Monster Love

by Jeana E. Mann

  Eventually, my eyelids closed, and I fell into a fitful sleep. In the midst of a macabre dream about bloody knives and demented coyotes, the shattering of glass brought me to a sitting position. I held my breath, thinking the noise had been my imagination. A second, louder thump followed and accelerated my heartrate into stroke territory. The alarm clock read five-thirty AM. I’d been asleep less than three hours. Unfamiliar voices drifted up through the floor register. Someone was in the house.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” I scrambled to the dresser and yanked my phone from the charger. The footsteps traveled through the ground floor. Why hadn’t I bought a gun? I’d always been against firearms, but now I began to rethink my position.

  I searched the room for a weapon or a hiding place. Under the bed? In the closet? The options seemed inadequate. Light footsteps hit the stairs. The old steps creaked. My sense of self-preservation kicked into high gear. I opened the window and crawled onto the roof of the porch, drawing down the sash behind me. Huddling against the chimney, fingers shaking, I dialed and tried to calm my breathing.

  “9-1-1. What is your emergency?” asked a woman from the other end of the line. No stranger’s voice had ever been so welcome.

  The police arrived an eternity later. In reality, only fifteen minutes had passed, but it seemed like a lifetime. The intruders, frightened away by the approaching sirens, vacated the premises in a silver van. I stayed on the roof until an officer found me and coaxed me down from the precarious perch. Sheriff Coley pulled into the driveway a few minutes later.

  “Break-ins are pretty rare around these parts,” he said, his flat gray eyes roaming over me, assessing. “It was probably just some kids having fun. This house has been empty for a long time. They didn’t realize anyone was home.”

  “I didn’t get a good look at them, but they didn’t seem like kids.” Despite the heat, a shiver ran down my back. Lavender and pink light brightened the sky as the sun broke the horizon. I wrapped my arms around my waist, wishing I had on more than a T-shirt, panties, and a bathrobe. “I saw the van, though. It was a silver Ford Econoline, maybe a 1989 model.” Coley lifted an eyebrow at the specifics. I shrugged. “My foster parents drove one just like it.”

  He continued to study me, his features blank. “Did they take anything?”

  “I don’t know.” Until now, my possessions had been the least of my worries. “I don’t have much, really, just my equipment.” A sinking feeling landed in the pit of my stomach. I had thousands of dollars in cameras, lenses, and other accessories piled in the mudroom, waiting to be unpacked. Those items were more precious to me than my well-being.

  “We’ll need you to make a list of the stolen items. Don’t get your hopes up. Most of the time, these items are never recovered. You’ll want to turn it into your insurance.” The sheriff tapped his pen on the notebook, searching my face like I was a suspect in my own burglary. For the next hour, he drilled me about friends, relatives, and neighbors. During our conversation, Dad pulled into the driveway, followed by Owen and the van of workers. Coley motioned for Dad to approach. “There’s been a break-in. I’m going to need to question your boys.”

  “Are you okay?” Dad touched my elbow. I nodded and gave him a weak smile. His presence gave me reassurance. “Go ahead and talk to my guys if you want, but I can assure you none of them are involved in this.” Over Dad’s shoulder, Owen watched from a safe distance.

  “You should make sure they didn’t take any of your tools,” I said. “I’m not sure how long they were here before I heard them.”

  The sheriff made a beeline for Owen. He squared his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair, tousling the ends. I trotted in the sheriff’s wake, knowing I should stay out of it but unable to stop myself.

  “Where were you last night, Henry?” Coley flipped open his spiral-bound notepad and clicked the end of his pen.

  “With Dad until about ten then I went to bed.”

  “Alone?”

  Owen’s gaze flitted to mine. “No.”

  A wave of jealousy prickled along my skin. I brushed it away. After all, I had Michael. Owen was nothing more than a friend from the past. What or whom he did in his spare time was none of my business. Despite my protests, I resented any woman bestowed the pleasure of feeling the weight of his body on top of hers. I lifted my chin.

