over her abdomen. “Oh Lauren, a baby.”
“You’ll be a great mom.”
“Half of me wants to run out tomorrow and buy baby clothes and redecorate a bedroom for a nursery. I’m ready to start wearing maternity dresses right now.” She stopped and stared out the window. “And part of me wants to scream with fury that Archer isn’t here with me at a time like this. He would be the most happy father in the world.” She was quiet for a moment and then whispered, “Tell me, Lauren, what am I going to do if he’s really dead?”
“I don’t even want to think about that possibility.”
“But we both know the statistics. The longer he’s missing the less likely he’ll be found alive. I need to be prepared in case the worst does happen. That little scare might have been just a precursor for worse to come.”
Lauren glanced toward her through the dim glow of the streetlight. “If the worst happens you’re going to depend on friends and family and nurture that baby and get through it. You know you won’t be alone no matter what.”
“Someone told me the other day that they hoped we would quickly find out one way or the other what had happened to Archer, because they thought waiting was the worst part.”
“Is that how you feel?”
“No. They’re wrong. Knowing for sure that Archer is dead would be the worst part. I realized that the hard way tonight when Dwight dropped his little bombshell on us.”
“I agree.”
“Would you take me to the river?” Jessica asked.
“At night? The sun’s already—”
Jess placed a hand on Lauren’s arm. “Since Archer’s car was found there... if he did get forced off the bridge... I don’t know... I think I’ll feel closer to him there, or at least closer to finding him there. If he was conscious he would have done all he could to fight his way to shore.”
Lauren started the truck, put it into gear, pulled away from the curb. “In that case, why don’t we drive to the river?”
Jessica sat back in her seat. “Thanks.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Tuesday morning Mitchell jerked upright with a gasp.
Eyes. Those same glowing red eyes had been staring at him through the darkness.
He dabbed perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand.
As he tossed the comforter aside his alarm went off suddenly, startling him beyond reason. He snapped it off and got out of bed, shuddering at the memory of those red eyes.
He’d heard stories about people who thought they were being haunted in their dreams and who lost their sanity when those dreams began to follow them when they were awake.
He was not one of those people. And he wanted to know the source of that fragmented, confusing dream. But it was unlikely he would find it.
Still, for it to recur this often...
He went to the attached garage and switched on the overhead lights. Since Saturday he’d tended to avoid this garage, preferring, instead, to drive the Audi and try to push his little brush-guard bender from his mind during working hours. He had too many other more important things to worry about.
But in spite of everything he couldn’t stop wondering exactly what had caused the accident and where he had been when it happened. He had obviously hit his head but that wouldn’t have happened at the wheel with the airbags deploying. That could mean he had fallen afterward, possibly during a completely unrelated event. He could have tripped on the nightstand Friday night.
He couldn’t stop wondering why those red eyes continued to haunt him. Other nightmares vanished as soon as he opened his eyes. This one had more substance.
He also couldn’t stop thinking about Archer Pierce.
He studied the Envoy. Dried mud caked the guard and tires and made splash patterns on the black body of the vehicle.
He descended the steps and bent over to examine the guard, dented in two places. What was the connection?
He brushed away some of the dried mud on the dented grill. Where had it come from? He wouldn’t have picked this up between here and the hospital because the roads were paved.
He closed his eyes. Focus, Mitchell.
All he saw were those devilish red eyes flashing at him, taunting him—sometimes bright, sometimes dim, sometimes winking slyly.
Tranquen hallucinations? Even overdoing the dosage lately, he doubted it would carry over into the next morning like this. Tranquen had a fairly short half-life.
Post-concussion syndrome? That was a possibility. Those symptoms were fatigue, dizziness, headache, and difficulty concentrating after mild head injury.
Fingering the tender spot, he climbed into the cab of the SUV. It was quite a sight with both the side and the front air bags hanging and powder everywhere.
Focus.
The last time he had sat behind this wheel he had just arrived home from... where? The hospital? He must have driven somewhere else to pick up the mud.
But why?
Friday night, soon after taking the first pill, he’d had a conversation with Archer. Much of it about God, he could be sure, knowing Archer’s penchant for the subject. Funny how many of Mitchell’s thoughts turned to the supernatural when the drugs first began to kick in, almost as if his grip on reality tried to slip a few notches.
So this meant that he might have been one of the last people to see Archer before he disappeared that night.
Experts had decided that Archer had almost certainly lost control of his vehicle, either getting hit by a tide of flash-flood water as he tried to cross the bridge, or farther up the hill, possibly hydroplaning on the road above the Black Oak River.
It was the hydroplaning that concerned Mitchell.
Was it possible that he, too, had encountered difficulty that night? Not as likely, of course, with this heavy SUV compared to Archer’s little car.
Still, with the flooding Friday it was likely half the cars on the road in Dogwood Springs that night had encountered mud.
He switched on the headlights and got out of the vehicle to make sure everything was in working order. He would have to get the brush guard repaired—or purchase a new one—and get the air bags replaced but he could find no damage otherwise. He must not have been traveling very fast.
He circled the back of the Envoy and found that the taillights worked perfectly. He frowned and stepped backward. Something about those lights drew him.
He completed the circle a
round the SUV, checked the headlights, nodded, satisfied there was no electrical damage. He was stepping into the vehicle once more when he hesitated, frowned, and got back out again. Had he missed some evidence of damage?
As soon as he reached the back of the vehicle the second time and saw the red glow and closed his eyes, another memory slipped into place—a very vital piece of the puzzle. Those “demon” eyes that had haunted him for the past few days—they were taillights.
Someone else’s taillights?
Archer’s taillights?
Mitchell felt energy drain from him. He saw the flash of red imprinted on his lids. “What have I done?”
He climbed back into the Envoy and switched off the lights. Then he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes once more. He focused on those “eyes.” It was so hard to focus on anything lately for a very long period of time but the pictures matched and merged into one. Taillights reflecting against a rain-washed road—it was exactly the vision that continued to trouble him.
Had he passed Archer on the road for some reason? And if so, what possible reason could he have had to be on that road at that time in the storm?
Crazy. Especially since he always tried to be conscientious about getting home before the drug could affect his reaction time.
Of course, there was that evening when he had caught the side of the garage door with the grill—barely nicked the metal frame, barely smudged the grill. He’d told no one. And there had been the time he’d fallen asleep at his desk at the clinic.
Was it possible he’d somehow caused Archer’s accident?
If he was finally experiencing some recall this might be the time to drive back out and try again to find the place where he had awakened Friday night. Maybe now he would recognize something.
He checked on Trisha and found her still asleep. She knew he would be home tonight. He would drive the Envoy this time, after a quick cleanup.
***
Archer awakened to the sound of beautiful music. Were those angels? It was the most heavenly singing. There was a whisper of a gentle breeze on his skin. Like heaven.
He opened his eyes and stared past a lacing of pine branches into the bluest Missouri sky he had ever seen. Not heaven. He saw the flutter of bird wings in the branches of a nearby oak tree that was sprigged with the leaves of spring green.
URGENT CARE Page 27
