Fear Is Louder Than Words

by Linda S. Glaz

  Rochelle heard a strange thumping on the other end as if the caller were pounding a surface. “Take a deep breath. I’d like to help you.”

  “No! You can’t!” The woman cried. Silence. “Please, no!”

  All of a sudden a loud pop like a car backfiring replaced the moment of quiet.

  CHAPTER 39

  ALWAYS ON THE ROAD when Rochelle needed him.

  Ed sighed and wondered, what was up with that?

  The job. The game.

  Now, headed back home, reeling from a revolting loss with Philly after nearly being ejected from the game again, he had less patience than usual with what had happened to her. He needed to calm down and try to handle this conversation with ever-gentle kid gloves. Because no matter how he tried to show that he cared, she balked.

  “Just take a deep breath and talk to me. You’re going to be all right.” The best soothing tones over the phone were no substitute for arms that could hold her.

  This was a difficult way to live, day to day, out of a suitcase and on the phone. If only he could be with her, comforting her. He meant business about changing his life but still hadn’t told her. This wasn’t the right time to be thinking about himself.

  He pictured her tucking that stray curl behind her ear.

  “Never in my wildest imagination would I have anticipated a caller taking her life because of my show, Ed.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t because of your show.”

  “Feels that way.”

  He struggled with the lid on his coffee. “Are the police involved?”

  “Of course.”

  No sense saying anything to frighten her further, but she had to be conscious of the likelihood she might be the target. It seemed unlikely that a woman would call Rochelle out of the blue to commit suicide.

  Suicide. He jerked, and the coffee spilled over his jeans.

  “One second.” He jumped up and grabbed his jacket. “Sorry. What did the police say?”

  “They’re investigating as we speak.”

  Yards of yellow police tape and detectives in trench coats who all looked like Law and Order clones filled his imagination. He shook his head. Copies of her show would be mulled over by inspectors, and he was miles away. “I don’t want it to sound like I’m making a big deal out of this, but Rochelle, if this wasn’t suicide, it might have been a manner of warning you.”

  “Warning me? About what?”

  “A man attacked you. If the attack wasn’t random, could there be a connection to your show?” He remembered a stalker who had latched onto Brett Galloway’s wife after meeting her at a fundraiser. “Or maybe to Bennett?”

  “Then you think this was my fault?”

  #

  Rochelle sucked back and held her breath. So the rest of the world saw her as a victim?

  “What?” Ed’s voice rose. “Of course not.”

  “Then what kind of connection are you talking about?”

  “Long distance comfort isn’t a solution,” he said. “Listen. It’s what time there?”

  She checked the clock. “A little before eight. Why?”

  His voice lowered, softened. “I want you to calm down. My flight gets in nine-thirtyish. I’ll head straight to your place. Make it around ten thirty. Is that too late?”

  “Coming to the damsel’s rescue again? You can’t, Ed.”

  “I most certainly can. See you then.”

  She hung up the phone.

  Stubborn man, but she had to admit, in this instance, she was glad. It had been about a month since their disastrous date at the game. She’d only taken phone calls.

  All along, she had said no and very credibly. Now, she had opened a door she’d intended to keep closed. The day had simply gone from bad to worse and no denying it.

  Something else Rochelle no longer denied. She was falling, and falling hard for Ed in spite of the walls she’d carefully constructed. Whenever she needed a person on her side, he showed up or called. Not receiving a thing from her in return. Not like the guys who took a girl to dinner in order to sneak into her pants by way of obligation.

  She stared at the lonely kitchen, one she had to force herself to cook in for one. He’d be hungry after his short flight. No food.

  “Maybe a homemade hot n’ sweet pizza with a bunch of chilled fruit after. Do I have any cold pop left?” As she talked to herself, her mind raced, but she didn’t care. At least she was thinking of something other than that woman’s death.

  Ed. Now that she’d resolved to see him, she’d be as hospitable as possible. She stood up and strolled to the fridge where she searched for the veggies she’d need. Ready-made crust plopped on the counter to thaw. She sliced acid-free tomatoes and grabbed a small round of fresh mozzarella.