  “I’ll need to check on your story. Wanna write down her name and phone number for me?” Coley handed the notepad to Owen.

  “It wasn’t him,” I said. The sheriff lifted both eyebrows and blinked. Apparently, he wasn’t used to stubborn women.

  He shifted to face me. “I thought you didn’t get a good look at them.”

  “I didn’t, but I know it wasn’t him.”

  “It seems to me you don’t know what you saw, Ms. Valentine.” The dry disdain of his tone raised the hackles on the back of my neck.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I gave you a general description. Two men dressed in dark clothing. One was slender and roughly my height. The other one was taller, heavy-set with a limp. In case you haven’t noticed, Owen is none of those things.”

  “Why don’t you go inside, Ms. Valentine, and start making that list? Leave the detective work to the professionals.” Coley sighed, as if I’d tested the limits of his patience, and turned back to Owen.

  I held my ground. “You’re wasting your time with him and making me question your competence.” One corner of Owen’s mouth curled into the hint of a grin. “And you’re wasting my time with this nonsense.”

  He yanked the notepad from Owen’s grasp, flipping the cover closed in the same motion. “That’s something we’ll agree to disagree upon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Owen shoved his hands into his pockets. We watched the sheriff walk away. Once he’d moved out of earshot, Owen said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I couldn’t stand by and watch him harass you. Why do you put up with his shit?” The air between us became thicker, hotter. Owen took a step toward me, shattering my personal space, and lowered his head until his lips almost brushed the curve of my ear. My lungs, starving for oxygen, constricted. The tiny hairs on my body lifted, in unison, giving me the sensation of extreme static electricity.

  His hot breath tickled my skin. Two whispered words brought my heart to a complete stop. “Stella. Don’t.”

  12

  Owen

  Eighteen Years Ago…

  A rhythmic pounding woke me from a restless sleep early on a Sunday morning. I was two weeks from leaving for college, leaving this shitty town, and leaving Stella. We’d spent the prior evening wrapped in each other’s arms in a sleeping bag down by the river. It had been the best and worst night of my life. She’d given me a precious gift to take with me—her virginity and the promise of her undying love. We’d made plans to reunite as often as we could, knowing that our time together had come to an end. Marianne had been sent to the hospital following a stroke, and Stan wouldn’t be able to watch the girls any longer.

  “Mom! Somebody’s at the door,” I shouted, not wanting to face reality quite yet. The knocking continued. After a minute, I got up, grumbling, and stabbed my legs into a pair of board shorts.

  By the time I got downstairs, the sheriff had my mom in the living room. She was crying uncontrollably and calling Chris’s name over and over again. I hadn’t seen my brother since Friday, but that wasn’t unusual. He often disappeared for days at a time without excuses.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, my stomach churning with dread.

  “Son, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but Chris was found dead this morning.”

  An icy wave swept over my body. White hot pain followed swiftly, gutting me. Memories of Chris flashed through my head. The two of us learning to ride bikes. Playing video games into the wee hours of the morning. Laughing over fart jokes. I blinked, trying to comprehend the news. It just wasn’t possible. Although we’d grown apart over the past few years, he was my
older brother. He’d always seemed invincible to me. The sheriff observed my face with emotionless eyes. I wanted to be a man, but I couldn’t stop the slow trail of tears down my face.

  “Can you tell me where you were last night, Owen?” he asked.

  “What do you mean? I don’t understand.” I ran a hand through my hair, fighting past the bile in my throat. “How did it happen?”

  “I’m going to need you to come down to the station,” the sheriff said. I didn’t like the way they were looking at me, but I was too distraught to make sense of the situation. I wanted to do anything I could to help them find the person who’d done this terrible thing.

  “Sure. Whatever you need.” At the flash of silver handcuffs, I recoiled. “Wait a minute. Am I under arrest?”

  “No, we’d just like to ask you a few questions.”

