Carved in Darkness

by Maegan Beaumont

  She was dying. It was now or never.

  The smirk on Wade’s face deepened into a lopsided grin. “Guess you’re not such a badass after all,” he said and took a few steps toward her.

  Her arm jerked upward in response, her finger tightening around the trigger. The bullet slammed into the ground that separated them. The loud bark of it knocked the smile right off Wade’s face. He stopped midstride, his head cocked toward the woods.

  “Well, ain’t that interesting,” he said and started forward again, closing the distance between them in long, confident strides.

  She tried to move back, tried to keep distance between them, but her legs were a tangled mess beneath her and she went down hard, slamming into the rear fender of Lucy’s car as she did. Desperate, she pulled the trigger again as she fell. This time the shot went wide, shattering the rear window of the car.

  Even though she knew it was only midafternoon, Sabrina watched, flat on her back, as light faded from her field of vision. The darkness was tired of waiting.

  She widened her eyes, tried to steal as much light as possible, but all she could see was Wade, standing over her. Laughing at her. “I’m gonna need that gun back, now—”

  A final surge of strength cycloned its way through her body. It wrapped around her bones, fortified her muscles. She screamed, jerked the gun up, and carried by that final surge, drowned out his words with one last pull of the trigger.

  The bullet slammed into Wade’s face, ripped through his cheek—splintering bone as it burst through his opposite temple in an explosion of torn flesh and blood.

  He fell to his knees. She pulled the trigger again. And again.

  His ruined face was the last thing she saw before the darkness took her.

  Eighty-nine

  Multiple shots fired, just beyond his line of vision. Michael broke through the trees, at a dead run. “Sabrina!” he shouted, stopping short at what he saw.

  Legs, those black lace-up boots of hers, stuck out from behind the car. He rounded the hood and found Sabrina sprawled in the dirt, motionless. He fell on her, gathered her into his arms. She was breathing, but barely. Her skin, gray and cool, the gun he’d left for her held in a grip so tight her knuckles were white.

  She was alive.

  He looked at the body that lay a few feet away. Wade’s face was gone, torn away by bullets. The only distinguishable feature—the only thing that that made him recognizable—was the badge pinned to his chest. Michael resisted the urge to stomp on it, tear him apart with his bare hands.

  He held her, buried his face in her hair. She was alive, but he could feel her slipping away, like water between his fingers.

  This darkness was different.

  This time it was a healing void into which she retreated. The cool black pressed around her. Held her. Kept her safe.

  Sounds penetrated its dense folds. The far-off approach of a helicopter. The mindless drone of voices sounding hurried and authoritative all at once. Someone spoke in angry, frantic tones while another someone spoke in a calm, quiet voice.

  Through it all the warm, protective pressure of her hand being held in the grasp of another.

  It was Michael. He was here with her, had come for her. It was a good thought and she clung to it. Needed it to see herself through.

  Ninety

  The pilot put out a restraining hand, barring him from boarding the air-evac helicopter. “I’m sorry, sir, there isn’t room for extra passengers. We’ll fly her to Good Shepherd in Marshall, if you want to follow along on the ground,” the pilot said.

  Michael looked down at the hand on his chest then bounced his glare back up. The pilot took one look at his face, dropped his hand, and took a step back, but still refused to move out of his way.

  He looked at her, stretched out on a gurney, tubes and needles sticking out of her arms, her hair matted with dirt and blood, her pants hastily cut away to reveal the gruesome hole punched into the grayish skin of her thigh. Her eyes were closed, and he found himself wishing she would open them, just for a moment so that she could see that he was here, that he’d come for her. That he’d kept his promise.

  Realizing he was being stared at, he tore his gaze from Sabrina’s face to find the pilot still standing there, wedged between him and the chopper, waiting for him to either press the issue or relent. He was wasting time. He gave one terse nod before stepping back, letting her go.

  The helicopter lifted off the ground, carried her away.

  She’s going to be fine … the words were worthless, and they rang false even as he thought them.

  The blood loss had been tremendous; the fact that she was even still breathing was a miracle.

  Miracle.

  She was a fighter. A survivor. That she was even alive was a testament to that. She was a miracle. She was going to be okay. He had to believe that.

  She’d survive—but he wouldn’t be there to see her through. He stared up at the sky, watched until it was silent and clear. The helicopter was gone, and so was she.

  Ninety-one

  The faint, rhythmic, beep that punctuated the silence and the gnawing pain in her thigh told her everything she needed to know.

  She was alive.

  “I’ll hate you—do you hear me? If you die, I’ll never forgive you, I’ll hate you for the rest of my life.” It was said low, but the terrified tone pulled Sabrina out of the dark.

  She felt her face crumple into a frown, but she didn’t open her eyes. “Shhh … sleeping,” she said, in a weak, thready voice she barely recognized.

  A sharp intake of breath delivered a strange half-laugh, half sob. “You aren’t sleeping, jackass. You’ve been out of it for almost a week.” It was Val.

