Whispers in the Night

by Diane Pershing

  Now Walter was gone, and as much as she liked Terri, as much as she adored their children, they weren’t hers. She’d tried to keep up the relationship, because Walter would have liked it, but she understood that it probably wasn’t going to happen.

  There was a deep void inside Kayla, and she wanted it filled. She craved her own family. Not her birth family, but one she could create on her own, not borrow. She wanted a husband. A home. Babies to snuggle, babies with fat little arms and legs, and powder-soft, sweet skin.

  Despite the fact that she’d known him only a short time, she knew, deep in her heart, that she wanted that with Paul, wanted to make a life with him. But from their earlier discussion she realized he might be carrying too much baggage to be able to give that to her.

  She turned onto the street that housed Paul’s old police headquarters, found a parking spot and got out of her car.

  As she was approaching the two-story brick building, deep in thought, she spied a man leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. She stopped in her tracks. Stared.

  It was Jay.

  When he noticed her, he looked surprised. He pushed himself away from the wall, threw the cigarette down on the pavement and walked toward her, grinning. He looked awful. Although he was only a year older than her, his pale hair was thinning and his clothing—baggy pants and a stained sweater—hung off him. He’d always been thin, now he looked emaciated. As he drew near, she saw the dark circles under his lower lids, the dullness in his eyes, the size of his pupils. Drugs, no doubt about it. His original “merely recreational” habit had obviously turned into a full-fledged addiction.

  “Hey, sis,” he greeted her, that same cold-eyed, cocky smile on his face. The sight of him repelled her, brought back all the years of bullying, all the times when he’d destroyed her dolls and taunted their sweet, friendly dog.

  “Jay,” she said, stopping several inches short of where he stood. “What are you doing here?”

  “I got a meeting.” He yanked his thumb in the direction of the building. “I’m in tight with some of the guys in there.” He winked at her, letting her know he had major connections to a power base. “So, why are you here?”

  Looking at him, she felt nauseated. Ordinarily, Kayla had a soft spot for people who had screwed their lives up, but in Jay’s case, she felt not one twinge of compassion. He was lost. Probably always had been.

  Earlier, she’d called Paul lucky for his family. Now she realized that she, too, was lucky, because she’d survived hers. Unlike Jay and the rest of her sick, sad brothers, she, at least, had managed to make a decent life for herself instead of becoming just one more of its victims.

  Paul waved goodbye to Brian and Charley. As he passed by his old desk, he nodded to the guy who sat there now, aware that most of the people in the huge room were staring at him, judgment deep in their eyes.

  To hell with them, he thought. They’d be learning the truth soon enough.

  His visit had been okay, though, if not great. He knew he had friends for life in Brian and Charley, who had welcomed him warmly, ignoring the chilled atmosphere all around them. Brian had called the state cops about the package that had been delivered to Kayla—no fingerprints, of course. The UPS package had originated in Albany, sender Joe Smith. An alias. Paul had filled them in on what was going on back in Cragsmont and they’d promised to dig into Walter and Steven Thorne’s connections.

  He’d asked around about Jay Goodall, to see if anyone knew where he was, but had gotten nowhere. Later this evening, he planned to head out and find the son of a bitch.

  Now, walking past the reception desk, he made sure he held his head high. No way he would let anyone think he gave a damn about their opinion of him. He pushed open the double doors, stepped out into the sunlight.

  And stopped in his tracks when he saw Kayla, deep in conversation with the man who had perjured himself to put Paul behind bars.

  Chapter 13

  When Kayla heard the police precinct doors open and slam shut, she glanced in that direction, only to see Paul, a look of savage fury on his face, striding toward them. Jay saw him, too, muttered an expletive, whirled around and took off. He was no match for Paul, who caught up to her brother before he was a quarter of the way down the block, grabbed him by the shoulders and whipped him around. Clutching the front of Jay’s sweater in his huge hands, he backhanded him across the face.

  “Paul, stop!” Kayla screamed.