  While the tomatoes sautéed in olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and hot spices, she sprinkled a little sugar over the top and switched the oven to high. Soon enough, the chunky tomatoes simmered thick and steamy, and she spooned globs onto the crust. Creamy cheese, pepper slices, and mushrooms topped off the tangy sweetness, and she loaded the hot oven.

  Peaches from last summer thawed on the counter to go with slices of rich pound cake, and she put two cans of pop in the fridge to chill. She laid out paper plates and napkins and fixed an iced frappuccino to stay awake.

  With a deep sigh, she mulled over the long, long day.

  She was positive she had heard that woman’s voice before. But where?

  Maybe the police would have answers tomorrow.

  She checked the oven, and sooner than she expected, she heard a car outside. His footsteps were soft on the porch, and she jumped to her feet. From now on, she would make sure he felt welcome, not like an intruder.

  She plastered on her best smile, swung the door wide open. “Good to see—”

  A man in a ski mask body-slammed into her and shoved her to the wall.

  He had one hand over her mouth and the other arm pressed across her chest like a steel bar on a Ferris wheel. “Good to see you, too. Let’s go check out the castle … Princess.”

  Her eyes opened wide. He flipped her into the crook of his arm and kept his other hand over her mouth. With his breath hot against her hair, he forced her into the living room. Her running shoes thudded against the floor as she tried to stop the momentum.

  “You’ve got good taste. I sorta figured you would, Princess. Where’s the knight? Got a road game?” His laughter pressed into her ear.

  Then his knees pushed into hers from behind and drove her forward. The timer in the kitchen beeped.

  She smelled his hands. Sweet. She gagged. No more victim! She glared at each object they passed hoping for a weapon to snatch. A piece of metal artwork. Her fingers clutched it as they passed. She pulled it up and backwards as hard as she could, aiming for his face.

  The guy screamed, but the crack in the face only made him angrier. He threw her into a chair, swearing—putting into words exactly what he planned to do.

  She tried to ask why; only a muffled sound came out.

  Rochelle pulled back her foot, but he dodged her.

  “Not again, Princess. I won’t fall for the helpless act a second time.” He pushed her leg away with the outside of his knee. “We started this happy little get-together a couple months ago. Anticipation only makes it sweeter.”

  Her gaze dashed from side to side. There had to be something to grab.

  She opened her mouth to scream.

  “No!” In no time, his hands found her throat again. “Not a word. You yell and you’re dead. Understand?”

  She nodded but continued to look around for something—anything to keep him away.

  “What do you want from me?” Tears streamed from her eyes.

  “What was all that garbage on your show about forgiving me?”

  “What?” She fought to recall what she’d said.

  “I wanna know what you meant.” His lips moved near her ear, brazing her skin. “You don’t think anyone believes that, do you?” His words were
slow and deliberate. “If I thought for one minute … No! You hypocrite!”

  She cringed against the memories, the fear, the hate that emanated from him. She was no match for his wiry strength.

  Smoke trickled into the room, and the fire alarm now buzzed in harmony with the timer. Was it the smoke or tears that stung her eyes? Her words muted against his hand. “I don’t remember. Please, I can’t breathe.”

  She clutched at his hand to rip it from her throat, but his fingers only grew tighter as she sensed his spiraling anger. What had she done to this man?

  She dug a nail in, and he yelped. His hand whipped back and struck her. Then he snatched at her throat again.

  Stronger and stronger. Black dots filled her vision.

  His eyes darkened.

  She could no longer breathe.

  The room swirled.

  CHAPTER 40

  AFARAWAY SOUND.

  The back door?

  “Rochelle?”

  Hands ripped at her throat. The man cursed and threw her to the floor. She cracked her back on the coffee table. Her same shoulder rocked with fresh pain.

  “Rochelle!”

