Inevitable Sentences

by Tekla Dennison Miller

  “I know that,” Max barked. “Don’t you ever get upset or anxious?” he asked with even more irritation.

  “No sense in that. For instance, what good would it do me tonight? It won’t make the storm go away, and it won’t get us to Big Bay any sooner. And I need my wits about me to navigate the road.”

  “Humph,” Max growled. “You whined enough about Stump. Where was your composure then?”

  “I said getting upset didn’t help, but I thought if I sounded like a snot-nosed kid over Stump you’d help out. I was wrong, especially for harassing you.” He hesitated. “Besides, I finally got an appointment with the director for next week. Unfortunately, that’s too late.”

  “You tricked me?” Max shook his head.

  “Yeah.” Eagle allowed himself a fleeting smile. “I did.”

  “Damn.”

  Max hated that Eagle was right and that he had deceived him. Still he couldn’t help wanting to go faster. What difference would it make if speeding up a little endangered them? If anything happened to Celeste he didn’t want to live anyway. He’d also never forgive himself for not coming clean about Chad. Even more important, he couldn’t imagine life without Celeste. First his wife and then Celeste? Losing both women he loved couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it.

  After several minutes with only the tires crunching over the snow to break the silence, Eagle glanced at Max and said, “You’re rather pensive, sir.”

  “Keep your eyes on the road and not me. And don’t call me sir. You make me sound like an ancient artifact.” Max rambled on so he wouldn’t have to talk about how he actually felt.

  “Still.” Eagle paused. “You’re uncommonly quiet.” He checked Max from the corners of his eyes.

  Max ignored Eagle’s comment. “Where do you think we are?” Although he had a hunch about their location, he thought maybe his question would divert Eagle from worrying about him.

  Eagle checked the odometer. “We’re about eight miles from Big Bay. It won’t be long before we’re there.”

  “That’s eleven to the lighthouse.” Max pressed his forehead against the passenger window and cupped his hands around his face. He still couldn’t see anything except the passing of a nearby tree whose bare limbs seemed to grab at him.

  When the window fogged over, Max lowered his hands and let his forehead rest against the cool glass. Again an image of Celeste came into his mind. This time she lay on the fading braided rug covering the lighthouse living room floor. A halo of blood surrounded her body. Max sat upright and shook his head.

  “What’s the matter? Are you in pain? Do you want me to stop?” Eagle fired the questions at Max so rapidly they slurred together.

  “I’m fine.” Max’s tone was harsh. “I’m not in pain and I certainly do not want you to stop. I want you to speed up or fly or something more than poke along like an old man.” He pulled the packet of nitroglycerine from his pocket and slipped a pill under his tongue.

  “What’s that?” Eagle asked.

  “Nothing. Keep your eyes on the road and get me to Big Bay.” Max laid his head against the seat back. That image of Celeste had been too real. It made him sick to his stomach. Suddenly tears poured from his eyes as though they came from some other person. He couldn’t stop them or slow them down. His body shuddered as he sobbed without care. What kind of wimp was he?

  Eagle braked. The car slid to the side of the road nearly into the woods. He corrected the direction and took a deep breath. “What is wrong with you?” he shouted in alarm.

  Max braced his hands against the dash. “Me? What’s wrong with you and your driving?” He sounded like a kid challenging an older brother. “Sorry,” he quickly added.

  “You’re having a great deal of difficulty and I need to know what’s happening.” Eagle never looked away from the road and resumed the plodding pace.

  Max pulled a tissue from his jacket pocket and wiped his eyes. He blew his nose and noticed that Eagle clutched the steering wheel with such pressure he might bend it. “It’s Chad.” Max stuffed the soggy tissue back into the pocket.

  “What about him? Other than he’s a …”

  Max knew Eagle had caught himself before he said something that would make Max feel worse. “He’s a cold-blooded murderer?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “He’s also Pilar Brookstone’s half brother.” Max pushed his hand through his hair, then slowly turned his head to look into the passing countryside so encased in black it reminded him of tar.

