With her free hand, Cindy wiped away the tear. She left the other underneath his rather large one, needing all the comfort she could find.
"Let's start somewhere else," Pearson said. "Do you have a significant other or a friend that you keep tabs with?"
"Oh, a boyfriend? No." Cindy giggled, for some reason, the question seemed funny. "I have friends, lots of friends."
"Good."
Cindy could hear the smile in his voice. Had she tried too hard with the friend thing? Did it sound as if she'd said lots because she had few? Well, he'd be surprised, she did have a lot.
"Do you routinely tell a friend, or family member, where you are going or what you are doing? Perhaps they could help us."
"Like every time?"
"Yes."
"Not every time. Who does that?"
"It is a wise habit I would encourage you to get into." Detective Pearson's voice became stern, sounding very police-like. Or maybe more like Cindy's grandfather when he pretended to be angry with her. She'd remembered a grandfather. "I have a grandfather!"
"Very good. What is your grandfather's name?"
Cindy opened her mouth to respond but didn't have an answer. She lowered her head. "I don't know."
"It's okay. Something came to you. More will follow. Would you mind if I contacted your friends and see if they remember anything unusual?"
"No, of course not. That would be fine." Cindy gave him the names of the five friends who most often accompanied her to dinner, but she couldn't remember a single phone number. Why weren't her friends in her phone contacts?
"Where do you work?"
Cindy opened her mouth. It was on the tip of her tongue, the edge of her brain. If she could just dig a little deeper. "Paskel, Dylan, and Lindel. I'm a paralegal." There! She had done it!
"Great! Very good."
Cindy nodded so vigorously her head swirled.
The detective cleared his throat again. "You were found by someone driving along the road. Their headlights picked up the sparkle, and the body laid across the pile."
Cindy gasped. "It was me? You say that as if someone left me there to die."
"Cindy, this was not an accident. Someone did this to you. It is my belief a man attacked you and expected you to die."
Cold washed over her from head to toe, and Cindy's heart battered against her ribcage. "But -- but why?"
"That is what I'm here to find out." His hand patted hers again. "Don't worry, I will do everything I can to get answers. And remember, you're safe now."
She swallowed a sob. Why didn't she feel that way?
"We need to discuss last night. I know this will be hard for you, but it's important."
Tears welled up. She didn't want to talk about it, the more she learned, the worse it got, but she had no choice. "Okay."
Pearson cleared his throat. "You were stabbed in the stomach."
Cindy's hand drifted to the bandages that covered the source of her white-hot pain. So, that is what caused it.
"Does it hurt very much?"
"Yes." Cindy choked out the word.
"I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "You were dressed in a long, dark purple designer dress. Eggplant, someone called it. Diamond jewelry, nice quality. Are those your items?"
"No," Cindy whispered. "I'm still paying off college debt. I don't have money for those kinds of things."
"So, you don't remember preparing for or attending a special function of any kind?"
She bit her lip. "No."
"The last unusual aspect of this case is what you were found on."
Cindy gripped her hands together so tight they hurt.
"You were laid on a large pile of glass, broken glass. It was how our 911 caller found you. It sparkled so brightly in their headlights, you see. Unfortunately, it also accounted for many of your other injuries as your attacker also added a light layer of it over your body."
Cindy's trembling intensified the more he went on. As the detective spoke, it was not the shock it should've been. Some part of Cindy remembered this. She searched for Pearson's hand. Cindy couldn't help herself; she needed the feel of another human being to comfort her. Detective Pearson caught Cindy's flailing fingers and held them.
She could imagine the scene. Sparkling glass catching the light, herself laid out like some kind of sleeping beauty decked out in a billowing ballgown. Blond hair spilling over the glittering bed. Brilliant jewels covering her neck, ears, and wrist. Even her skin must have shimmered against the black night.
It suggested a beautiful scene, but it was a deathbed. Someone had left her there to die.
Cindy pulled her hands from the detective's and buried her face in them. Who would have done this to her?
Chapter Seven
Aaron had come, almost against orders. Well, okay, there was no almost. It was against orders.
When Aaron asked, his boss said, “Aaron Walters, you leave that woman alone.”
Why did he have the one boss in the world who cared more about victims than getting more readers? No wonder the local Internet news site never grew in membership. Aaron set his jaw. They had an obligation to print the story. But what did he know? He was a rookie reporter and had no business being there. But here he was anyway.
Aaron shifted against the wall where he leaned across from Cindy Ellerd’s room. He kept one eye on her through a small space between the open door and a half-pulled curtain and the other on the hallway in case his aunt showed up.
Cindy spoke with a detective, but not one Aaron knew. Her hands trembled as she twisted at her dark hair, but she sat straight and tall on that bed. Cindy Ellerd was brave, a very brave woman, and people needed to hear her story. Did she remember everything that happened yet, or was her head injury still holding back her memories?
Aaron’s Aunt Nancy, Cindy’s nurse, had called him last night on her break. She knew Aaron liked news of unusual happenings, though she didn’t know why. Aaron kept his side gig quiet for now, hoping it would lead to a job as an investigative journalist and continued his day job as a construction worker. He normally kept his distance, like his boss wanted, but the strangeness of this case drew him in and was sure to grab the readers’ attention.
