Shattered Dreams (Banshee Book 3)

by Sara Clancy

  Still, he remained silent. He didn’t turn to look at her as she pushed the door closed, but he flinched at the sound. She reached for the deadbolt and he whispered his first word.

  “Don’t.”

  “I can’t just leave the door unlocked,” she said, before she caught onto what his request meant.

  He wanted to make sure that if he had to flee, he could do it easily, which meant that he wasn’t just worried about whatever was out there – whatever had made him run naked through a storm. He was also worried that there might be something in here.

  “Okay.” Her voice was gentle, but her fingers were like stone around the gun handle. “Just until we get you warmed up, okay?”

  Silent, Benton stood in the middle of the room, the puddle at his feet creating an ever-increasing mark on the carpet. In the brighter light of the room, she could see his normally pink complexion turning into a hint of blue. She noticed the mild quiver of his body, and the protective hunch in his shoulders. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at the bathroom door.

  “Let me get some towels,” Nicole said, as she slipped past him.

  His hand shot out and latched onto her. His grip tightened, forcing the bracelet to grind painfully against the bones of her wrist. With a sharp wince, she tried to pull away. He wouldn’t let go. She put her hand over his and pried at his unmoving fingers.

  “Benton, you’re hurting me.”

  His eyes shifted back to her, but he could only meet her gaze for a moment before the bathroom dragged his attention back.

  “Don’t go in there,” he said in a broken whimper, as if worried they were being overheard.

  She didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”

  Instantly, his grip loosened until he was only gently holding her wrist, with a limp handgrip that she could easily pull herself free from. She didn’t move. As much as Benton shied away from human contact, the sense of touch calmed him, and he needed that now.

  “But we still need to get you dry.” The words weren’t enough to make him look at her, as his eyes remained steadfast on the threshold to the bathroom. “Should I close the door?”

  He nodded as if there wasn’t a single muscle in his neck. He still didn’t let her go. Careful not to make any sudden movements, she twisted her wrist and worked herself free from his icy grip. It was hard to make her steps as confident as he needed, and as cautious as he wanted, but she found a pace that seemed to keep him from going into an outright panic.

  She couldn’t fight off the slight tremble that claimed her hands. As subtly as she could, she flicked the gun’s safety off. The storm overpowered the sound of the sharp clack, and it didn’t draw his attention. Slowly, she lifted her free hand and inched her fingers towards the door handle. No matter how hard she focused, she couldn’t see what was keeping Benton so transfixed.

  The bathroom door was open with plenty of space for something to lurk behind it, unseen. Steam still lingered against the ceiling, catching the glow of the florescent light. The room was bright. Clean. A normal bathroom in a normal room. Whatever had captured Benton’s attention, she couldn’t see it. Her stomach knotted up painfully and each heartbeat slammed against her ribs.

  Her hand lingered over the door, still not touching it, but close enough to feel the slight chill that clung to the metal. She couldn’t get her hand to close around it. Glancing over her shoulder, she captured Benton’s gaze. The storm raged just beyond the room, filling the air with a clash of clouds and sparks of electricity with the rain thundering against the roof like a charging stampede. Droplets shook loose as his trembling increased. She couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or from fear. The blue flush had seeped into his lips. He needed to get dry. She took half a step into the bathroom and his response was instantaneous.

  “Don’t.”

  The word was barely audible over the onslaught outside, but it made her freeze. Swallowing hard, one hand still hovering in the air, the gun heavy and solid in the other, she could barely bring herself to ask the question that screamed within her head.

  “Benton,” she whispered. “What’s in the bathroom?”

  “Collin Page.”

  Her stomach plummeted and her lungs tightened. “What is he doing?”

  “Staring,” Benton’s voice was numb.

  “At who?”

  Benton remained silent until she was sure she was about to crawl out of her skin. “Close the door.”

  Nicole gripped the handle and slammed it shut. She staggered back a few steps before she remembered that she was supposed to be the calm one in the room, and forced herself to stand steady again. She drew in a deep breath and fixed a smile onto her face.