  “What? How could that be? How did you know?” Eagle’s questions came rapidly. He had to take a deep breath when he finished.

  Did Max imagine it, or was Eagle going faster?

  “Her father, Marcus, came to visit me shortly after Celeste had been to the prison. Like Celeste, he also visited Chad. After the visit, Marcus told me the truth. That he had had an affair with Chad’s mother. I was stunned.” Max paused. He squeezed his eyes closed. “Damn. I am so stupid. How did I think I would keep this from Celeste? What good did I think it would do?”

  “You obviously thought it would protect her.” Eagle glanced at Max. “I would have done the same thing. It is a horrid revelation. How much pain could she have endured, her daughter dead and then finding out the murderer was her stepson?”

  Max began crying again. “I know Celeste is fully capable of bearing the emotional anguish of Chad’s background. That’s not the same as the physical torture she may be going through tonight.” He slammed his fist against the dash over and over, considering the burning from the impact as atonement.

  Eagle reached over and grabbed Max’s hand to stop him. “You can’t fall apart now. Nothing can be done about our past actions. Look to the future, sir.”

  Max wanted to slug Eagle for his nauseating practicality. Did he detect optimism? Besides, Max should be the one giving that kind of advice. Wasn’t he supposed to be the strong person everyone looked to for solutions? Wasn’t he supposed to be steadfast under all circumstances?

  Bullshit.

  Max was tormented by what might be happening to Celeste because of his own inability to tell her the truth. He could actually feel such a severe pain in his own gut it was as though someone had twisted a knife in him. The emotional pain was far worse than his heart attack.

  “I don’t care what I’m supposed to be. I’ve let Celeste down. I don’t know if she will ever forgive me,” Max said and then added in nearly a whisper, “if she makes it through the night.”

  “Warden Stump and I let everyone down, me more than him. If I had acted sooner and told the regional director about Stump things wouldn’t have gotten this bad at the prison. And if I had followed up on my suspicions about Lizzie Chatfield—” Eagle’s voice cracked. “Especially,” he continued, “that I believed something was going down at the prison and not only with the warden, then Chad might not have escaped and Lizzie would be alive. That other woman wouldn’t be fighting for her life, either.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d lose my job if I told on Stump. Talk about selfish. If you have to blame anyone for this whole mess, blame me.”

  Max wiped the tears from his face again. “We all can see things better when we look back on them. You know hindsight and all. Didn’t you say that we need to pull together and move forward? The past is the past? Let’s do that. Let’s get our hands around the neck of that son of a bitch.” He wanted to finish the statement with, “and throw him over the cliff,” but controlled the urge.

  “And choke the life out of him, sir?” Again that fleeting smile.

  “Damn it, don’t call me sir. Call me Max. Give me your damn cell phone. I’m calling Hunter to see what’s going on.”

  Eagle pulled the phone from his pocket and handed it to Max. As Max started to punch in Hunter’s number, Eagle said, “It’s on my speed dial. All the law enforcement numbers are.”

  Max shrugged and kept dialing. He’d known the number for years. When Hunter answered, Max shouted into the phone, “What’s going on? What
have you found out?”

  Hunter’s voice boomed. “Several members of the Emergency Support Team are in place; I’m at Thunder Bay Inn about to head over to the lighthouse. Some of the hostage team is on its way. Not everyone can get here. We do have enough personnel on site to …”

  The connection wasn’t clear. Max thought Hunter said “take care of business.” A satisfying thought.

  Hunter’s voice cut in and out. Max made him repeat his comments a couple of times.

  “Did you say that Adrian and the other women and children are at the inn?” Max asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I need to speak to Adrian.”

  “She’s”—Hunter hesitated—“with the children. They’re really shaken by all of this. Give her some time.”

  “Who isn’t shaken?”

  “When Adrian’s up to it and she gets the children settled, I’ll have her call you,” Hunter said. “I’ve been keeping contact with Joan and Ned. They’ll let me know when the time is right.”