Aaron had read every tiny scrap of information he could get his hands on about the case, which wasn’t much. Even this morning’s newspapers were disappointing thin about the story. He would know, he bought every one. Aaron looked down at his still inky fingers and rubbed them on his jeans. What he wouldn’t give to break this case wide open.
He studied the back of the detective, but there was little to see besides his dark hair. The man wore a trench coat, remarkably like every dime store novel detective. Aaron almost rolled his eyes. One had to wonder how a man could dress like that and take his job seriously.
The detective stood to leave, and Aaron popped up off the wall and walked down the hallway. No need to have the officer catch him loitering in front of the victim’s room.
Chapter Eight
Nurse Nancy stood at Cindy’s bedside, her arms around her after Detective Pearson left the room. “There, there. You poor girl! I should have known this would be too hard. You’re not up to all that.” The woman served as a great comfort to Cindy, whose near-hysterical sobbing started to slow.
“Why in the world did that detective walk off with you in this state?” Nancy asked. When it was apparent Cindy didn’t have an answer, the nurse muttered, “Always making my job harder, I shouldn’t let him in here.”
Nurse Nancy’s no-nonsense attitude mixed with her soft bedside manner won Cindy over. She hoped to have Nurse Nancy with her as long as she needed to stay here.
As the detective left, Cindy’s worries had tumbled one into the other until they became an avalanche of concerns, but one kept coming back to her every time she moved. The cuts on her body reminded her of it.
“Can I ask,” she choked out between sniffles, “can I ask… I’m worried about… scars. From what Detective Pearson said…
Am I grotesque?”
“What? No! No, dear. I assure you; you will heal up nicely. The knife injury, well, that will leave a scar, but that can be taken care of later if you wish.”
“But all the glass…” Cindy shuddered with a veracity that surprised her and made her wonder if, on some level, she did remember being on that bed of slivers.
Nancy patted Cindy on her shoulder. “Think of them like a hundred bee stings or mosquito bites. Yes, I know it is more serious and will take longer to heal, but when it is done, they will be gone — all gone with only a few marks left. Certainly, nothing one would call grotesque or even very noticeable.”
Cindy sagged with relief. The detective had gone through every injury as if that were his duty, and maybe it was, how would she know? He’d said she was disfigured. Being unable to see her injuries made it all the more believable until the nurse calmed her fears. Cindy swallowed and stuttered out her final question. “And my eyes?”
“Just as I said, Cindy, I promise. They only need a rest.”
Cindy felt for Nancy’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you!”
Nancy returned her enthusiasm, then moved away to continue her review of her patient. “Well, if we are all done with that, why don’t I get your vitals then check about your dinner? I’m sure you could use a nice meal after all this drama, am I right?”
Cindy sent her a small smile, hoping Nancy would take it as an apology. “You are right. It’s exactly what I need.”
When dinner arrived, Nancy helped Cindy so she wouldn’t make a mess of it. Little had Cindy known the challenges a person faced when they were unable to see. Even small things could be a struggle for her.
Nancy gave Cindy her dignity, talking her through what she could manage, but now and then it took a helping hand to get back on track. To add butter to bread became a dangerous endeavor, and the straw was like a weapon in Cindy’s hands until she found the cup. She was thankful this was a temporary condition, if it were different, she would surely need an extensive education.
Cindy was relieved to find she did well enough to get food in her mouth, which was, of course, the objective. She raised a napkin to her face glad she couldn’t see what she looked like after her meal and uttered a small embarrassed chuckle when Nancy poked at a spot she’d missed on her face.
A wave of calm came over Cindy as Nancy moved the tray away from her bed. She and the nurse had enjoyed a friendly chat, laughing about Nancy’s co-workers and family. For a few moments, Cindy had forgotten where she was and why she was there. She was just a girl having dinner with a new acquaintance. It seemed a long time since she’d been so carefree. It felt good.
Chapter Nine
Cindy had stirred with strange dreams the night before, but not tonight. The dinner with Nancy was the first meal she’d finished since arriving at the hospital. Her full stomach and the effort of getting ready for nighttime had Cindy exhausted.
A nurse interrupted Cindy’s deep sleep at least once, and something else woke her a second time though she couldn’t have said what. She wasn’t alarmed by this. Everyone knew a hospital was not a place to find absolute quiet.
The third time Cindy stirred, she expected the light hands of a nurse strapping on a blood pressure cuff. She blearily waited, but it never came. Some other noise must have woke her, she thought, and she drifted back to sleep.
When she awakened yet again, it seemed as though some time had passed. She roused herself as best she could given it felt like the middle of the night. When a nurse still didn’t appear at her side, Cindy frowned. Because there was something, a stir in the air, some small exhalation telling Cindy she was not alone.
“Hello?” Cindy whispered the word. Fear and foolishness mixed, giving her an odd emotion. This was everyone’s worst nightmare, to be in a dark room with an unknown someone or something. And to make it worse, Cindy was blind.
Her hands tightened on the bedsheets. Her heart quickened.
