Broken Pieces

by Carla Cassidy

  As she went back down the stairs, her thoughts turned to Jack. Telling him good-bye that morning had been difficult. For the first time in her life she’d realized what love was supposed to be, how it could be, and she was leaving it behind.

  She told herself it hadn’t been real, that Jack had simply been playing a game of make-believe, fulfilling an old fantasy from his high school days. She was actually doing him a favor by getting out of town, out of his life. Eventually Jack would have discovered she was just a woman, not a fantasy.

  Wilburta Moore was punctual. At precisely four o’clock she knocked on the door and introduced herself to Mariah. “I was so pleased when I drove up and saw all the exterior work that’s been done. The place looks beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Please come in.” Mariah led her through the living room, where Wilburta praised the beautiful wood flooring, and as they entered the kitchen, she crowed about the warmth and welcome the room contained.

  Mariah showed her the entire house except for Kelsey’s room, where the door remained closed, and Mariah said her daughter wasn’t feeling well.

  “I shouldn’t have any problems selling the property,” Wilburta said as Mariah walked her to the front door. “It’s a lovely house and will make a nice home for some family. I’ll call you tomorrow when I have a contract ready for you to sign that will give me the power to show it while you’re out of town.”

  “That will be fine,” Mariah said. As she watched the woman get into her car and drive away, she leaned against the porch railing and looked out at the trees in the distance.

  If what Clay believed was true, that there may have been more victims who just hadn’t been found, then at least she knew it hadn’t been personal. It was possible she’d been followed home that night from the gazebo. It was probable that somebody saw her alone and vulnerable, making her an easy target.

  How many other easy targets had there been over the years in a place where people still felt the illusion of small-town safety?

  Maybe Clay’s dark fear would result in nothing. Maybe all those women did run away, leave town to seek something better than what their parents had built here.

  She went back into the house, carefully locking the door behind her. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, hoping to see Kelsey coming down for dinner.

  She fixed herself a salad, knowing that eventually Kelsey would come downstairs, to feed Tiny if nothing else. She’d just finished picking at her dinner when a knock sounded on the front door.

  Maybe Wilburta had forgotten something, or maybe it was Jack coming to check on her even though she’d told him that morning that she’d be fine.

  A peek outside the window showed her that it was neither of those two people. Marianne Francis stood on the porch. You were supposed to call her to have lunch, a little voice whispered in Mariah’s head as she opened the door.

  “Marianne, come on in.”

  “Hi, Mariah. I’m sorry to bother you. Is this a bad time?”

  A bad time? Mariah wanted to laugh. In the past twenty-four hours she’d made the decision to walk away from love, reported a heinous crime and ripped apart her daughter’s sense of security and truth. A bad time? Yeah, right.

  “Please, come in. I just finished up eating a little dinner. I’m sorry I haven’t called you about lunch, but things have been crazy.” She led the way to the kitchen.

  “I was sorry to hear about your friend.”

  Mariah gestured to a chair at the table and Marianne sat. “Thanks. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No thanks, I’m fine.” But she didn’t look fine. She clasped her hands together in her lap, but not before Mariah saw the tremble of her fingers.

  “Did you notice the paint job when you drove up?” Mariah asked. “Your husband and his team did a great job.”

  “Yes, it looks really nice.” Marianne looked out the window and Mariah saw that her hands were clasped so tightly she was white-knuckled.

  “Marianne? Is something wrong?”

  Marianne looked at her, her hazel eyes wide. “I heard something today about you.”

  So it was out. She knew Clay wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself forever. At least he’d given her enough time to tell Jack and Kelsey before the rest of the town knew what had happened to her.

  “Yeah, I figured it would be the talk of the town at some point today,” she replied.

  “So it’s true?” Marianne’s gaze held hers intently. “You were raped?

  Mariah nodded.

  “Where did it happen?”

  Mariah got up and went to the kitchen cabinet beneath the sink. “You sure you don’t want something to drink?” She pulled out a bottle of Scotch. “My father kept this for medicinal purposes. I’m not much of a drinker, but I suddenly feel like having a little medicine.”

  Marianne shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  Mariah got a glass and filled it with ice, then splashed a healthy shot of the booze on top. “It happened outside this house, in that grove of trees down by the street.”

  She returned to the chair next to Marianne and took a sip of the biting liquor, relishing the warmth that stole down her throat and into her stomach. “I was coming home from town. I’d sneaked out and met Clay. I was standing outside waiting for the light in my father’s study to go off when he came up behind me, pulled a bag over my head and threw me to the ground.”

  As she told her story once again, she realized it was getting easier with each telling, as if shining a light on a secret made the memory not quite as painful.

  When she was finished, Marianne unclasped her hands and leaned forward. “That’s why you ran away? Because you’d been raped?”

  “I ran away to protect the baby I was carrying. I wanted to make sure the man who raped me never had a claim to her and I sure as hell didn’t want my parents having any part of her upbringing.”

  Marianne’s eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t know Kelsey … I mean everyone I talked to thinks you ran the night of the rape and that Kelsey is the daughter of the man you married after you left here.”

  So Clay and Sherri weren’t telling everything they knew, Mariah thought. They obviously were attempting to protect Kelsey and for that, Mariah would forever be grateful, but Mariah was finished indulging in lies.

  “Kelsey’s the daughter of whoever raped me that night.” And right now she’s up in her room hating me for the life I created for her, she thought.

  Marianne’s lower lip trembled and she raced a hand through her short, pixie-cut hair. “How do you live with it?”

  Marianne was always home before dark. Roger had said his wife thought there was a boogeyman in every shadow. It was at that moment Mariah knew. Marianne was a victim, too.

