Love Rebuilt

by Delancey Stewart

  I dropped the camera to my side and curled up on the bed, letting my mind run through the many horrible things that could have happened as a result of my own stupidity. If I thought I had problems now, they paled in comparison to the kind of problems I might have had if Connor had kidnapped me…or so much worse.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as my mind turned to the girl from town, Amanda. Had I just witnessed her burial in an unmarked grave? What had he done to her first? I felt sick thinking about it. Sick and unsafe and horrible.

  There was no question that I needed to call the police and tell them what I’d seen. And I would. I just needed a few more minutes to process everything. I needed to give my mind time to shift from the view of Connor I’d had previously to the one that was unquestionably the correct view. He was a dangerous sociopath. A murderer. God, I really knew how to pick men.

  I picked up my phone after I found the card Officer Jensen had handed me.

  “Hello?”

  “Officer Jensen? It’s Maddie Turner.”

  “Ms. Turner. How can I help you?”

  “I saw something today. I saw Connor. I took some photos. I need to see you.” My voice was racing to match my whirling mind.

  “We can come up to your, er, house if you like.”

  “Okay. Yes. Please.”

  “We’ll be there as soon as we can. Half hour?”

  “Okay.”

  “You sound upset. Do you believe yourself to be in danger, Ms. Turner?”

  Did I? No. Connor hadn’t seen me. For all he knew, I was eagerly anticipating our dinner tomorrow night. “No, I’m fine.”

  “Okay. See you in a bit.”

  I scanned the woods outside my trailer, pacing near the windows until the police arrived. When their car pulled up to park next to my own, I felt a sense of terrible finality sinking in. This was it. I had the evidence that would seal Connor’s fate.

  This time, the officers came inside, squeezing themselves around the small table next to my kitchen. I explained what I’d been doing this afternoon, what I’d seen.

  “You did the right thing calling us.” Jensen was trying to be reassuring. Rawley nodded. “These pictures are useful, too,” he said, scanning them on the small screen on the back of my camera. “I hope you didn’t put yourself at risk.”

  “He didn’t see me.”

  Jensen was quiet, and I felt a need to know what the plan was. What would happen now?

  “What will you do?” I asked.

  Jensen cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide whether he should tell me anything. “We’ll go see what’s buried up there.” Simple. Of course. “First thing. And if it’s what we think it might be, we’ll make the arrest and get this thing put to bed.”

  I nodded. Right. Make the arrest. It was ludicrous, but I was relieved to know that they’d probably arrest him by tomorrow, and that I wouldn’t need to call to cancel our date. It’d be cancelled by default when they took him to prison. For murder.

  I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.

  “Will you let me know?” I tried to think of a reason why they would. “Just so I can, you know, get closure?”

  The officers looked at each other and seemed to pass some kind of information. I wondered momentarily if Rawley ever spoke.

  “That’s pretty non-standard,” Jensen said. “But if we make an arrest I’ll call you. And I’ll call you if we don’t.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “We need the memory card from the camera,” he said, holding it out to me to remove.

  I ejected it. I’d put in a new one before my hike, so there wasn’t much on it besides trees and animals. And the evidence that would put Connor Charles in prison. “You won’t have to tell him about the photographs, will you? That I took them?”

  “No,” Jensen said. “But you don’t need to worry, either. If this goes the way I think it will, we’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  “Okay.” My voice was small and I suddenly felt exhausted.

  The officers left, and sadness sank down over me, turning my feet to lead and my heart to stone. I hoped I’d done the right thing.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning I stayed in my bed long after the sun had pushed its exploring fingers through the louvered blinds in the front room of the trailer, covering the kitchen and couch in lines of yellow light. I stayed there until the phone rang next to me, displaying Connor’s name. I stayed in bed until the phone rang a second time, a half hour later. Officer Jensen. This time I sat up and answered it.

  “Ms. Turner?”

  “Yes, hello.”

  “Just wanted to thank you for your information, and let you know that it turned out to be a false lead. I’ll leave your photo card for you at the post office.”

  I sat up straighter. “What?”

  “He was burying something, but not what we thought. There’s not enough here to make an arrest.”

  I shook my head slowly, this information settling around me like dust. “What was he burying?”

  Jensen paused, obviously considering how much to tell me. “An urn.”

  “An urn? Like with ashes?” That was still creepy.

  “Not a match for the missing girl, if you’re wondering.” He paused. “We were.”

  I wondered how they’d figured that out so quickly, but realized they might have gone up and dug soon after we spoke. I imagined a team of police investigators with yellow tape, dark coats and flashlights, swarming up the side of my mountain. I guessed they could have had some kind of mobile forensics lab.

  “Oh. Yes, okay. Thank you.” I hung up. What kind of urn was Connor burying, then? Whose ashes were in it? And what was I supposed to do now, go on a date with him as if nothing had happened?