  But he was past listening. “Listen, scumbag, I want the truth out of you.”

  Jay, blood dribbling out the side of his mouth, tried to dislodge Paul’s grip, to no avail. The larger man got right in Jay’s face. “I ought to kill you.”

  Her brother began to whimper and Kayla couldn’t stand it. Rushing over, she clawed at Paul’s arm, tried to pull him away. He brushed her off like a pesky gnat, then shook Jay, saying, “Who put you up to it? Who paid you to lie about me?”

  Jay sagged, nearly lost his balance, but Paul held him up, gripping him by the upper arms. “Talk to me, dammit!”

  Jay was shaking, terrified.

  The doors of the police station opened and a couple of burly-looking men came out, stopped and stared at the scene before them. Jay pointed to one of them. “Ask him. He was the one. It wasn’t my fault. He made me.”

  “Hatcher?”

  “Yes! Hatcher!”

  “Hey, Fitzgerald!” One of the men, older and balding, with a prominent gut, shouted, “You’re threatening a witness.”

  A couple of pedestrians walked by, stopped and stared.

  “You shut up, Hatcher,” Paul growled over his shoulder. “You’re next.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  The man named Hatcher stomped toward Paul and tried to pull him away from Jay, but Paul was larger and in a lot better shape than the older man was, so he shouldered him away.

  “Hey, Tim,” Hatcher called out to the other cop. “Go inside, get help.”

  Paul was still shaking Jay by the upper arms. “I want you to march right back in there with me, do you hear me? We’re going to the captain and you’re going to repeat what you just told me. Got that?”

  Now two more men came out of the building and ran toward Paul and Jay. “I can’t,” Jay whined. “They’ll kill me.”

  “Not if I kill you first.”

  As Paul drew back his fist, one of the newly arrived officers, a broad-shouldered, light-haired man, grabbed Paul’s wrist with both hands. Exerting supreme effort, he held on to it, refusing to allow him to inflict any more damage.

  “Paul,” the officer shouted. “Let him go. You’re so close, don’t louse it up.”

  Paul struggled to get his hand free. “Get away, Brian. I need to beat the crap out of this little creep until he can’t see straight.”

  Kayla held both hands up to her mouth. Dear God, the savagery! The blood-lust on Paul’s face! In his eyes! She couldn’t stand it.

  The other newcomer, a tall, skinny African-American with a shaved head, grabbed hold of Paul’s other wrist. “Paul, my man,” he said, his voice low and mellow yet laced with iron. “Cool it. Everything’s going to work out, but not if you do this.”

  Now they were both pulling at him, making him let go of Jay and holding him back, and she could see how furious Paul was at being prevented from carrying out his threat. “But Brian, Charley, look what he’s done, dammit. Four years I spent in that hellhole. He needs to pay for it.”

  By now, several more officers had joined the others. Like a scene out of an old horror movie, the villagers against the monster, it took all of them to keep Paul from his prey, who stood, quivering and scared to death, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, staining his already stained sweater.

  Freed now from Paul’s grip, Jay shot a look at the one called Hatcher. “Keep him away from me!” he screamed at the older man. “Tell him who I am, that he can’t do this to me! Tell him!”

  Hatcher, eyes hooded, shrugged at his fellow cops. “I got no idea what he�
��s talking about.”

  “Yeah, you do,” said the black officer, then grabbed Jay’s arm, twisted it behind his back and herded him toward the precinct. “You’re going to do a little talking now, my man, to some people who want to hear what you got to say. And don’t count on Sergeant Hatcher to protect you, this time. He’s being investigated as we speak.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Paul, shot him a warning look, shook his head. “Go somewhere, calm yourself down. We’ll call you later.”

  And with that, the entire procession of policemen, some puzzled, some defiant, headed back into the station, talking to one another. Now that the entertainment was over, the bystanders walked off, too, shaking their heads and murmuring about police brutality.