  She forced her lids open a crack, but through the slits, she could see her. It was just like last time … Val staring at her, hoping against hope that she’d be whole when she finally opened her eyes. Denial and grief when it became clear she’d never be the same.

  It was too much.

  She wanted Michael … loved him. She loved him. Needed him here with her, but she knew he was gone. That he wasn’t coming back.

  She didn’t want to be here. She could just close her eyes and float away. She’d done it once before. Escaped from the horror that was her life. Let go. Shut down.

  She could do it again. The thought was tempting.

  She looked her friend over. “You look like shit,” she said, taking in the total lack of makeup, the deep smudges under Val’s eyes that said she hadn’t slept in days. “ … smell too.”

  Val smiled, looked relieved. “Oh, yeah? When was the last time you brushed your teeth?”

  “Been busy … ” She tried to smile, but it felt weak and faded quickly. “Wade?”

  Val face went blank. “Dead. When he took longer than expected to radio in after checking out the BOLO on Lucy’s car, Chief Carson went after him. Found him trying to drag you into his little shop of horrors. Carson ordered him to stop at gunpoint, there was a struggle for his weapon. Carson killed Wade but not before taking one in the shoulder at close range. Some hunters in the area heard the shots and found the two of you. Two of them took Carson to the hospital by car while the other stayed with you and saw you onto the chopper.”

  Sabrina was quiet for a moment. Remembered pulling the trigger. Watching Wade’s face explode under the impact of several bullets before she let the darkness take her. Carson hadn’t been there. It was Michael. He’d been the one to follow her into the black.

  He’d saved her.

  It was a bogus story. One that Val had an entire week to rehearse. One with holes big enough to drive a truck through. Holes that must’ve been plugged with Carson’s badge and slicked over with a thick topcoat of lies. How Michael got Carson to comply and how he got shot were a mystery. One she didn’t want to think about just yet. “Carson. Is he okay?” />
  “Yeah. He’s been by a few times. They were keeping him down the hall, but he was released yesterday,” Val said before going quiet. She looked uncomfortable. “Tom stopped by too. He had a little girl with him.”

  Tommy had come to see her, probably looking for answers. Her hand settled on her chest. Her ring was gone.

  “It’s in an envelope,” Val said, nodding her head toward the stand by her hospital bed. “They had to take it off when they took you in for surgery.” Val reached for the drawer. “Do you want it?”

  “No.” She shook her head against the pillow. “If he comes back, give it to him. Tell him I’m sorry for … everything.”

  “Tell him yourself,” Val said, her voice taking on a slightly panicked edge.

  Her mouth quirked for a moment. Seeing Tommy was something else she didn’t want to think about. She changed to subject. “Kids?”

  Val smiled. “At home with Devon. Worried.”

  Her eyebrows raised a bit at Val’s use of Nickels’ first name but she didn’t say anything. He’d kept his word. Protected her family. “Tell them I’m fine.” She tried for another smile but couldn’t quite make it stick.

  “Are you?”

  No. She wasn’t fine. Michael was gone. Her career was in shambles. She was more than likely facing twenty-year-old murder charges. The foundation of lies she’d been living on for the better part of two decades had crumbled away to nothing. She was floundering. She was heartbroken. She was alone.

  But she was free.

  “No, I’m not,” she said, answering honestly. “But I will be …” She was exhausted. Her eyes slipped closed again, and she felt Val’s grip tighten around her fingers.

  “Don’t. Don’t go,” Val said. “Don’t you dare leave me again.”

  She tried for another smile, but it slipped away before she could finish forming it. “Be back … tired.”

  “Promise me. Promise you’ll come back,” Val said.

  This time she managed a smile. “I promise.”

  Peggy Coleman Photography

  About the Author

  Maegan Beaumont is a native Phoenician, currently stuck in suburbia with her high school sweetheart and husband, Joe, along with their four children. She writes take-you-to-the-edge-of-your-seat-thrillers and loves action movies and spending time with her family. When she isn’t busy fulfilling her duties as Domestic Goddess, she is locked in her office with her computer, her coffee pot, and her Rhodesian Ridgeback and one true love, Jade.

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank my husband, Joe, for his endless understanding and support while I spend hours and hours chained to my computer … and when he didn’t understand it, he accepted my craziness and loved me anyway. To my beautiful children, Jaime, Julian, Sampson, and Mathew: no matter what, being your mother will always be my proudest achievement. For my family and friends, a heartful of love and gratitude for every word of encouragement and every second you believed in me. I hope I make you proud.

  To my writing peeps: I may be the first, but I know I won’t be the last. I never would have come this far if not for you guys. To my Annie: thank you for pushing me to spread my wings and fly. I’ll never know what I did to deserve you, but whatever it was, I’m glad I did it. I’d also like to thank the wonderful team at Midnight Ink, who saw something worth sharing in the words that I write. And last but not least, I’d like to thank Les Edgerton for his boundless generosity with his time and talent. For giving me praise when I earned it and hard knocks when I needed them. You are my teacher, my mentor, and friend, Les—I hope you know just how much that means to me.