by Melissa Jane
“Doesn’t say. It’s gift-wrapped with no name. No return to sender tag.”
Sitting straight, I wrapped a loose thread tightly around my middle finger until the top turned purple. “Right, well, I’ll see to it when I get back. Can you just ensure Bernise has everything she needs?”
“Will do. Ciao.”
My knee started an anxious bounce as I tapped the cell on my palm. If Mason was behind the parcel, that meant he still believed I was in town. Otherwise, he’d wait until I returned. This was a moment’s reprieve in a situation that was far from over.
My cell vibrated once more. Christina.
I hadn’t heard from her since the penis picture last week.
“Hey, lady,” I answered with a smile.
“Hey, yourself. So, here’s the thing…” it sounded like she was walking and was out of breath, but still felt the need to yell, “… I had to find out from Julie Summers… do you know who Julie Summers is?”
“No.”
“Exactly! I had to find out from Julie Summers, the daughter of Barbra Stevens, who happens to be best friends with Mrs. Harper, that you’re up staying at your folk’s house. Twenty minutes from me! And you never bothered to share that tidbit of information with me?”
“I’m sorry,” I grinned widely at her endearing outburst. “This isn’t quite a vacation. More a desperate need to escape reality.”
“Well, what’s the deal? You gonna swing by and see me? I know Evie will love it.”
“Evie is nine months old and won’t even know who I am.”
“Okay, fine. I will love it. Will you come by? Dickhead Damian is no longer here, and I could do with some normal company. But not tonight. I have beta house reunion.” Christina heaved in exasperation. “If you came here to shop, you can forget about it. This town literally has nothing.”
Laying down, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sun. “Does ten suit?”
“Deal! I’ll have your favorite peach sponge waiting.”
Hanging up from Christina, I realized I needed to take more breaks from the big city. With Peter working away, there was nothing keeping me in the city over the weekends. Unfortunately for Christina, she had moved here for love. Shortly after they settled in Maine, fractures began to show in their relationship. When Christina got pregnant with Evie, those fractures turned into deep cracks that couldn’t, or wouldn’t heal. Christina had tried her best to keep her budding family together, but Damian had eyes and hands elsewhere. Three days before Christina went into a thirty-six-hour labor, her husband had packed his belongings and left without so much as a goodbye. He disappeared off the grid, most likely with his fling, and hadn’t made any contact or expressed any desire to see his newborn baby girl, hence the name Dickhead Damian. Christina was an independent woman, and she had picked herself back up knowing her daughter needed stability.
She was a woman I admired for her strength and courage. Two things I was currently lacking.
Catching up with my girlfriend was exactly what I needed.
~
The delicious aroma of Bolognese filled the kitchen causing my stomach to growl in hunger. I had slept through lunch, lost in a deep slumber, and when I awoke it was dark outside. Mrs. Harper had come knocking and left a slice of apple crumble in a Tupperware container on the porch table with a note. I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn’t made an effort to see her, but my body practically begged for sleep. With some music playing softly in the background and a glass of wine, already almost empty, I felt better than I had in weeks. Singing to Fleetwood Mac’s, Gypsy, a CD already in my parents’ stereo, I stirred the homemade tomato and basil sauce into the beef.
Outside, the weather had taken a turn. What was a beautiful morning had welcomed an evening storm, carrying with it flashes of lightning, rumbling thunder and vicious winds. Holding the wooden spoon close to my mouth, I blew on a small amount of mixture. Steam billowed as the trees outside angrily scratched at the windows. Before I could taste my creation, I was startled by something hitting the glass French doors only a few yards from where I was standing.
“Shit!” I cursed myself for jumping. In my fright, the mixture had fallen off the spoon and splashed back into the pan. Little red spots marked my white shirt. Rookie error 101—wearing white while making Bolognese. Resting the wooden spoon on the pan’s edge, I rounded the counter to inspect the window. Whatever had hit, had hit with force, a small crack forming in the pane. Outside the wind howled, the trees bending, and all sorts of objects were acting as projectiles.