  “Okay,” she said in a light tone that oozed with manufactured happiness. “Collin obviously wants some privacy and we’re going to give it to him. I don’t need that brush and we can just use the bathroom in the hotel lobby. He’ll stay in there and we’ll stay out here.”

  A sharp clatter was heard from behind the closed door, as she looked down to see her necklace slip out from under the bathroom door. The beads became a tangled mess as it tumbled over the carpet and came to a stop just an inch from her bare toes. She stared down at the glistening beads, her jaw slack, and her stomach turning to ice. Benton’s words barely hit her ears.

  “He likes that idea.”

  Her muscles felt numb and strained as she crouched down and retrieved her necklace. The tangling strands tinkled against each other like chimes, and it seemed like the storm itself paused so she could hear the soft sound. The cool beads rolled against her fingers, solid and real. Behind her, Benton drew in a shallow breath. Like a light flicking on, she remembered the more pressing matters and twisted around to see Benton still standing in the same place, shaking, arms heavy at his sides. But now, his gaze wandered restlessly as if he didn’t quite know what to look at since the ghost was no longer in his line of sight.

  “We need to get you warmed up,” Nicole said.

  She rushed to the sliding door of the wardrobe and pulled the closest door open, searching for any extra bedding.

  “I didn’t know they felt different,” Benton mumbled, as a crack of thunder made the overhead lights flicker.

  It was clear from the first glance that there were no blankets on the few shelves, but she still searched along through them with trails of hope before moving on to the next side.

  “What feels different?” she asked, with a light tone, desperate for something to serve as a distraction for both of them.

  A fine tremor had claimed her hands and she couldn’t seem to make it stop, not when her mind was whirling, trying to figure out just how long Collin had been there, and if he had been planning to hurt her. The lessons that her parents taught her took over her mind, just long enough for her to click the gun’s safety switch back on.

  “Suicides,” he uttered, almost absently. “They feel different from murder victims.”

  A cold chill swept down her spine and she pulled at the mirrored doors, sliding open the other side of the closet. The relief she felt at seeing a pile of folded blankets worked to erode the tension that twisted up her insides. Bundling the bedding into her arms until she could barely hold the mounds of thick fabric, she whirled around, walking back towards the first bed before she noticed it.

  Benton stood by the second bed, the one closest to the door, looking shell-shocked and rigid. Still, he had slightly moved just enough to keep facing her, and as she headed towards the bed, he adjusted his stance again, his back facing the bed, not seeing the sudden movement that was happening on it. It was so slow that, at first, she wasn’t quite sure that she had seen it herself. The bed cover began to bunch.

  As if caught in an invisible grip, the sheet twisted and rose. Then, slowly at first but with increasing speed, the cover began to slide, dropping off the bed and disappearing in the space between the bed frame and the wall. The sound of the plummeting rain covered the rasp of the material as she watched the bedding being ri
pped to the side by an unseen force.

  Nicole’s shout of warning caught in her throat, becoming a grunt gasp as she rushed towards him. His face went pale before he was flung to the ground. The wet carpet squelched as his chest slammed down onto it and, before she could wrap her mind around what was happening, Benton was yanked back with a startling force. He clawed at the carpet but couldn’t prevent his thrashing legs from being devoured by the dark shadows that were now under the bed.

  Nicole tossed the blankets aside and dropped to her knees, barely quick enough to latch onto his arms. He clawed at the carpet and she tried pulling him back with all of her strength, but it wasn’t enough to counter the force dragging him under. She flopped back against the floor as his arms slipped from her grip. It only took a split second to sit up, but it was enough to lose sight of him completely.

  Screaming his name, she shoved at the bed. Its wheels caught and locked, keeping it in place, no matter how hard she pushed. Scrambling to the side of the bed, she flatted her back against the frame, planted her feet on the ground, and forced her full weight and strength against the bed. The stillness that covered the room terrified her, driving her closer to mindless panic as her feet scraped over the carpet. There was barely enough room for an adult to fit under the bed. If Benton was able to move at all, the mattress should budge with his every attempt for freedom. But the bed didn’t move. And Benton didn’t scream.