  The ride to the police station passed in a blur. When we got there, they hustled me into an interrogation room, but not before I caught sight of Lanie and Stella. Lanie sat on a bench outside someone’s office, her arms wrapped around her waist, rocking herself. Stella looked like hell. Her left eye was swollen shut, and her lip had been busted. They had her in handcuffs, leading her from a different interrogation room and down the hall, away from me. “Stella,” I called out to her, but she disappeared around a corner.

  Inside the interrogation room, I drummed my fingers on the table. Nondescript white block walls surrounded me on every side. I stared at the two-way mirror between me and whomever was on the other side. The hard folding chair bit into my backside. Numbness settled over my body. Chris was dead. I still couldn’t believe it. A farmer had found his body on the riverbank a few miles from Stella’s house, not far from where we’d been. I wanted to cry for him, but my tears had dried. Chris had been a ruthless, cold-hearted asshole, but he’d still been my brother. No one deserved to die like that, especially at such a young age.

  My thoughts turned to Stella. Why did they have her in handcuffs? What was she doing here? We planned to walk down Main Street today, so she could photograph the historic homes. With so little time left together, we wanted to spend every moment in each other’s company. The sight of her small and helpless filled me with rage and frustration. I bounced a knee to expel some of the pent-up emotion. Finally, the door opened, and the detective pulled up a chair across from me. He placed a folder on the table.

  “Owen, I’m going to ask you some questions,” the detective said. He had a kind but weary face with an overgrown moustache and pock-marked skin. “Take your time. We’re just trying to get to the bottom of what happened, so we can put whoever did this terrible thing behind bars.”

  For hours, I answered question after question. They drilled me about Chris, his habits, his friends, where he hung out. The tone of the questions grew more intense. Eventually, the grilling turned to Stella. They wanted to know everything about her. This path of cross-examination immediately raised my defenses.

  “Were you with Stella last night?” the detective asked.

  I hesitated, not wanting to get her into trouble, knowing we were both screwed no matter how I answered. “Yes.”

  “Do you know who this belongs to?” He raised a plastic bag in front of me. The dark sheen of blood crusted the silver blade of Stella’s knife. My stomach churned. I swallowed hard, trying to keep from puking on his shoes. “Is this Stella’s knife?”

  “Can I get a glass of water?” I rasped with an unfamiliar voice. Suddenly, everything became crystal clear. Stella’s fight to keep Lanie away from Chris. The bruises on her neck. I fought back panic. She wouldn’t have done something like this, not in a million years. Sure, she was tough, but she was sweet, too. And Chris was a strong guy. He would have taken the knife from her in a heartbeat.

  The detective shoved his chair back and jumped to his feet. He slammed his hands on the table between us, lowering his face until we were nose to nose. “Look, son. Your brother is dead, and I need answers. I think either you or your girlfriend had something to do with it.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know.” A headache blossomed in the back of my head. I rubbed my neck to ease the ache. “There’s no way Stella did this.”

  “Are you saying you did it?” The way he twisted my words wore down my exhausted brain.

  “No. I’m saying that you’re looking at the wrong people. You’re wasting time when you should be after the real killer.”

  The detective glared at me then opened the folder. Slowly, he placed a series of photographs in front of me. Chris’s lifeless body in the muck among cattails. Several shots of the wound to his neck, the one that had severed his artery. I covered my eyes with my hand, unable to deal with the gruesome scene. No one deserved to die that way. Not even Chris. The detective waited until I pulled myself together before showing the last photo of Stella’s knife lying beside Chris’s corpse. My empty stomach clenched into a hard knot.

  “Have you seen this knife before?” the detective asked, tapping the photo with an index finger. I didn’t answer. He gave an exasperated sigh. “Listen up. We have witnesses who say you threatened to kill your brother, that he tried to strangle Stella, and you didn’t take kindly to that. According to the people around here, you two never got along. This knife belongs to Stella. From where I stand, both of you have means, motive, and opportunity. If you know something, Owen, I suggest you speak up now. If Stella did this, then you have to tell us.”

  The sickening feeling in my gut continued to grow. I crossed my arms over my chest and turned away from the heartbreaking pictures. Could Stella have done this? I knew in my heart it wasn’t possible, but the detective’s words confused me. “I want a lawyer.”