  “That’s it?” Max sounded irritated.

  “That’s all I have for now. I told you I’d keep you posted. Be patient.”

  “Patient, my ass. When have you ever known me to be patient? Never mind. Get on with your business.” Max disconnected. He ignored Hunter’s offer to have Adrian call when she could. Max couldn’t wait that long. He dialed Celeste’s cell phone number again to see if he could reach Adrian.

  No answer. Why didn’t she answer?

  Chapter Twenty

  MIDNIGHT

  CELESTE COULD HEAR BELLS tolling. What was it? A clock? She tried to lift her head from the chair back, but something tugged at her hair and a twinge shot through her scalp. She raised her hand, a deadweight, to check. What was holding her hair? At last, after what seemed liked several minutes, she reached the back of her head and worked her numb fingers through the strands of her hair. They felt gooey in some areas and crusty in others. From what? Where was she? Was she dead?

  One last bell chimed. Was that twelve? Celeste felt as though someone had slugged her with a brick. Too exhausted to do anything more, she rested her head against the back of the chair.

  A few moments later, Celeste attempted to open her eyes, but they seemed to be glued shut. Every effort to part her lids prickled like a hundred pins being pushed into the soft flesh surrounding them. After several more tries, she managed to raise her lids halfway. Everything was a blur. Everything spun. What was happening? She closed her eyes again to stop the dizziness. Nevertheless, vomit rose to her throat, and she had to swallow it back. Her cheek seemed to be on fire and the inside of her mouth was swollen. She had to get a hold of herself. She had to remember.

  Did she hear something, someone move? Once more she strained to open her eyes. Concentrate. What did she see? She blinked several times, trying to get a clear vision. Even that small motion sent a shock wave through her head.

  The scent came before her sight. Bread. Celeste recalled the Lighthouse Bread. She was home. Her eyes shot wide open and she focused on a dark, muddled image in the doorway to the kitchen.

  “You’re awake,” the man said. “Good scones.” He raised his hand to show Celeste he was eating one.

  The man had helped himself to her scones. The voice sounded familiar. The more she stared in his direction, the clearer her vision became. Oh, God. Suddenly she remembered. Chad Wilbanks had broken into the lighthouse and held her hostage.

  “You look surprised to see me, Celeste. Did you think I would have left?” He laughed with hearty sarcasm. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t think of leaving you alone. Not like you and my father left me …”

  Chad didn’t finish his comment. But Celeste could guess what he meant.

  Celeste closed her eyes again. She didn’t want to look at him. How long had she been unconscious?

  Chad answered as though he had heard Celeste’s thoughts. “You’ve been out about a half hour. Long enough for me to make a delicious ham sandwich. I was really hungry.”

  Chad’s self-indulgence nauseated Celeste. She had no desire to share anything with him. He had already stolen the most precious person in the world from her and she didn’t want him to take anything else.

  Those were big thoughts from someone who could hardly move and who faced an armed, deranged killer. Her mind drifted. Not her fault. A killer hell-bent on punishing her for something over which she had no control.

  That thought suddenly brought Celeste back to the evening’s grotesque events. Although she knew she had been hit a couple of times, she actually was surprised to still be alive. She lifted her right arm with as slight a motion as possible so she wouldn’t attract Chad’s attention.

  She wasn’t tied to the chair. She wiggled her legs a little. They, too, were free. Since Chad’s arrogance made him sure of his power and strength, he wouldn’t think he needed to bind a victim. From what she had read, he never had before.

  Chad abruptly moved toward Celeste and soon he stood within inches of her. Using the barrel of his gun he lifted her chin and pushed the cold metal into her throat. Would this be the end?

  The pressure choked Celeste. She coughed, then swallowed. The barrel rose and fell slightly. Was this terror Celeste now experienced the same Pilar had felt when she faced her own death—the cold metal to her head?

