by Rita Herron
Several minutes later, he barreled into her complex and shut off his lights. The backup hadn’t arrived, but he couldn’t wait. “Stay here. I’ll come back after I check the apartment.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Be careful.”
He nodded. “I will. We’ll get this guy.” He paused and stroked her hair. “If you hear gunshots, radio for help.”
Her big dark eyes glistened with fear. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He gave her a slow smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” Then he ran his finger along her jaw and opened the car door. Looking around cautiously, he scanned the parking lot but saw nothing suspicious. Only a couple of teenagers necking and an old man walking his dog. He hurried up the sidewalk to Veronica’s apartment and inched up the steps, his hand covering his gun, ready to draw. Darkness hovered around him, and a shadow moved. He reached for his .38 as a big dog raced from the bushes. He exhaled a harsh breath. He’d almost pulled his gun on a golden retriever.
Taking the steps two at a time, he stopped at the door to her apartment, leaned one ear against it and listened. Nothing. He jiggled the door and it swung open, the squeaking of the rusty hinges echoing in the seemingly empty apartment. Slivers of moonlight streamed through the venetian blinds, illuminating his way as he crept inside. He scanned each corner and turned as he had the first time he’d come to her apartment. Nothing. Seconds dragged into minutes as he checked the rooms.
Finally he made his way back to the den and turned on the light.
Veronica stood by the phone, her hand resting on a tape recorder.
“I thought I told you to stay in the car.”
“I was worried.”
He slowly moved toward her and covered her hand. “What’s this?”
“It’s a recorder.” She sighed and looked at him with her big brown eyes. Two officers rushed in, guns drawn. Nathan held up his hand to stop them.
“The apartment’s clean. Search the complex.” The men rushed out to follow his orders. He punched the Play button and heard the same voice that had taunted Veronica at her office. His gut clenched.
“The tape recorder’s not mine,” she said on a whimper. “I swear it’s not mine.”
Nathan wanted to believe her. “Let me take it in and dust it for fingerprints. We can also check the voice print.”
Veronica nodded, her face pale. “I don’t understand why this is happening.” She turned away from him, her arms hugging her middle as if she needed to support herself. “I’m…I’m going to get some water.”
Nathan examined the recorder to see if it could have been programmed to go off at a certain time. He didn’t find anything to indicate it had. The sound of glass shattering in the kitchen jerked his head up.
“Oh, my God,” Veronica said in a strained voice.
Nathan rushed into the kitchen and saw glass slivers scattered across the floor. “What is it, Veronica?” She pointed to the front of her refrigerator where someone had taped newspaper clippings of the story about her parents’ deaths. He moved forward and steadied her with his hand. “These aren’t yours?”
“No,” she said in a heated whisper. “Of course they aren’t mine. Do you think I’d keep something like this on my refrigerator?”
Nathan was glad to see the anger flare in her eyes; it was better than the shock and desolation he’d seen a few minutes before. “No, I don’t,” he said honestly.
Veronica traced her thumb along the photograph of the gravestone. Her finger lingered at the headlines suggesting she might have been a child murderess. “I don’t know why someone would do this,” she said in a voice so soft he almost didn’t hear her.
“I don’t, either,” he said quietly, nestling his hand under her elbow to guide her to the table. “But I intend to find out.”
Veronica sat ramrod straight, her eyes glazed as he fixed her a cup of tea. He joined her, and they sipped in silence. “You don’t remember anything about that night?” he finally asked.
She shook her head and pushed a strand of hair from her face. Her hair swept her shoulders, stark black against the porcelain flesh of her neck, and hung like an ebony curtain shadowing the solemn angles of her delicate cheekbones. “I wish I did. I’ve tried so hard to remember.”
The other two officers appeared in the doorway. “We didn’t find anything, sir,” the youngest one said.
Nathan nodded. “I can take it from here. You two go on, but patrol this area tonight.” The men agreed, then left. Nathan turned to Veronica.
“Your past may not be the reason for these tauntings, but someone is certainly using them to hurt you,” Nathan said, thinking of the range of possibilities that existed.
“My past has always controlled my life.” Veronica emptied her cup and put it in the sink. “I have to face it and bury it so I can go on.”
“What are you talking about?” Nathan asked.
Dodging the shattered glass on the floor, she stepped forward and faced him, determination darkening her brown eyes. “I’m going to drive out to my parents’ old home. Maybe seeing the house—where they died—will trigger my memory.”
Nathan pushed away from the table. “You’re not going out there alone.”
“I need to do this,” she said as she walked into the den.
Nathan grabbed her arm and swung her around. “Veronica, you’re too upset to drive. Besides, even if you had your car, remember what Scroggins said about the place not being safe. No one’s lived in it for twenty years.”
In a defiant act that Nathan had to admire, Veronica jutted her chin out and said courageously, “I have to go.”
“Okay.” He released her arm and headed to the door. “But I’m going with you.”
FIVE MINUTES LATER, hands entwined, her stomach aching, Veronica stared at the haze of oncoming headlights dotting the highway and gathered her courage. She had to face the past. It was the only way she could move on. After finding the newspaper clippings on her refrigerator, she knew the past was a clue to all the mysterious things happening to her.
