by Delia Latham
A loud crash ripped through the quiet, arousing a shriek from somewhere within the house. Josie, of course. Storms terrified the normally stoic housekeeper.
“Uhm, I think it’s here.”
“We’d better go see what’s happening.”
Lights flickered off and on as they hurried through the large rooms. “Josie? Where are you?” Michael raised his voice.
“In here.”
They found her in the breakfast nook, sweeping glass off the floor. Wind howled through a broken pane next to the table. A medium-sized tree branch poked through, one end resting on the floor, the other stabbing into the air outside.
Michael gently took the broom and dustpan from the housekeeper’s trembling hands. “I’ll take care of this. You go on. Just buzz Anders before you hole up. He needs to get that generator going, or we’ll be in the dark.”
“Of course, Mr. Michael.” Josie sniffled and turned to go.
****
“You just go…try to get comfortable. I’ll get Anders.” Noelle guided Josie away.
The woman nodded and spun toward her own quarters.
Noelle hurried into the kitchen where she’d seen the communications panel. “Michael, do you want him to come help with the window?”
“I’ll get started on it, but yes, tell him I’ll need him here as soon as that generator’s up and going.”
Wynn Anders filled the roles of valet, limo driver, and handyman, but Michael clearly considered him a friend, as well. Noelle punched the button under his name and blew out a relieved sigh, glad she didn’t have to worry about her team. She’d given them the day off. She and Michael needed to talk about last night, and she sure didn’t need to be overheard by people who’d be working for her when this contract was history. Especially if Michael was history along with the job.
Anders answered her buzz, yelling into his walkie-talkie while the storm raged around him. He was already on his way to the generator and promised to join them in the dining room within moments.
She turned from the panel just as Michael burst through the kitchen carrying a heavy tarp. Already soaked to the skin, he rushed to the broken window and into a struggle against wind, snow, and icy cold.
Noelle had forgotten how quickly a little snowfall could turn into a dangerous blizzard in these mountains. She rushed to help, wading into a growing puddle beneath the window.
Michael’s hair hugged his head like a wet cap, and his shirt clung to his torso. He glanced at Noelle’s feet, clad in sneakers that provided little protection against moisture. “Noelle, don’t. You’ll catch cold.”
“Let’s get this done. We can argue about it later.” She grabbed a chair and pushed it close to the broken window. Gripping a corner of the tarp, she climbed up and held it against the wall. Michael drove a nail through it, and she clambered down and pulled the chair to the other side.
A large hand pushed her makeshift ladder out of the way. “Go, Miss Joy. Get into something dry.” Anders grinned from beneath the hood of a dripping rain slicker.
“I can do—”
“Go, Noelle.” Michael jerked his head toward the door. “Get dry. Then if you don’t mind, ask Josie to lay out some dry things for me.”
She rushed off to grab a change of clothes from the mudroom where she’d stashed several work outfits. Within moments, she had toweled dry and pulled on clothes that may or may not have matched.
After a quick trot up the stairs, she pushed open a couple of doors, looking for Michael’s private quarters. No way in the world would she ask Josie to come out of her room. She’d caught a glimpse of the woman in the small suite she occupied behind the kitchen. Josie had been wrapped in a huge quilt, her back against the headboard of her bed, her eyes squeezed tight, pale lips moving in silent prayer.
Stepping across the threshold into Michael’s room, Noelle paused. Maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea after all.
With the sun obliterated by the blizzard raging outside, the room was almost dark. She felt along the wall and flipped a switch, relieved when light flooded the room. Thanks to Anders, the generator was in action.
She giggled when she found herself tiptoeing across the plush carpet. As if there was anyone in this room to hide from. Still, she would go straight to the closet, find what she’d come for, and get out of Michael’s private quarters. She felt like an intruder, being there without his knowledge or permission.
Organized shelves and color-coordinated outfits met her gaze in the closet. The orderly condition of the space made it easy to spot casual clothing and grab a pair of trousers and a shirt. She opened a drawer and found socks and underclothes. A couple of totes hung from hooks on one wall. She dropped everything into one of them, plopped a pair of shoes on top, and backed out of the area.