  Her eyes blurred as the man dashed out the front door. Hands over her face, she slid to the floor, coughing to catch her breath. She drew her knees up and rocked against his return.

  The timer on the stove continued to bawl, and smoke billowed from the kitchen, making breathing even more difficult. Then the timer suddenly stopped, but she continued to cough.

  “Rochelle, where are you?” Ed’s voice.

  “I’m … in the living room.”

  She fell to the side and curled into a ball.

  He knelt down. “Are you all right?”

  Her gaze slipped to the front door, still ajar. “Be careful.”

  Ed sprinted to it. “There’s a car squealing from your curb. Who was that?” He returned to her side. “Rochelle, what did he do to you?” He encircled her with his arms and held her close. His chin rested on her head. “Talk to me.”

  She cleared her throat. “I let him in. I let him in. That man, and I let him in.”

  “Did you see his face? Will you be able to describe him to the police?”

  “This was all my fault.” She sobbed until his shirt was damp through.

  With a gentle, cupped hand, he held her head as it fell back.

  “You didn’t do this. He did. But I’m here now. Did you see who it was?”

  “No. He had a mask on. But I recognized those eyes.” Her hands shook until they tapped a hideous rhythm against his chest. She couldn’t stop the adrenaline rush.

  “It’s all right. I’ll take care of you.”

  She glanced toward the kitchen. “You stopped the alarm, but there’s pizza burning in the kitchen. We have to turn off the stove.”

  “Not important.”

  “Yes, it is. I don’t want a fire. He’d win then. He’d…” She fell against his chest. Tears streaming from her eyes, the smoke making it that much worse.

  He jumped to his feet and dashed toward the kitchen.

  Rochelle followed. Stay busy and the problems couldn’t get you.

  Ed pulled the charred pizza from the oven and shut the heat off. He ran it under water to stop the burning. Then he hustled her back into the living room, onto the sofa. “Sit!”

  She took a seat and reached for her throat.

  “What did he do?” He stared at her neck.

  “Maybe we should call the police.”

  Not waiting for her to change her mind, he pulled his cell from his pocket. “I’ll call. I’ll call, and then I’ll make you coffee. Will you be all right for a minute?”

  “Latch the door. Please. Tight.” Each word difficult. “Be sure he’s gone. That he’s not out there. Lock it, Ed. Tight!”

  “Rochelle, I’ll do whatever you want. Just stay put.”

  She looked up. “Thank heavens you arrived when you did. He might have—”

  “Shh.” He drew closer and put a finger to her lips. “Are you sure you didn’t see him?”

  She shook her head and leaned back.

  “Think about how tall he was. Heavy or thin. That kind of thing. The police will want to know. Hello?” He turned his back and spoke in low tones giving the police her address.

  Ed took charge with confidence, preparing a full pot of coffee before the police arrived. Rochelle looked on, helpless as a baby, but she thanked him over and over for assuming charge.

  The officer took her statement as another man looked around the house; they finished in no time at all. The attacker had taken nothing. Only her well-being.

  She hadn’t wanted to go to the hospital, so they took photos of the bruises on her neck and head. They didn’t stay long after.

  Ed had been witness to the vehicle and the direction it headed. Rochelle attested to the loud muffler.

  Well after midnight, she curled onto the sofa again, Ed right next to her. She felt secure for the first time in oh, so long. Arms as strong as timber let her lose herself in their warmth. Her head rested on his chest, giving her the strangest sense of being safe.

  When she looked up, Ed smiled. “Feeling a little better?”

  “Mmm. I don’t doubt God’s always with me. It’s just important on occasion to have a person in the flesh to make you feel safe.”

  “I want the job.” He leaned down. She closed her eyes.

  Disappointed, he merely brushed her forehead with his lips. She reached out when he pulled away. “Please, don’t move.”

  “I’d better go home.”

  He couldn’t leave her now. “Why?”

  Squeezing her shoulder briefly, he sat back. “Well, I didn’t think you’d want me spending the night. What would your fans say? Your friends at church?”