  I puttered around the trailer, trying to let my mind settle naturally on some new image of Connor. He’d moved from sexy and intriguing to terrifying and sociopathic over the course of just a few minutes yesterday when I’d discovered him digging off the trail. Now I wasn’t sure what to think. When I analyzed the facts as I understood them, I realized that not much had changed since he’d asked me out. There was no proof of him having done anything wrong, and no real reason why he would be any more dangerous to me now than he was the day before. Could I bring my mind back from the brink in time to actually go to his house and behave like a normal person?

  As the hours edged away, I decided that though I was confused, I was also relieved. I hadn’t wanted him to be a bad guy—part of what had been so hard yesterday had been the difficulty I’d had getting myself to fully accept that he was capable of murder. I wasn’t sure I’d gotten there at all. And so when it came time to either call him to cancel, or take a shower and get ready for dinner, I still hadn’t decided what to do.

  I picked up the phone, dialing Connor’s number.

  “Maddie.” He sounded happy when he picked up the phone.

  “Hey,” I said slowly. My voice was thin and hesitant.

  “Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not feeling great. I don’t know if I can do dinner.” Why hadn’t I just said I couldn’t? Why did I leave the door open? “I mean, I can’t.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment made his voice lower and my heart sunk a bit. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Chicken soup or something?”

  Guilt bubbled up in me over the sincerity in his voice. “No, I…” I dropped my head into my hand. What the hell was I doing? “I’m just…”

  “You’re not sick, are you?” His voice was flat, emotionless.

  I cringed. “No. Not really.”

  “What happened?”

  Could I tell him? I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can trust my instincts anymore. I’ve been so confused about everything.”

  “About me, you mean.”

  “About a lot of things. I’m so sorry. I’m kind of a mess.”

  “No,” he said softly. “You’re not a mess. You’re sma
rt. You’re doing exactly what I’d advise my sister to do. You don’t really know me and you have no reason to trust me.”

  “Would your sister listen to you?”

  “Probably not,” he chuckled. “But you have to do what makes sense to you. Maddie, I don’t want you to be scared. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Maybe we should wait until everything blows over.”

  “Maybe,” I said, feeling my mind rotating again. “I’m sorry. I’m a hot mess. I’m waffling and confused…”

  “Well how about this,” he said. “I’m cooking either way. I’ll make enough for two people and you are welcome to come at any time if you change your mind. And if it doesn’t work out tonight, then I would love to have you over another time. No pressure at all.”

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling awkward and socially incompetent.

  “If I don’t see you, have a good night, Maddie.”

  “You too.” I hung up and lay back on my bed. What the hell was wrong with me?

  After replaying the phone call in my mind several times, I found myself standing under a spray of hot water, contemplating what I would wear.

  Connor wasn’t a killer, and I had no real reason to believe he was a stalker or a sociopath, or anything other than what he had told me he was. That said, there was no way I was going to go up there without getting some actual answers from him. I was exhausted by the circles my mind had been forced to execute in the past few days.

  I took longer than I should have choosing clothes for dinner. First I put on a sundress and sandals, in a nod to the lingering warmth of summer. But as I looked in the mirror on the bathroom door, I realized that this was probably the most impractical thing I’d put on since moving up here. I had brought some of my clothes from San Diego, and the tank tops and dresses had lingered in the closet since they’d arrived. Anything you wore up here needed to be prepared to receive a fine coating of mountain dust. And sandals were only an invitation for disgustingly dirty feet.

  My next selection was jeans, low heels and a fitted blouse with a peplum. This would work, I figured, and settled on adding a top layer of cardigan. It did get chilly in the evenings, after all.

  I put on a bit more makeup than I usually wore and chose a bottle of wine that Jack had sent up before I’d made that fateful trip back to San Diego to “meet” Annalise. It was some Napa cult wine that Jack had gushed about. It seemed like maybe Connor would appreciate it, and I had said I’d bring the wine. I texted Miranda to remind her to check in, and then tucked my phone into my jeans and left.

  Despite my lingering doubts, I was looking forward to spending time with Connor. I hadn’t really seen him since we’d carried Austin down the hill. It was hard to believe I’d turned that caring and gentle guy who’d taken the fear from a little boy into a monster in my mind so easily.

  The bottom line was that while I really didn’t know much about Connor Charles, he was as intriguing as any man I’d ever met.

  As I walked up beneath the redwood overhang of his house, my nerves ramped up a bit. I had decided to give Connor the benefit of the doubt, but as I gathered my nerve to knock on the door, I resolved to ask him a few hard questions tonight. Even if asking them meant that our time together was cut short.

  I knocked on the door and waited. It was silent inside, and for a moment I wondered if maybe Connor had gone off somewhere. But his Land Rover sat outside, and lights glowed against the meadow beyond the rock that cradled the house. After a bit of scrabbling noise from inside, the door pulled inward, and Connor stood grinning at me.

  “You’re here!” There was surprise in his voice, and the polished and glimmering fire god had been replaced by a scruffier version. Connor wore flannel pajama bottoms, a fraying grey T-shirt, and a backwards cap covering his fiery locks. His face was unshaven, and the stubble was far less groomed than I was used to.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I changed my mind. Again.”