  Paul stood all alone on the street, except for Kayla. His body was still all tensed up, his fists clenched by his side. Eyes darting like a wild animal’s, he looked around him. When his gaze lit on Kayla, his eyes cleared as though he were waking from a dream. He reached out a hand toward her. “Kayla.”

  “No!” she cried. Panic, dismay, even loathing, churned in her gut, her chest, as she ran down the block toward her car.

  He was right behind her, yelling, “Kayla, wait! Don’t leave.”

  She got to her car, managed to get the door open, but he grabbed it and shoved it closed again. Shaking, she stood huddled by the door, hugging herself, looking down at the street, Paul glowering over her.

  “Wait,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  She was vibrating with terror, just like she had her entire childhood, just like the night of the rape, just like her brother had moments ago.

  God, what a fool she’d been! In all the passion she’d shared with Paul, she’d kept forgetting who he was. She’d allowed this very physical man into her life, embraced his presence the way the dying embrace a miracle.

  But the sight of him enraged and using his fists had slammed home the truth. Paul was revealed to her as he was, deep inside, a massive, powerful brute of a man, with a raging temper that couldn’t be trusted.

  No. She wouldn’t go through that again. Not ever.

  “Please,” she said, and opened the car door again.

  This time he didn’t stop her. She got in and, despite her trembling hands, managed to insert her key into the ignition. She reached for the door handle, but he held it open, not allowing her to close it.

  “Don’t leave me,” he begged, his voice croaking with emotion. “You’re the first good thing to come into my life in a long, long time.”

  She forced herself to look at him. His face was ravaged with pain. “But, don’t you see, Paul? You remind me too much of the worst things in my life. I won’t be a witness to your rages and your temper. I can’t live that way.”

  “But you said you loved me.”

  “And I meant it. But I have to put a stop to this right now. It’s early enough that my heart will heal. I’m strong, remember? I can’t be with you, I would never feel safe.”

  His eyes registered shock. “But I would never hit you, Kayla. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t. But you solve your problems with your fists. I can’t—I won’t—be around that. Never again. Goodbye.”

  She pulled at the door handle again and this time he let go. She slammed it shut, gunned the motor and without looking back, drove away.

  Tears fell freely now, and she swiped them away. She had no idea where she was headed, only that she had to put distance between herself and the scene she’d just witnessed, between herself and Paul.

  By the time she was on the outskirts of Albany, heading south on the thruway, she realized she was making her way back up the mountain to Cragsmont. What she ought to do, instead, was to turn around, go back to the hotel, get her things, check out. But she didn’t want to go back there. Didn’t want to be reminded of her glorious night with Paul and its unhappy ending.

  She wanted to go home. Home was the mountain. She felt alone, so very alone. She desperately wanted to talk to someone, to be comforted. Lou. She would call Lou, tell her she was headed back and would be stopping by, maybe spend the night with her.

  Keeping her eyes trained on the road, she fumbled in her purse for her cell phone, found it and punched in the number of Lou’s clinic. The receptionist answered. No, Dr. Lou wasn’t in. She’d had to take her mother to the hospital. Mrs. McAndrews was very ill.

  Should she try to contact her there? Kayla wondered after she’d left word and disconnected the call. Maybe she could be of some help to her friend.

  No. She was in no shape to help anyone. In fact, in her present state, she’d be a burden to anyone unlucky enough to get within ten feet of her. She would be better tomorrow, would contact Lou then, see what her friend needed and try to give it to her. Now she would continue on, up the mountain to the house.

  As she drove along, she flashed again on one of those old horror movies, this time the one where the heroine has been told that danger lurks on the other side of the door, or in a haunted house or a cave, wherever. Still, she is foolishly about to open that door, anyway, and everyone in the audience is yelling at her, “No, you idiot! Don’t go there!”

  Was that what she was doing? Being an idiot by going back to the house?

  Call her irrational, she didn’t care. She wanted, no, needed, her mountain, the place where she’d arrived, a mere ten days ago, to heal. At the moment, getting there was the most important thing she could do for herself, and if it didn’t make a lot of sense, there were some decisions made for reasons other than sense.