Headed for the door, she passed a gorgeous teakwood armoire. Light reflected off the glossy wood, and she sighed. The piece was stunning. Unable to resist, she stopped and ran a hand over the curved front.
That’s when she noticed a framed photo atop the armoire.
Noelle froze. Her hand—already trembling—reach for the picture. Please God, don’t let it be what I know it is! But, just as it had the last time she prayed, that little prayer bounced against the ceiling and slapped her in the face on the ricochet.
She and Trevor. They stood in her parents’ backyard, arms around each other, grinning like a couple of fools. Noelle’s mother had snapped the shot. James and Janet were at the Joy house, along with Trevor, for one of the Joy family’s backyard barbecues. She and Trevor had just shared with their parents their plans to get married after college.
Her stunned gaze moved to a double frame beside the first one…her senior picture from high school, and a snapshot of her and Trevor in caps and gowns the day they graduated from university.
How had these pictures come into Michael’s possession? Why were they displayed like trophies in his room?
The answer pounded at her brain, but she stubbornly refused to allow it access. A thousand bees set up an insistent buzz in her head, and she gave it a weak shake. The room darkened, and she shot a confused glance at the light fixture overhead. Was something wrong with the generator? Light glowed from the fixture just as it should have, but still the room grew darker.
With the photo she’d taken from the armoire gripped in numb fingers, she stumbled into the hallway and started down the stairs. Every light along the way seemed dimmer than the last. On the third step, she fell. The tote holding Michael’s clothes tossed out a garment at a time as it bounced to the bottom.
Noelle didn’t tumble after the flimsy tote. She simply sank onto the stair and lay there, her gaze fixed on the overhead light, which didn’t flicker but grew dimmer and dimmer, until no light remained. She embraced the silent darkness.
11
“Noelle…wake up, honey. Please wake up!” Michael knelt beside the bed to which he and Wynn had carried her.
How long had she lain on the staircase before he went looking for her? Cold terror had gripped his heart when he first saw her—white and still, eyes open and unseeing. The strewn clothes told them where she’d been and why. The photo beneath her right hand explained—at least to Michael—her current, unresponsive state.
He’d called his personal physician, who promised to come the moment the roads were clear enough for safe passage. While he waited, Michael intermittently prayed and begged Noelle to awaken. He should have known better than to leave those photos out, but he’d been so sure she would never be in his room—at least not until he revealed himself to her and all was right between them.
Now it seemed he’d waited too long. She’d stumbled on his secret, and that’s why she lay in the guest room nearest his own, her face porcelain pale, eyes closed…locked away somewhere in her mind.
He groaned and buried his head in his hand. “God, what have I done? Please don’t punish Noelle for my stupidity. Bring her back to me.”
“Mr. Michael?” Josie spoke in an unch
aracteristic whisper. “’Tis the good doctor.”
Michael swung toward the door. Josie’s sympathetic gaze didn’t catch him off guard—he knew to expect that. But her eyes widened upon seeing his face, and Dr. Marcus Johnston’s thick eyebrows drew together.
He must look like a man going through trial by hell fire. Indeed, he was.
“Marcus! Thank you for coming.” Taking a reluctant step away from the bedside, he waved an arm toward the woman lying still as death beneath the comforter. He quickly explained Noelle’s presence in the house.
Marcus’s gaze narrowed. “Is this the woman you were raring to contact back when—?”
Michael nodded and pain lanced through his jaw and down his neck when he clenched his teeth hard, expecting a bit of a reprimand.
Josie piped in to share how she’d found “the wee lass” on the stairs. “I thought she’d broken her pretty neck, sure an’ true!”
“Well, I’d best take a look.” Dr. Johnston gave Michael’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll need you and Josie to wait outside, my friend.”
“I’d rather stay.”