  13

  Stella

  Present Day…

  Before moving to Corbett, I thought I’d healed, that I’d put the past behind me and was ready for a new beginning. Watching Owen walk across the driveway made me question everything. A hot breeze ruffled his hair, a little too long, a little messy. He shrugged out of his T-shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. At the sight of his bare, broad back, I drew my lower lip between my teeth and stifled a groan. The groove of his spine separated two perfectly defined columns of muscle. He twisted in my direction, displaying the deep cut of muscle just above his waistband. Life had hardened him into a stunning man.

  Following the sheriff’s directive, I returned to the house and saw right away that several of my cameras were missing. Luckily, they were older, barely used models, including the Nikon Stan had given me. A sickening knot formed in the pit of my stomach. I hated the idea of strangers in my house, violating my personal space. Although the pieces held sentimental value, their loss had little impact on my work. Dad hadn’t been so fortunate.

  “They stole a toolbox from the garage and my jigsaw, some copper fittings, and the new air compressor I bought last week,” he said, scratching his head ruefully.

  “I’m so sorry.” I’d been saying that a lot lately.

  “Don’t apologize. That’s why I carry insurance.” After a heavy sigh, he replaced the hard hat on his head. “You should get a security alarm installed. A woman like yourself, living alone on the edge of town, can’t be too careful.”

  “I thought Corbett was a safe place to live. That’s why I decided to move here.”

  “It is, generally speaking, but every place has its exceptions. Unemployment is up. People are struggling. Drug use is at an all-time high. It never hurts to be cautious.” At my crestfallen expression, he took my hand in his and patted the top of it. “Now, don’t you fret. I’ll have Owen replace the back door and put on a good deadbolt. And you should think about getting motion lights installed on the garage and back porch.”

  “Okay. I will. Thanks.”

  “Maybe you should call your boyfriend and see if he can come stay with you. In case they come back.” I sucked in a horrified breath. Dad, realizing his mistake, squeezed my hand. “Not that they will. I’m sure the police scared them off.”


  “I can’t tell Michael. I don’t want to worry him.” After the sour ending of our last conversation, I hesitated to call him. If he knew about break-in, he’d have me packed and moved into a hotel before I could draw my next breath. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Of course, you will.” Dad’s eyes crinkled at the corners, but worry clouded their depths.

  “Well, I guess I should get busy.” I turned in a slow circle and blew out a long sigh. “It’s going to take forever to clean this place.”

  “Let me call my wife. Cindy would be happy to give you a hand.” Before I could protest, he had his phone to his ear.

  Cindy arrived an hour later with a basket of fried chicken and an apple pie. She was blond, trim, and appeared to be in her late forties. After stopping to give Dad a kiss on the cheek, she came straight into the living room and threw an arm around my shoulders. “Look at you,” she said, taking me in with bright blue eyes. “Dad said you were a spitfire, moving into this big house all by yourself, taking the world by storm.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I like the sound of it.” If anyone else had hugged me without introduction, I might have kicked them in the balls, but I took an instant liking to her.

  “He told me about the burglars. Assholes.” She gave me a squeeze and a warm smile. “I hope you won’t let this experience color your judgment of our little town. It’s a good place to live and raise kids. Don’t let a few shitheads scare you off.”

  “I won’t. It can’t be any worse than Cleveland.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Owen said you’re from Ohio.” At the mention of his name, heat scalded my cheeks. If she noticed, she didn’t let on. “I brought lunch. Dad said you don’t have a stitch of food in this place. Of course, he’s got your kitchen torn all to hell. Well, you’ll just have to come eat with us until you get settled.” She dropped the picnic basket on the cardboard box serving as a makeshift table and did a circle around the living room. “It’s good to see this place getting the attention it deserves. I tried to get Dad to buy it and flip it, but he’s too busy.” With her hands on her hips, she cocked her head to one side. “Listen to me, clucking like an old hen when there’s work to be done. This house isn’t going to clean itself. Where do I start?”