  She would stay in the grandpa cabin tonight; its foundations were safe. She would lock the doors, keep all the lights on, take the fireplace poker with her. She would even search for snakes before locking the doors.

  Wait a minute! As she remembered, Kayla expelled a huge relieved breath. Of course. Hank and his men would be there, guarding the place. She would be safe.

  She had been so deep in thought, she’d failed to notice the gathering storm clouds, but rain spattering across her windshield served as a wake-up call. She reduced her speed, turned on the wipers and concentrated on her driving.

  For a while, anyway. Because her mind kept trying to make sense of the jumble of thoughts and emotions it contained. Not just about the horror of what she’d witnessed outside the police station, but what had gone on between her and Paul earlier, back at the hotel. What Paul had said about her lecturing him.

  Kayla hated to admit it, but it was true. She had been expecting him to snap his fingers and heal instantly, when she herself had taken years after her violent childhood and the rape to achieve any kind of closure.

  She shook her head, ashamed of herself. All this time, she’d been so proud of her ability to face facts, had been so sure she knew herself. Instead, she’d been judgmental. She’d been unfair to Paul, even condescending, because the rawness of his anger scared her.

  And if that weren’t enough, there was what he’d said about Walter and her feelings about him. The criticism might have been offered up in the heat of anger, but that, too, was the truth—the dear man had been more of a father-figure to her than a lover. And she’d soaked up his love and advice like a dry sponge at the first drop of moisture.

  Now, Kayla thought, with Walter gone, she had no idea who she was. She had money and a nice car and a large house in Albany, none of which were important to her. The house in Cragsmont belonged to the Thorne family, not her. She’d loved nursing, but she didn’t need to work, so she hadn’t gone back to it.

  There was nothing in her life, no passion, no goals, other than a recently discovered lust for a man who was hard and angry.

  The rain continued to come down, more heavily now. At one point, she pulled off at a rest stop, bought a large, steaming cup of coffee and sat in the car, drinking it, hoping the rain would let up. After a quarter of an hour or so, when it didn’t, she decided to drive on.

  By the ti
me she was passing through Susanville, headed up the mountain, she could barely see in front of her. Glistening sheets of rainwater pounded her windshield, the wipers having little effect. That was when she remembered the Old Stone Church. The restoration company hadn’t begun its work yet. With this sudden storm, would the underground stream that was causing the leak rise? Would it flood the old building, cause irreparable damage?

  How awful that would be. She loved that old church, was its guardian, now that Walter was gone. She shook her head sadly. It was out of her hands; there was nothing she could do about it tonight.

  She passed Cragsmont’s small town center, drove by the park where she and Paul had danced. He’d been so attentive that day, so loving. The memory slashed her like a knife, hurting way deep inside to the very core of her.

  As she slowly rounded a difficult curve, her car headlights picked up a shadowy figure in the road, and she had to swerve to avoid hitting it. She managed to slam on the brakes without any loss of control.

  In the rearview mirror, Kayla could just make out the black-clad form of Melinda, waving at her. She backed up until she drew even with the old woman, then leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

  “No,” Melinda said, her black clothing soaked and glistening with raindrops. “No. The bones.”

  Kayla had to shout over the car’s engine and the rain. “What about the bones?”

  “Beware of the bodies and the bones.” Even in the dark of early evening and the rainstorm, the old woman’s eyes glittered with madness.

  “Please get in, Melinda. You’ll catch a chill.”

  “The bones,” she said again, backing away. Helpless to stop her, Kayla watched as she disappeared into the forest beyond.

  Now a total and complete bundle of nerves, Kayla pulled into the driveway, now mostly mud and loose gravel. Once she got to the house, she turned off the engine and sat, peering into the dark all around her. Except for the rain pounding on the car and puddling the drive, she could hear no other sound. She had expected lights to be blazing, guards on watch. People.