The housekeeper closed the space between them and took his arm. “Come now, lad. Let the good doctor take care o’ the sweet girrrl. He knows what he’s doin’. Ye know that.”
Michael allowed himself to be led into the hallway but cast a yearning glance back at the bed before Josie pulled the door shut. He refused to go downstairs, so she brought a chair from one of the other bedrooms.
“Sit here an’ wait then.” She patted his shoulder. “I’ll stay with ye, if ye’d like.”
“No.” He managed a smile and squeezed the woman’s lined hand. “You go on, Josie. I’m fine.”
She heaved a sigh and nodded. “As ye wish. I’ll be checkin’ on ye again.”
“Don’t come up those stairs again unless I call you. I know how they hurt your hips.”
“Well, we’ll see.” She pinned him under a narrow-eyed gaze. “Pray for the lass, Mr. Michael. That’s the best thing ye can do for the wee girrrl now.”
He blinked back the sting in his eyes. “I will.”
Josie took her leave, and Michael buried his face in both hands and kept his promise. But when the door opened no more than twenty minutes later, he was on his feet before Marcus stepped into the hall.
“Well?”
The doctor shook his head. “She didn’t hit her head. There are no goose eggs, big or small. Nothing’s broken, swollen, twisted, or otherwise out of alignment on her body. It’s as if she’s hiding in there.”
“What are you saying, Marcus?” Michael stiffened. “She’s not pretending to be unconscious.”
“Of course not. But she could be choosing not to awaken on a subconscious level. That’s been known to happen if a patient has an emotional reason to hide from reality.” His concerned blue gaze narrowed on Michael. “I don’t suppose you’d know about that, would you?”
“Yes.” Michael sank onto the chair and sighed. “She’s hiding from me.”
****
Noelle floated on a cloud of nothingness, engulfed in a quiet peace that wound its way through her being like a healing salve. She didn’t have a clue where she was and didn’t care to find out.
She could deal with this kind of easy, untroubled existence. Something told her she’d come from somewhere, a world away from where she was now—a place where trouble and pain ruled supreme. Why would she trade this peaceful Nowhere for a Somewhere like that?
“Noey girl.”
The voice inserted itself into her new existence. A familiar voice that tugged at her heart with a gargantuan pull. She shook her head. No. She wouldn’t listen.
“It’s Daddy.” The persistent voice turned raspy and filled with something painful that pinched at Noelle’s heart. “Wake up, princess. Come back to us. Please come back!”
Pictures streamed through her mind. A soft-spoken man with a kind smile, pushing her on a wobbly bike. That same man, coloring with a younger version of herself, he on one page of an oversized book, she scribbling on the other. Dancing with her on his feet. Dancing again, she in a formal outfit, he in a suit and tie. The Daddy-Daughter Dance.
Once again, she shook her head, determined not to remember. Memories would lead her back to the Bad Place.
“Noelle.” A weepy female voice. “You can’t hide forever. I know it’s hard, but you have to be brave, darling. We need you here with us.”
A beautiful female face filled her memory, and Noelle squeezed her eyes tighter. Stop! I don’t want to feel these things. Willing herself deeper into the Nowhere, she drifted, and the beloved voices faded away.
****
“I want to talk to her,” Michael spoke in a harsh tone.
Ken Joy’s jaw set. “Dr. Johnston said only her mother and I should speak to her.” His voice hardened. “You’ve done enough damage, Trevor.”
Marcus Johnston had given in to Michael’s pleas and left Noelle at the mansion. Unless a better reason than her current state of unconsciousness presented itself, he saw no reason to move her. Although he made house calls only in extreme situations, he agreed to keep checking in, at least for a short time, because he and Michael had become friends during the time in which Trevor Holden became Michael Holliday.
“Please, sir.” Despite himself, Michael’s voice broke. “I need to tell her what happened. She has a right to know.”
“That much is true, but now is not the time, and I won’t risk it.” Ken slipped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. Nancy Joy hadn’t stopped weeping since they’d showed up at Holliday House. “Not until the doctor says so.”