“Damn it!” Running my fingers over the fracture, I could feel the slightly jagged grooves. I would have to organize its repair before my parents were due home. A flicker of movement on an otherwise static figure a few yards beyond the door stilled me. A movement unrelated to the ferocious weather. It unearthed a wave of panic, a sickening dread. Frozen in place, I stared ahead, straining against the darkness to see once again what had caused my reaction.
All I needed was a fraction of a second.
With a flash of lightning, I saw his face. The face of a monster. A sinister smile told me he’d been successful in the hunt. Within a blink, he was plunged back into darkness.
Mason Carter was standing on the porch.
Blood drained from my face. I staggered away from the door, deciding between flight or fight. There was no escape. He’d always find me. Wherever I went, he’d either follow or be ten steps ahead. Trembling, I patted my pockets searching for my cell.
“Where is it?” I scolded myself for not keeping it close.
The living room exploded with glass that ricocheted like violent rain toward me. Shrieking, I dropped to the floor, covering my face. The palm-sized rock came to rest on the rug beside me.
Swallowing fear, I waited, my gaze locked to the darkness outside. I expected him to make an entry, to continue his hateful tirade, to settle the score believing I had betrayed the promise to keep quiet.
“Mason!” I yelled, my voice quaking. Outside the wind howled and a deep rumble of thunder sounded above. “Mason, you need to stop.”
Nothing.
There was no response. When the sky lit up once more, the lights in the house went out.
“Jesus! Don’t do this,” I pleaded to the universe. Panicked, I backed up toward the chaise sectional couch, hugging my knees to my chest. A booming clap of thunder that sounded more like battling machine guns cracked directly above. An involuntary shriek escaped my lips, tears prickling my eyes. The house shook in the thunder’s aftermath, my body trembling in sync. A blinding flash of lightning violently cut through the darkness revealing an empty porch. Mason was no longer there. At least when he was in front of me, I knew where he was.
To my right next to my pot of Bolognese, the parmesan cheese bag lit up in a dull glow, a stark comparison to the sinister darkness surrounding me.
My cell!
Feeling an inch of hope return, I scrambled to my feet, the vibrating beckoning me with urgency. Reaching over the counter, I pushed the cheese aside and briefly saw Peter’s name on the screen before the call ended. With fumbling hands, I attempted to unlock the screen by connecting the dots in a backward L. Each try, the dots turned red denying me access.
“Oh, come on! Just—”
“Gemma!” The man’s voice called behind me, his shoe crunching on the broken glass. I jumped, almost choking on my heart, my cell somersaulting from my hands before thudding onto the counter. Snatching the chef’s knife from the cutting board, I turned with a new-found determination to end this once and for all. The blade glinted as I moved it toward the face of the man before me.
“Whoa!” Two hands raised in surrender as he took a step back. “Whoa! It’s just me, Gerald Harper from next door.” The older man in his early seventies spoke calmly, his placid demeanor wracking me with guilt.
Pulling the knife away, I tossed it on the counter like it had burned my hand. “Mr. Harper, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right, love. I shouldn�
��t have snuck up on you like that. You are…” He hesitated. “You seem a bit jumpy.” Mr. Harper pointed to the knife on the counter.
“Yeah, I saw someone standing on my porch. They threw a rock through the door.”
Turning on his flashlight, he shone the light on the broken glass.
“Yeah, we heard the smash. That’s why I’m here. Probably the kids that just moved in a block away. The family is new to these parts of town. Not the desirable type, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know,” I agreed, happy to brush it off.
“Never mind, love. I’ll organize to have this fixed for you in the morning. I’ve got some glass and a cutter in the shed.”
“That’s real sweet of you, Mr. Harper.”
“Ah, nonsense,” he dismissed. “It’s what neighbors do. Now, Glenys said you’re to use the spare room tonight until we get this place cleaned up.”