“You said the house was on Dover Drive?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. It’s at the end of the street,” Veronica said, remembering what her grandmother had told her. She could hear her grandmother’s sweet Southern voice: “Honey-child, you used to ride your tricycle all over the place. Drove your mama plumb crazy when you started riding a two-wheeler. You’d zoom up and down the dirt road, fly around the dead end, then screech your tires like you was hot as a fox on a road race.”
Veronica smiled at the memory of her grandmother’s voice. If only she could remember riding the bike, seeing her mother and father, hearing their voices. Sometimes she felt as if she had a big bottomless hole inside of her that would never be filled without those memories.
Then other times she trembled at the thought of recalling her parents’ deaths. Did she really want to remember the horrible details?
“Veronica, are you all right?” Nathan asked, turning on the side road that led to the subdivision.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just thinking.”
“About your parents?”
“Yes.” Sensing his sincerity, she considered sharing her feelings, but Nathan’s job stopped her. What if she remembered she had killed her parents? Could she handle knowing she had destroyed her own family? Would he arrest her?
A shiver tore through her, and Nathan glanced at her. “Cold?”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. She could hear the cold metal handcuffs clamping shut. “A little.”
“This isn’t much of a subdivision,” he said as the road narrowed. “It’s more like living in the country.”
“I know. It was a long time ago. Grandmother said the houses were on half-acre lots.”
Even in the dark, Veronica noticed there were only two other houses on the road. Both were old and dilapidated, barely livable. A black cat with a tiny white spot on its face darted across the road and Nathan swerved to miss it. “Geez. Crazy ani
mal’s going to get run over.”
“I guess he’s not used to seeing many cars out here,” Veronica said.
The car hit a pothole and he steered it around another one, then slowed as they neared a dirt drive. Tall pines and spruce trees lined the road casting shadows across the dark earth while a quarter moon provided just enough light for Veronica to see the ragged condition of her childhood home. Most of the trees were bare of leaves, their branches tired and frail with winter. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as the car crawled toward the old house. Morosely, she thought the dead-end street and deserted house symbolized her life.
What had once been a lovely white house with a front porch now looked weathered and saggy, with rotten boards, chipped paint and overgrown bushes marring the front stoop. A few of the shingles on the roof hung precariously to the side. Tree branches blown from a storm had crashed into one window, sending shards of broken glass across the wooden planks and front steps. The hedges and grass were overgrown, the yards full of weeds, and a mountain of kudzu covered a broken-down fence around the backyard. An old rusty wheelbarrow filled with pine straw lay overturned in the gravel drive.
Nathan stopped the car, flipped on the parking lights and turned off the engine. Dark clouds billowed above and thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. A few scattered raindrops glistened on the windshield.
Veronica forced her mind back to the photographs her grandmother had shown her—her father pushing her in a homemade swing from the oak tree in the front yard, her mother planting petunias around the mailbox, Veronica running through the water hose on a scorching summer day.
She and Nathan sat in stony silence, the air between them heavy and tense with unanswered questions, the slow drizzling rain turning into a downpour. Veronica knew Nathan was watching her, waiting for any sign of her memory to return, but she tried to block out his presence and focus on the past, on remembering some detail, however small it might be. The car closed in around her, and the dreams she’d had as a child lingered in the back of her mind, teasing her fear and rattling her concentration. As in her repeated nightmares, a shadow, big and hulking, loomed before her, hands outstretched, ominous fingers reaching for her, strangling her with their bony tendrils. Thunder crackled like hungry mountain lions roaring in the night. Lightning lit the sky in jagged streaks and patches against the dark sky.
The air became still and thick and hot. Veronica suddenly couldn’t breathe. Raindrops beat violently against the car, pounding relentlessly as the clouds unloaded their water onto the earth like teardrops falling from the sky. Veronica closed her eyes and dug her fingernails into the sides of the car seat, her heart racing painfully, fear pressing like a giant boulder on her chest. Her throat constricted, and perspiration trickled down her neck. The shadow’s giant fingers encircled her neck. She was gasping and heaving for air, praying the shadow would leave, that it wouldn’t find her, that she could run far, far away and never have to see it again.
“Veronica, Veronica, can you hear me?” Nathan was shaking her, but she couldn’t respond except to go limp in his arms. “Look at me, Veronica. Are you all right?”
The car spun in crazy circles. She swayed and groped for something solid to hold on to. Then she felt Nathan’s strong, powerful arms surround her, heard somewhere in the deep recesses of her consciousness his husky voice murmuring words of comfort, felt the gentle brush of his lips across her forehead, his hand stroking her hair and massaging the tension from her straining muscles. Her lungs drew in cleansing breaths as she struggled for composure. She blinked back the tears she’d tried to keep at bay all evening, but moisture trickled down her cheek, soaking his shirt.
“I can’t remember,” she finally said, her voice thick with emotion. “I try so hard, but I just can’t.”
“Shh, it’s okay,” Nathan said softly, tenderly combing her hair with his fingers.