  He grinned. “That’s great! Come in.” He waved me in. “I’m so sorry I’m not really dressed. I didn’t think you’d actually show, but I’m really glad to see you.”

  I followed him into the open space of his living room, the fire perpetually glowing in the huge fireplace. “Maybe this isn’t a good time?”

  “It is, it’s a great time. I just got to writing again. I’ve been totally incapable for so long, and finally something got kicked loose. I haven’t felt it in so long I didn’t want to stop.”

  I held forth the wine bottle and he took it, his eyes never leaving my face.

  “You look great. Can I get you a drink and I’ll go clean up real quick?” He put the bottle on the counter and walked around to find a corkscrew in a drawer. As he prepared to open the bottle his eyes widened. “You really want to open this?”

  I shrugged. “It’s so much easier to drink that way.”

  His eyes crinkled as he looked at me, amusement and surprise making his dimples appear beneath the scruff. “You have a point. I just…” He put the bottle down. “Maddie, you know this is like a five hundred dollar bottle of wine, right? I mean…at least that.”

  I wasn’t impressed. Fancy wine was Jack’s thing. “Do you think it’s drinkable?”

  “I think it should be way better than drinkable. But now I’m going to make you wait to taste it. We’ll have it with dinner if that’s okay with you.”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll just get it open so it can breathe a bit.” He opened it and then put it aside. “I can’t believe you brought that. I’m going to have to up my dinner game—I’m not sure my cooking can stand up to such a fancy wine.”

  “If your dinner didn’t come out of a can, you’re already winning.” I smiled at him. He really did look excited. I guessed that now wouldn’t be the best time to ask the questions that were swirling around in my head, or mention any of the visits I’d had with the police. There’d be time for that, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him that I’d basically turned him in the day before.

  “Here you go.” He handed me a glass of wine poured from another bottle, which he’d pulled from a cabinet on the far side of the kitchen. “It’s no Harlan Estate.” He nodded toward the bottle I’d brought. “But it should hold you over while I go shower.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Make yourself at home,” he called as he jogged up the stairs that climbed along one wall of the living room. He disappeared through what I assumed was the bedroom door, and then I was alone.

  I turned to take in the view over the meadow, appreciating the way the light filtered around the tall grass and flowers as evening moved in. And then I looked around the room. One wall held old movie posters framed over a desk with a still-glowing laptop and some post-it notes stuck on the tabletop.

  It made me weirdly happy to know that Connor was working again. Why did I care? There was a part of me that felt a little bit protective of the huge fiery man—even as little as I knew of him. It might have been guilt—at least part of it. My phone call to the police was weighing heavily on my mind.

  I wandered around the room, picking up objects on shelves and replacing them, looking for something I couldn’t identify. Would something in this room reveal Connor’s secrets? Would a trinket on a shelf tell me if he was dangerous, if I should be worried? Probably not. But it didn’t stop me from snooping as I waited for him to reappear.

  Besides the gothic-inspired doo-dads, there was nothing here screaming to me that this guy was a murderer, a sexual predator, or anything besides someone who collected unusual decorations. There were some glassed ships and a lot of books. The glass skulls and ornate knives on display weren’t threatening, just exotic. And as far as I could tell, there was no one being held captive here. If there was, she was sure quiet. Besides, the police had searched the house. I was sure there was no one here besides us.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to see that Miranda was being diligent in her checkin promise.

  - You okay? Text back or I send in
the cavalry.

  - Don’t send them yet. All is fine. Give me an hour or so, okay?

  - Will do. PS. Have fun. I’ll text in a bit.

  I had settled into the couch when Connor reappeared.

  “I’m sorry about that, Maddie. I don’t want you to think I wasn’t excited to see you. It’s been in the back of my mind all day. I kind of think it’s what got me writing again.” He gave me an embarrassed half-smile and poured himself a glass of wine.

  I couldn’t help feel flattered that he attributed his resurgence of inspiration to me. “It’s fine. I’m sorry about waffling earlier.”

  “I don’t blame you.” He sat next to me on the couch, smelling of soap and some kind of light cologne, and underneath that was the now familiar scent of cinnamon and pine. “You seem like the kind of woman who considers every decision pretty carefully.”

  I tried to control the urge to lean in and smell him. “Seriously? I live in a trailer, can’t finish building a house, work in a diner… What exactly is it about this image that leads you to believe I have my shit together?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “You seem like you live life the way you want to, the kind of person who drives the train.”

  “I’ve never driven a train. Plus, I think trains pretty much go where the tracks lead.”

  “So maybe that’s not a good metaphor.”

  “Says the writer.”

  “I told you, I’m rusty.” He looked down for a second, like he was deciding whether to say something. “I want to ask you about something, but if I don’t get dinner started, we’ll never eat.” He stood up, looking down as he asked, “Will you keep me company while I cook?”