My heart both swelled and pounded at the same time. It was so lovely to have such caring people around me, and even more the reason why I feared for them. I couldn’t put the Harpers at risk if Mason came back for round two.
“That’s very generous of you both, and please thank Mrs. Harper, but I’ll be fine here. Plus, I’ve made an ungodly mess in the kitchen.”
Mr. Harper looked to the ground, not expecting my refusal. “Well, I don’t think this storm is going to let up anytime soon, so we’ll keep the back door unlocked if you decide to come over.”
“Thank you,” I said, touching his arm gently. “And thank you for coming over to check on me.”
“All right then, I’ll see you in the morning to fix the door. Night, Gem.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Harper.”
Crunching back over the glass, I watched my neighbor leave and then run through the rain and across the lawn back to his house.
“Compose yourself,” I chided, tapping my hand on my thigh and debating the questionable decisions I’d made on the Mason Carter situation. “Get a grip and sort this shit out.”
Retrieving my cell and successfully joining the dots, I dialed Detective Kinross. I waited three rings before he picked up.
“Ms. Sinclair, is everything okay?” His voice was husky like I’d woken him from sleep.
“Mason was here.”
These three words got his attention. “You saw Mason Carter?”
“Yes, it’s storming out, and he was standing on my porch in the rain.”
“Was there an exchange?”
“If you call throwing a rock through the glass French doors an exchange, then yes.”
Kinross exhaled heavily. There was hurried movement on his end. “Shit!” He sounded angry. “And about our conversation earlier?” he asked.
I wanted to put everything in email, the memories too difficult to verbalize. But he expected immediate answers, and after what had just happened, it was time to reveal the truth.
Falling onto the chaise, I stared out into the darkness, the trees still swaying violently and scratching against the windows. For the next forty minutes, I told Detective Kinross about the time at the cabin. He asked a few questions when I informed him about the escalating situation at the Carter house. He wanted to know the name of the boyfriend, but the boys never mentioned his name. Failing to acknowledge his name was their way of dealing with their reality. He remained silent when I informed how Mason assaulted me that day. He cursed through the cell when I revealed how Mason had branded me with the tip of his knife.
“This changes everything, Gemma.”
It was the first time he had called by my given name. There was now a sense of familiarity between us.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”
“Why didn’t you? You placed yourself in danger by not saying anything.”
“It was a catch-22 situation, but now I see I had it all wrong. I thought if I kept quiet Mason would leave me alone. He’d see that I wasn’t a threat. But he wasn’t playing along because his intent was to always find and hurt me.”
“You don’t need to protect him, Gemma. You owe him nothing.”
“I don’t care about Mason, Detective Kinross. I care about Lucas. I don’t want anything happening to him.”
“Right now, my priority is you. What you’ve told me tonight makes our hunt for him all the more urgent.”
“I thought there was supposed to be a police drive-by?”
“There was,” he replied bitterly, apparently unimpressed with the Maine State Police. “Don’t worry, Gemma. I’ll have the whole station marking the perimeter by the end of this phone call.”
Chapter 19
By the time I’d crawled into bed I was hungry, tired and fed up. After the night’s horrific events, I was too sick in the gut to indulge in the Bolognese. Instead, it saw the inside of the garbage during my brief clean up in the dark. The power still hadn’t been restored, the whole street living in darkness with just the faint glow of candles shining through the windows. Having locked and triple checked the doors and windows and seeing the patrol car doing the rounds outside, I was satisfied, to a limited degree, that I could close my eyes and get some sleep.
What unease I did feel was placated by the large chef’s knife under my pillow. I wanted to protect myself in the event I woke to find Mason in my room once more. A part of me hoped he would resurface so we could put an end to the terrorizing. If he stopped for a moment and listened, perhaps he would back off and allow me to return to my life. The other part of me was having none of it. Reality told me Mason Carter was beyond reformation. He had chosen this path, and nothing was going to get in the way of his objective. To end me.