  With a frustrated cry, Nicole jerked around and shoved her hands between the bed frame and the mattress. There was a moment of resistance before the mattress peeled away like dead skin. She hurled it up, letting it topple and slide down the far side of the frame. There was a sharp crash as the mattress collided against the bedside table, shattering the lamp that stood between it and the floor. The mattress wedged against the wall, leaving the other side to jut down and whack her on the back of her head, as she clawed at the bed’s wooden frame.

  She could see Benton through the gaps. His fingers gouged out chunks of the carpet as his wrists flattened against the floor. His legs thrashed but he couldn’t move his feet. The muscles of his jaw tightened despite struggling to open his mouth. He fought with everything he had, but he couldn’t break free of the force that pinned him down.

  Bruises began to appear on Benton's ankles, weakening his already diminished strength to break loose. She could only watch the damage spread as she helplessly pulled at the bed slats. With a cheek pressed against the carpet, Benton released a pained moan as he thrashed. The damaged skin went from tinges of gray and blue to a rotted black as his blood swelled. She still couldn’t see what was doing all this to him, but he could. That was clear by the horror that twisted his features, and the strangled sobs that worked their way out of his throat.

  His legs ceased to function as a new bruise began to emerge. Before her eyes, the injury spread until a perfect handprint had formed on his left calf. He gasped again, a pained, pitiful noise as a new mark began to take shape, this one just above his knee on his right leg. Every last trace of air escaped Nicole’s lungs when she realized that the creature was crawling up him.

  Releasing her grip on the slats, she quickly darted her eyes around the room. There didn’t seem to be anything that was sturdy enough to break through the wooden bed frame. Her eyes fell on the small table and she rushed to it. The single, metal stand of the base was heavy enough that she had to use both hands to carry it, but it would work.

  Standing on the side of the bed, she lifted it as high as she could and tried to decide the best place to strike. If she could break a couple of the slats, she might be in a better position to use her body weight on the others. But if she missed, if she accidently struck the wrong board, she wouldn’t be able to stop both the splintered wood and the thick table leg from driving into Benton’s exposed back. Images of the damage she could cause filled her mind’s eye, and she hesitated.

  Lightning struck, its glow blazing through the curtains as the sky released a thunderous roar. The stark white light turned Benton almost silver, highlighting the bruises that now covered his hip, his side, and his shoulder blade. She swung down, driving the end of the table leg into the last wooden plank with all of her strength. It split in two instantly, and she stumbled as she pulled the weight back up. The second blow broke the next plank, creating enough space for her to stand in. Just enough for her to reach down and touch Benton’s hand.

  Letting the table drop wherever it would, Nicole jumped into the space she had created. The jagged edge of the broken wood sliced at her bare feet and knees, scraping at her skin. She reached with one hand, the awkward angle making her shoulder ache, but she managed to grab his wrist. She still couldn’t pull him up. A dark bruise began to surface around his neck. His frantic breathing turned into a splutter then stopped, his eyes growing impossibly wide. With both hands, Nicole shoved at the next plank. It slid in its run only a fraction of an inch before it locked into place. She screamed for him again as she reached for him, this time with both hands, grabbing him under his forearms.

  A rush of arctic air slammed into her. Hard enough to slide her back until the end of the bed frame smacked against her spine. Benton came with her, the tension that had been holding him down snapping like a rubber band. Both caught off guard, they were unable to stop his skull form colliding painfully with her knee. The blow stunned Benton. For a moment, his body lay still, then began to quiver as it remembered how to breathe.

  “It’s okay,” Nicole sobbed. She tried to force more confidence and control into her words, but it wouldn’t work. “You’re okay. Come on, let’s get you up.”