  She straightened as indignation crept over her face. “That I’m a shameless coward.” At that point, she didn’t give a hoot what anyone thought. Not about to be alone, she said, “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not inviting you to stay-stay. There’s a mother-in-law’s apartment over the garage. A room with a bath and small kitchenette. I didn’t mean you’d be here … with me.” She blushed. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

  “I thought that was quite the invitation.” His smile said it all. “I still have my bag in the car. Keep your cell next to you in case you have to reach me in a hurry.”

  “Will do.”

  When she rose to go into the kitchen, her knees wobbled. This nightmare wasn’t ever going to end. She looked Ed’s way.

  “Do you mind? I think I need a little help.” She grabbed his arm and rested her weight on him, taking in his wonderful smell. Pure, unadulterated masculinity.

  “I’m glad I came over.”

  God’s timing for sure. “I’m not sure what to say to you. If you hadn’t, I … might not be alive. I hope Officer Warner is able to produce a decent sketch from what little I saw. He had that mask on.” Her line of vision came to rest on a photo of her family. “I really miss my brother.”

  “I’m here. Won’t I do?”

  As a brother. Of course. That was what he’d been trying to tell her all along. Hence, the kiss on the forehead. She pulled away from his arm, embarrassed by her assumptions.

  He added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I’d rather not talk about my family.” Served no purpose. They were gone. “Sorry. That was incredibly rude. Right now, I can’t face the past. My present is bad enough.”

  She longed to be able to tell him about her family, but tonight had enough demons and she couldn’t bear any more hurt. Besides, there was no sense getting any closer to Ed. Just keep him as a good friend and be done with it. Rochelle covered her face with her hands.

  “Sit down and let me get you something.”

  Tears burning behind her lids, she looked up. “I had homemade pizza for you. And now it’s…” Then the tears poured. “He is not going to control my life!” Her nose ran, and Ed daubed her face with a napkin.

 
“I’ll grab my bag. You sit here, calm down, clean your face. Please.” His brow lifted as if he were speaking to a child. He grinned as he handed her a tissue. “I’ll be right back. I have a small gift for you and maybe this is a good time.”

  Rochelle plopped her head against her arms, giving herself permission to let the tears flow. Nothing would stop them, anyway. In less time than it took her to mop her face with the tissue, he returned as promised.

  “I found this in Pittsburgh at the arena, and I couldn’t resist. Here. It’s for you.”

  She received a mug into her hands which had a saying printed on the side in bold letters.

  My heart belongs to a hockey player.

  CHAPTER 41

  NEXT MORNING AT A quarter to nine, having refused to give in to her fears, Rochelle made her way to PhD. She tugged at the soft infinity scarf around her neck. Even a thick layer of foundation hadn’t been able to cover the bruising.

  As she entered the lavish lobby of the clinic, she recognized that nothing had been left to chance. All the furnishings spoke of achievement and comfort. She hesitated and then, while searching the hallway, she ran into one of the nurses she’d met the first day. Overtly insecure Caroline Something. The woman forever stared at the floor as if her feet were about to gallop away any second.

  She looked up at Rochelle, eyes red and swollen. “Can I help you?”

  “Thank you, Ms. … Peters? I forgot for a minute which room was the doctor’s. Is this it?” Rochelle stopped in the doorway to admire an orderly office. A mahogany desk in the southernmost corner with a matching chair in wood and leather caught her attention right away. Masculine but inviting. A restful room where he could escape between patients—a reprieve from all the estrogen. That brought the first smile in the last twelve hours. There certainly was plenty of estrogen. And what was with that nurse?

  As the woman disappeared around the corner with a shuffle, Rochelle crossed the threshold. Her eyes dropped to rest on an antique wooden album inlaid with ivory. She loved old photos and couldn’t resist a peek. Stepping closer, her fingers started to lift the delicate cover, but a small metal latch kept it shut. Dr. Reinholdt pushed through the door. Was it a smile or a frown crossing his face?