Michael’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded. “Whatever you say, of course.”
He’d called the Joys and asked them to come, saying only that Noelle was ill, and the doctor thought they should be with her. When they arrived, he asked for a few moments with them in private and told them everything—even those things he’d been instructed not to share with anyone. Ever.
When he finished, Nancy Joy threw her arms around him and squeezed hard. “It’s wonderful to know you’re alive and well.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Can’t you let your folks know?”
“They know I’m alive. They know I’m in a protection program. They just don’t know I live so close.”
“Why can’t you tell them? They’re suffering, Trevor.”
“Michael…please. And it’s for their safety. I can’t place them in danger just because I want to see them—and believe me, Nancy, I do.”
“Then we have to pray about this.” Nancy’s perfect, cleft chin—so like Noelle’s—hiked the barest degree. “This has to come to an end.”
Pastor Joy, on the other hand, seemed unable to accept the explanation as reason enough for Noelle’s current condition. The pain in his eyes twisted Michael’s gut. “I don’t even know how to pray right now.”
“Ken!” Nancy’s horrified gaze fixed on her husband.
“We were just getting her back and now…this.” His anguished gaze sought Michael’s. “At some point, I know I have to forgive…but I’m not there yet. I need time.”
Michael didn’t blame the man in the least. “I understand.”
Anger flashed briefly in Ken Joy’s eyes, and he opened his mouth as if to spout a hasty reply but then snapped it shut. “Trevor…” He refused to call Michael by his new name, insisting it was a lie. Not exactly true, since Michael was his middle name. Holliday had been his maternal grandmother’s maiden name. “I know we’re in your home, but can you find somewhere to be for a while? Somewhere besides this hallway and Noelle’s room?”
“Of course, sir.” Sorrow bent Michael’s head. He didn’t look up as he turned to leave. “I’ll be close by if you need anything at all.”
The sound of Nancy Joy’s stifled sobs followed him all the way to the stairs. He took them two at time, desperate to get away from the emotion coming in waves off the heartbroken couple huddled outside their daughter’s room.
****
“Noelle.” The Voice spoke into the nothingness of Noelle’s Nowhere. “It is time to return to your life.”
“I don’t want to go back there.”
“Your parents weep for you. Michael longs for your return. They are in pain, and only you can heal them.”
“Why can’t they let me go?”
“Because it is not your time, Noelle.”
She stirred, surprised to find that she felt the softness of something beneath her body. Until now, she’d felt nothing at all. The intrusion of reality frightened her, and she scurried backward once more…back into the nothingness that cushioned her from pain and hurt.
Not even a Voice as loving and gentle as the one so recently heard could make her risk a return to whatever waited in the Somewhere she’d apparently chosen to abandon.
****
Fully dressed, Michael lay on his bed, atop the covers. He didn’t want to waste a moment stepping into pants and pulling on a shirt if Noelle’s condition changed.
Although he preferred to think about it as little as possible, the events of a decade ago filled his mind. He fell asleep recalling that fateful night before Noelle would have become his wife.
“Come on, Trevor!” His friend Jason’s brows pulled together over outraged eyes. “You can’t leave this early, man. It’s your last night of freedom!”
He grinned. “I don’t want freedom, dude. I want Noelle, and…” He glanced around the room, where a few of his friends had imbibed too much alcohol. “Things around here could get out of hand. I’m going home.”
They were at a lodge Jason had rented for the event, between Hope Springs and San Francisco. The night was still fairly young, given the occasion—Trevor’s bachelor party. But his friend had clearly forgotten—or chosen to ignore—the fact that Trevor didn’t drink. He wished Jason didn’t either. Hopefully his best man would be sober enough to hand him the ring at his wedding tomorrow.
His friend groaned. “You’ve got it bad, man.”
“I won’t deny it.”
“Well, then…just let me say something to the guys. If you must go, I’ll take you.” He’d picked Trevor up in Hope Springs, unwilling to take a chance he’d back out on attending his own bachelor party.