  As quickly as he had approached, Chad backed away. His guttural laugh made him sound like an alien creature from another world. “I’ll let you stay alive a while longer. I told you that I want you to feel the torture I’ve felt for over twenty years. Trust me. I won’t let you off so easy.”

  Fear rose inside Celeste like the Lighthouse Bread dough. Odd, she thought of something comforting at a time like this. Perhaps it was the lingering scent of the bread that had brought such an image to her mind. Maybe she had needed to be reassured by something pleasantly familiar. Wasn’t that how prisoners of war and hostages said they stayed sane? They thought of all the positive times in their lives. They conjured images of anything that brought them contentment, that gave them reasons to live. She had to do the same.

  “Now,” Chad screamed.

  Celeste jumped at the loud and sudden outburst, then groaned from the pain shooting into her head.

  “You’ll know what it’s like to be in prison with no way out and no hope that anyone will help you.” He gazed off toward the lake and his thoughts seemed to disappear into the deep, cold water. “No one will help you,” he repeated.

  Celeste watched in amazement as Chad’s expression changed from the self-controlled cockiness of an arrogant killer to that of an old and confused man. She tried to keep her eyes focused on him, wanting to study him for more clues to his complex personality. If she could see who he really was, she might come up with a plan to defeat him. Her eyes grew heavy.

  Celeste’s semiconscious thoughts flowed in and out of wild Technicolor scenes from her life: Pilar practicing her piano. She could hear Pilar’s tentative fingers over the keys learning a new Mozart piece. She heard Bud, Pilar’s Lab, barking as the two of them raced down the front lawn toward the lake for a swim. She heard the delightful screeches of the lighthouse children playing cards.

  Celeste frowned when she caught a glimpse of seven-year-old Chad with Marcus outside Tiger Stadium. She remembered how quickly she had denied it to herself. She watched Chad’s strained walk toward her in the prison visiting booth, his legs hobbled by chains that dragged along the floor like the ghost of Christmas past. Finally, she could see Pilar’s casket as it was lowered into the grave.

  “Nooooooooooo!” she screamed and jolted awake. Jagged stabs blazed across her head and into her jaw.

  “Having a nightmare?” Chad asked. “Join the real world. My life has always been a nightmare.” He walked to her side. “You can scream all you want. No one will hear you. No one cares.”

  “They do care.” Celeste gave a chance response, although it was barely audible. “Trust me,” Celeste said, mimicking Chad’s earlier comment. “Someone will
be here soon. You won’t get away.” Was she sure?

  “Shut up, bitch.” Chad punched her in the jaw with the pistol grip one more time.

  Celeste’s wheeze gurgled with blood. A pain far worse than she remembered when giving birth rushed throughout her body. She longed to sleep, to lie down, to close her eyes. She wanted to believe this was all a bad dream and that it couldn’t be happening. Her head felt both heavy and light as though it couldn’t make up its mind how to react to the blow.

  She had no time to do anything. Chad grabbed a handful of her blood-knotted hair and pulled her head back. His eyes locked with hers, glowing with evil the likes of which she had never seen before. She felt one with the women she had given safe harbor. She unquestionably knew what they must have gone through with their abusers.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” he said in a dead voice. “You won’t be alive when they get here, if they do.” He shoved her head back against the chair, towering over her. His shadow grew as large as a monster’s. “I have plenty of time. No one can move quickly on those roads.” He cocked his head toward the woods. “If nothing else, I have plenty of time,” he repeated.

  Searing heat raced through Celeste’s body. Suddenly she felt as cold as the ice that covered the windows. She shuddered. How much more could she endure before help arrived? She had to hang on until the police got there. A flash of light from the woods raced across the wall in and out of the trees, reflecting their shadows throughout the living room.

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  FRIENDS TO THE END

  PINPOINT LIGHTS SHONE IN the distance. As Eagle and Max got closer, Max realized some were the pulsing lights of police vehicles. He couldn’t decide whether to be happy at the sight or not.