“Hello?” Cindy’s voice sounded thin voice even to herself. “Please say something.”
There was no answer. Had she really expected or wanted one? Of course not.
Still, Cindy leaned forward, listening with every fiber of her being for some sound, any sound. She hoped for the squeak of a hospital employee’s shoe entering the room. She feared anything else.
Someone had attacked her yesterday, probably a man -- Detective Pearson told her so. Cindy trembled. A man wealthy enough to buy expensive dresses and jewels. A man with enough patience to set up that elaborate scene. And a man intending to murder her, if those three stab wounds meant anything.
Would it be odd to think such a man would ache to finish the job he’d started?
A cold sensation swept through Cindy even though her palms clenching the linens turned sweaty. She yanked the sheets up over her chest as if they were some kind of flimsy shield and waited. If someone were here, they would reveal themselves, and when they did, she’d scream the hospital down.
Cindy’s thundering heart sounded so loud she was sure it drowned out any small noises an intruder would make. She took long breaths, trying to quiet it, as slow and noiselessly as she was able. She couldn’t say it worked well.
When two laughing workers strolled down the hall. Cindy desperately called to them, “Hello? I need help in here!”
What seemed like a building scream came out a paltry squeak. The workers didn’t even break their stride. She sobbed and bit her lip.
A low chuckle broke the silence.
Cindy’s trembling limbs took flight. Legs searched for the edge of the bed only to be stopped by the side rail. Cindy’s hand landed on the call button. She pressed it again and again with one hand while the other shook the rail attempting to lower it.
Failing that, Cindy turned to hands and knees following the rail to the end of the bed. A sharp pain ran up her arm, the IV had gone as far as it would go.
The low laugh came again, then his whispers, “Oh, Cinderella, you don’t get to escape this ball. Not yet.”
At the end of the mattress, she froze at the unfamiliar, yet familiar, voice. His shoe brushed across the floor as she moved.
Cindy reached for the thin IV tubing and jerked. The metal stand clattered loudly as it hit the tile floor. Cindy ignored it other than to hope someone else would hear it.
The pull on her arm slackened. Cindy raced the extra distance, one hand waving from side to side in front of her, the best she could do without sight. She flew the way she’d heard the nurses come, the direction she knew the hallway to be from the noises that filtered into her room.
She prayed he did not block the path.
When the IV pulled at her again, Cindy dragged it along. Steel squealed against the floor loud enough to raise the dead, and even in that moment of panic, Cindy scolded herself for using that phrase at a time like this.
Voices. She heard voices. Not his — laughing cheerful sounds. They came and went.
Maybe she could catch them. She felt the edge of the door and gave one more mighty pull, hauling the IV stand as far as it would go.
It would be enough. It had to be enough.
Cindy stumbled through the exit, gasping and sobbing. Tears streamed down her face and soaked the top of her thin hospital gown. “Help me. Help me.” Once more, the shrill cries in her mind were little more than the sounds of a muttering mad woman.
The staff chatted and laughed at their station down the hall on her left. Cindy yanked the stand again.
It pulled back.
Standing to the side of her hospital room door, Cindy thumped onto the wall behind her back. Her chest heaving, she worked to haul in enough air despite her gasping. She slapped the surface and clawed at the smooth white paint.
He was here. He was coming for her.
Lungs finally full, she screamed. The wail left her, rushed down the hallway, and echoed back.
At the nurse’s station, a collective gasp went up. The pounding of soft-soled shoes against the hard floor allow
ed Cindy some hope of rescue.
A stir of air beside came before his low voice. “I’m coming for you, princess.” A smooth finger traced lightly down her cheek, leaving a chill that lingered.
Cindy started to quake, her body hitting the plaster behind her with such force it could be heard.
“Don’t worry. I’m going, dear.” That evil chuckle again.
Cindy put her hands to her face and slid down the wall, her head spinning.
Chapter Ten
Nancy reached her first. Cindy imagined Nancy’s eyes scanning her for injuries as she raised and lowered her arms, then cupped her tear-drenched face.
“What is it?” Nancy asked. “What happened?”
“Did you see him?”
“See who, dear?”
“The man who just left my room!”
Quiet conversation broke out before footsteps walked in each direction of the hallway. Cindy laid her head back against the wall and took a slow breath in and out. “There was someone,” she whispered, “someone in my room.”
Nancy put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re checking it out.”
Nurse’s shoes squeaked against the floor as they moved around her room. The bed curtain rattled as it slid on the rod, but there were few places to hide in a hospital room.
Cindy waited, hoping they would find something. The shoes squeaked back to her.
Nancy laid a light hand on her arm. “Cindy, dear, no one is there.”
“I know. The man left, but he was there.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
Cindy hesitated. “He laughed at me. He called me Cinderella.” A sob shook her body. “I could hear him. He touched my face.”
“Oh, that sounds terrible,” Nancy said. “We are checking it out, but we’ve never had an incident like this before. And Cindy, you must remember you are on pain medicine. That could have… made your dreams appear more vivid. For now, let’s get you back in bed.”
Cinderella Lane Page 2