Sitting in bed, I unlocked my phone, a message from Peter waiting to be opened. I hadn’t had the chance to call him back. Opening the text, I read the four words it offered, and my heart plummeted.
Peter: We need to talk.
I cringed at the abruptness. I knew well enough what that meant. What I didn’t know was why, all of a sudden, he’d had a change of heart. Mentally and physically exhausted, I locked my cell, kept it close by my side, and stared at the black ceiling until my eyes closed and I slipped away in a dreamless nothingness.
~
I had arrived in Maine only a couple of days ago, albeit with a false sense of security. Now as I threw my overnight bag on the backseat of my car, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief to be leaving. My parents’ house was supposed to have been a sanctuary from those who threatened my life. Instead, I’d felt trapped with an even greater target on my back.
I approached my neighbor who was working industrially on mending the door. “Mr. Harper, I—”
“Gerald,” he gently reprimanded.
“Gerald, I can’t thank you enough for everything. I know my parents wouldn’t have been too impressed returning from their cruise to see their home vandalized.”
“I’ll be filing a report this morning with the department,” he said while polishing the glass pane.
“Sammy!” We both turned at the sound of Mrs. Harper’s voice. “Sammy! Where are you?” she called while scanning the yard.
“Who is she looking for?” I asked while shielding my eyes from the harsh morning sun.
“Sammy, the Maltese. Silly thing went missing last night. I think the storm scared him off.”
“I hope he hasn’t wandered far. Maybe check with the pound in case someone found him.”
“Will do, love. No choice but to find him. Glenys treats him like a human child. Eats at the dinner table, sleeps on the pillow. Even has a nightly shower with her. First time he’s ever run, though,” Gerald said, stacking his tools back in his toolbox.
There was no evidence to suggest it, so I didn’t. I didn’t even want to think about it. But that didn’t stop the sickening dread that took hold of my stomach, ruthlessly twisting and turning with the thought that maybe Mason had something to do with it.
“You all right, love?” Gerald asked, a frown marring his sweaty forehead.
“Yes,” I grima
ced. “Anyway, thanks again.” I stepped forward embracing him in a friendly hug, which he uncomfortably returned with an awkward pat on the back.
“Safe trip back home and don’t leave it so long between visits.”
I nodded, though I doubted I would be returning anytime soon. I couldn’t involve anyone else in this drama.
“Bye, Mrs. Harper,” I called while taking to the porch steps. She returned my wave but was too distracted with finding Sammy.
Taking one last look at the house, I climbed into the front seat and started the engine. I had one final stop to make before I headed home. I prayed that at least would be drama-free.
After driving a short distance, I turned down the gravel drive and took in Christina’s quaint home. It was a small cottage adorned with roses and hedges lining the path. The couple she’d bought it off during her marriage were elderly and forced to move in with their son, the upkeep of the cottage being too much for them. When Dickhead Damian did a runner, Christina took over the maintenance, and so far, even with a nine-month-old baby, had kept everything running like a well-oiled machine. I didn’t intend to stay long, the guilt over the exhibition hanging over my head.
I took to the stepping stones with the uneven surface, my wedges causing my legs to wobble. Holding my arms out, I regained balance and knocked on the door. I waited for Christina’s typical sing-song voice but heard nothing. When half a minute passed, I knocked once more. With still no Christina, I tilted to the side and spied through a gap in the drapes. Evie was lying on her rug playing with a maraca, her little legs kicking out. Soon she would be walking but not quite yet. Scanning the room as best I could, Christina was still nowhere to be found. Returning to the door, I twisted the brass handle to find it unlocked. Letting myself in, I immediately heard the sounds of cartoons playing softly on the TV. Evie turned her head slightly, her gummy mouth opening in a cheerful smile as she cooed and shook the maraca with gusto.
“Hi, sweetie,” I cooed back, getting on my knees to plant a kiss on her soft forehead. “Where’s your mommy, my darling?” I tickled her cheek, and her smile widened. “Is she hiding from me?”