“You know, I can understand why I blocked out that night,” Veronica said in frustration. “But why the rest of my childhood? I don’t even remember living here.”
He wrapped the long ends of her hair around his fist and tightened his hold. “Maybe there’s a reason you can’t remember. Maybe you’re not supposed to.”
Because I killed my parents, I’m the reason they died.
The self-recriminations and guilt that had consumed her all her life roared through her head, and she trembled again. Nathan pressed her against his chest, his body offering the kind of solace only a man with great tenderness and unfathomable passion could give. She sagged against him and absorbed his strength, allowing his warm breath to mingle with her own and his scent to envelope her with its intoxicating, masculine aroma. His hands were hypnotic, his voice like the soothing purr of a lover’s caress, his hard body a wall of strength.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
Veronica shook her head. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“Try me.”
She looked into his eyes, the dark rich color of scotch drawing her in with their tenderness. “I had these nightmares as a child,” she finally said. “I still have them sometimes.”
“What happens in the dreams?”
Veronica hesitated, trying to gain control of her emotions. “I’m in the bedroom with my parents…but there’s someone else there. I can see a shadow.”
Nathan traced his finger along Veronica’s hand, opened her palm and twined her fingers with his. “Then what happens?”
“I don’t know.” She clenched her hands in frustration. “I can’t see the person’s face. I try and try but I can’t. It’s dark and I try to scream but…but nothing comes out.”
He cradled her and rocked her gently in his arms. The only comfort she remembered was her grandmother’s arms. Nathan’s felt stronger, more secure, as if he’d never let the shadow capture her.
“I think it’s a vision of the person who was there,” she continued, “but the—the doctor said it was just a figment of my imagination,” Veronica finished in a low voice. “He said the shadow represented a little girl’s fear or something like that.”
“The police didn’t find evidence of anyone else being there that night?”
“My grandmother said they didn’t. That’s when they ruled it—” She broke off, unable to finish the sentence.
“I know,” Nathan whispered. He rubbed her shoulders and wiped the tears from her eyes with the pads of his thumbs. “Why don’t you let me look into it? I’ll talk to the police chief who was in charge of the investigation years ago.”
She didn’t know what to say. “You believe me?”
Nathan chewed his lip. “I want to help you find the truth. Isn’t that what you want?”
Veronica nodded and lowered her eyes. He hadn’t exactly said he believed her—only that he wanted to find the truth. She wanted desperately to find the truth, too. But the thought also terrified her. If she found out she had caused her parents’ deaths, would she be able to live with herself?
NATHAN WRAPPED his jacket around Veronica, hugging her to him. A surge of protectiveness swelled inside him and he wanted to barricade himself around her so she would never have to feel afraid again. His body throbbed with unleashed desire as her breath whispered against his neck in tiny puffs and her fingernails dug into his chest with a kind of desperation that made his chest ache and his lower body harden with pure need. The scent of her shampoo invaded his nostrils, and his hands itched to tangle themselves in the long ebony strands of her glorious hair.
But he could not take advantage of her. She was a frightened, confused woman who needed his help and understanding. Not his body, not his lust or his potent desire.
“I’m going to take you home,” he said quietly, unfolding his arms from around her and settling her back against the seat. He tried to ignore the flicker of want burning in her eyes as the moonlight illuminated her face.
Then the need was gone, and he saw the walls being resurrected around her as she clutched the jacket more tightly around her.
He drove slowly and turned the radio to a soft rock station to fill the awkward silence. When they arrived at her apartment, he walked her to the door.
“I’m coming in to check the apartment.”
Veronica didn’t argue. She looked tired and slightly nervous as the door squeaked open, and he was certain the memory of finding the tape recorder and the newspaper articles still lingered in her mind with haunting clarity. He switched on the light and followed her as she walked through the house.
“Why don’t you get some rest,” he suggested, fighting the urge to take her in his arms one more time.
Veronica nodded, the pallor of her face a ghostly white in the dim light. “I think I’ll take a long bath.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
Her head snapped up. As she stared at him with a multitude of questions in her eyes, he instantly realized what she thought he’d implied. A big part of him wanted to let her believe that, to test her and see what her answer would be. But he still didn’t know if she was doing these things to herself, and he couldn’t take advantage of her.
“I meant out here—until you get through.” He shifted from one foot to the other and avoided looking at the creamy base of her throat. “I thought you might feel safer that way.”
A tiny smile tilted her rosy lips, and she handed him his jacket. “Thanks. I do feel safe when you’re around.” Then she turned and hurried into the bathroom.
He heard the water running, imagined the bath salts turning into bubbles, Veronica stripping down to beautiful nothingness and slipping inside the tub, her rosy nipples taut and glistening with water, her bare toes dangling over the side of the tub begging for his kiss.
He muttered a curse, then settled onto the couch and dropped his head into his hands. Veronica felt safe with him. That should make him feel good—but she wasn’t safe with him. Sure he wanted to protect her and comfort her, but he was a man. A simple male, who also wanted to take her to bed and show her his raging desire.
He bit his lip and listened with one ear for the water to turn off, praying silently that she’d locked the door.