  Pain zipped along her nerves as she straightened up, radiating out from where Benton’s body had struck her. Each time she tried to put weight on her seriously injured leg, the knee would threaten to buckle. It made it harder to pull both herself, and the still gasping Benton, from the ruins of the bed frame. It wasn’t until he mustered enough strength to offer some help that they managed to escape and tumble onto the floor.

  He seemed content to just lay there and panted through his aching throat, but she couldn’t believe that it was over. She tried to be gentle, but her movements were hurried, propelled on by a consuming need to know that he was there, that he was okay, that he was safe. He grunted at her manhandling, but helped her pull him into a tight hug.

  “What happened?” she asked, even as her mind screamed at her that he needed time to recover. “What was that? Is it gone?”

  “She followed me,” he managed to say between gasps.

  He was gaining some strength and placed one hand on the floor, taking on some of his weight but not holding himself up entirely. She wasn’t ready to let him go, but pulled back just enough to check his neck. The mark was there, but not as prominent as the others. With trembling fingers, she reached out to trace the faint lines, as if touching it would somehow make all of this seem real. She was gentle, barely making contact, but he still winced.

  “Sorry,” she gasped.

  Before she could pull back, he reached up and grabbed her wrist. He didn’t say anything. He just stared. And it took her a lot longer than it should have to realize that he wasn’t looking at her arm. His gaze was solely focused on her bracelet.

  “She only let go when this touched her.” His bewilderment was clear in his voice, making it useless to ask why. It was clear that he didn’t know.

  “Is she gone?” she asked, instead.

  It took a lot out of him to lift his head and glance around the room. “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Good,” Nicole muttered, mostly to herself.

  Benton moved with her when he thought that she was trying to get him on his feet. That cooperation changed the moment he realized that she was instead removing the bracelet from her wrist and attempting to fasten it to his. Between exhaustion, exposure, and near suffocation, Benton didn’t stand much of a chance of putting up a decent resistance. As soon as she latched the bracelet on his wrist, Nicole cupped his face and forced him to meet her gaze.


  “I’ve got the gun. You’ve got the bracelet. We’ll protect each other.”

  A moment passed. The rain fell, and he surrendered with a weak nod. That settled, her adrenaline began to fade, bringing into sharp focus just how cold his skin was. He felt like an ice sculpture pressed against her side. Droplets of water still clung to him even as they soaked into her clothes, making her shiver while her fingers numbed.

  “We need to get you warm,” she said as she gently released his jaw.

  He still needed her help to stand, and with much stumbling she managed to direct him to the unmarred bed. The mattress sagged as he sat on the edge. He swayed slightly but managed to keep upright as she ran back to the pile of discarded blankets. She grabbed the first one she could reach and dragged it back to Benton. A soft clatter reminded her that the gun was nestled under the layers of material. She tossed them all aside until she found the weapon and tucked it into the back of her waistband. The cold pressure against her spine was uncomfortable, although she did find a certain degree of comfort in the constant reminder that it was there. Snatching up the blanket once more, she shook it out and looped it around Benton’s bare shoulders.

  “Dry off with this, while I put the kettle on,” she instructed. “I’ll make you some tea.”

  Mostly recovered from his shock and breathing normally, he begrudgingly obeyed, albeit with sluggish movements and a few pained grunts. Leaving him to absently wipe the rather unabsorbent material over his limbs. Nicole crossed the room to the array of items that sat atop the mini fridge. It was only when she had the electric kettle handle in her hand that she remembered the bathroom was effectively off limits and there was no sink out here to fill it up. Her injured knee throbbed as she crouched down to check the contents of the mini fridge. There were two bottles of water. She used one to fill the kettle and, setting it to boil, then took the other over to Benton.

  He took it from her with a smile of gratitude and finished it off in the time it took her to retrieve another blanket from the pile. She was about to protest the way he lazily tossed the bottle across the room when she noticed that it hit the broken remains of the bed she had just destroyed. So instead, she shook out the new blanket, held it up before him, and said.