  She reached out and grabbed Marianne’s icy-cold hand. “When did it happen? When did he rape you?”

  Tears spilled down Marianne’s cheeks as she squeezed Mariah’s hand with a death grip. “It was a year after we graduated from high school. Roger and I had been at the café and time got away from us and he had to get the car home.” She frowned. “I don’t remember why—maybe his dad needed it for something. Anyway, I insisted he drive on home, that I could walk the two blocks to my house. I was halfway home when I heard something behind me. But before I could turn around, a bag went over my head and he threw me off the sidewalk and on the ground.”

  She pulled her hand from Mariah’s and leaned back against the chair, her gaze going to the window as if she was checking the position of the sun in the sky.

  “Did he say anything to you?” Mariah asked.

  Marianne swiped the tears from her face and looked at Mariah once again. “He said something about taking a piece of me or something like that.”

  It was the same man, Mariah thought in horror. “Did you report it?” It would have been at a time before Clay became sheriff.

  “No.” The word whispered out of her as tears once again formed. “I was so scared and so ashamed and there wa
s nothing I could tell anyone about who did it.”

  Even though it was crazy and Mariah knew that the feeling of shame was totally irrational, she understood. Long after her rape she’d done some research and had learned that sexual assault was one of the most underreported of crimes. More than half went unreported. It was a dirty, ugly secret that festered inside victims.

  “Have you told Roger?” Mariah asked.

  Marianne’s eyes widened. “No, and I don’t want him to know.”

  “He’s your husband. He loves you and could be a huge support,” Mariah replied, remembering Jack’s tenderness, his caring, when she’d told him.

  Marianne stared down at the surface of the oak table and her hands found each other and once again clasped tightly. “I heard that Clay thinks there might be other victims, and Roger, he’s out a lot. At night. I’m not sure where he goes or what he does.” The words came haltingly, as if dredged from the darkest place in her soul.

  “He brought me flowers the next morning. I’d forgotten about that until today. He said they were because I had to walk home the night before.”

  “Don’t do this, Marianne,” Mariah said. “Don’t make yourself crazy. Roger is your husband. He’s a good man.”

  Marianne offered a weak smile. “I guess every wife in Plains Point is going to wonder about the man lying next to them in bed tonight.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ve got to get home.”

  Mariah didn’t have to ask her why. Even though it was a good hour before sunset, she knew Marianne’s need to get home, where she believed she would be safe. She walked with her to the front door and there Marianne paused. “I can’t even take out the garbage. Since that night, I can’t touch one of those plastic trash bags.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mariah replied, unsure what else to say.

  Marianne stepped closer to her and embraced her. “Thank you,” she whispered into Mariah’s ear. “Thank you for being brave enough to tell.” She stepped back and Mariah took her hands.

  “You should talk to Clay,” Mariah said. “He needs to know all he can about these crimes.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said. “I’m not as brave as you, Mariah. Besides, you’ll be leaving here soon and I have to live here long after this is all over. I’m not sure I want people to know.”

  They hugged again. Then Mariah watched as Marianne hurried down the porch and to her car. She closed the door and locked it, then turned to go back into the kitchen.

  “Mom?” Kelsey sat on the stairs, her eyes red and swollen.

  “Hi, baby. You want some dinner?” Mariah moved to the staircase. Dinner, what a lame question when what she really wanted to know was whether Kelsey still loved her, whether things were going to be okay.

  “I’m not really hungry,” Kelsey replied, and she scooted over so Mariah could sit next to her. Although what Mariah wanted to do more than anything was put her arm around Kelsey and pull her tight against her, she didn’t. It was all up to Kelsey. She’d let Mariah know what she needed from her and what she was ready to accept.

  “I was listening to you and Mrs. Francis.”

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that. If I could, I’d protect you from all the ugliness in the world. If I could, I’d put you in a bubble where only happy things could happen in your life.”

  Kelsey frowned. “Do you think he did that to other women who didn’t tell?”

  “I think he probably has,” Mariah replied, and breathed a sigh of sweet relief as Kelsey leaned into her.

  “Then he’s evil and bad.”

  Wrapping an arm around Kelsey’s slender shoulders, Mariah was grateful when her daughter didn’t pull away, but rather leaned closer. “I don’t know what kind of a man he is. But I do know what kind of a person you are. You’re kind and gentle and have a loving, caring spirit. You’re my daughter, Kelsey, and I love you more anything else on earth.”

  “I don’t hate you, Mom. I love you,” Kelsey cried, and burrowed closer to Mariah.

  “I know that, honey.”

  “Is it true what you said, that you ran away from here to protect me?”

  “I ran away from here for a lot of reasons, but yes, one of them was to protect you. I was afraid that somehow the man who had raped me would find out about you, and then he’d somehow twist the facts and make it that we’d had consensual sex and he’d want to be a part of your life. I didn’t want him in your life—that’s why I created a fantasy for us both.”

  Kelsey heaved a tremulous sigh and sat up. “I think this deserves a cell phone.”

  Mariah laughed, for in her daughter’s words, in the shine of love from Kelsey’s eyes, she knew it was going to be okay. She knew the bond of mother and daughter had withstood this tremendous test.

  “I’ll tell you what.” She stood and pulled Kelsey to her feet. “When we get back to Chicago, we’ll get you a cell phone and in the meantime if you come into the kitchen, I’ll make your favorite, a box of macaroni and cheese.”

  “So, we’re really going back to Chicago,” Kelsey said later as she ate a bowl of the macaroni. Tiny sat at her feet, having finished his bowl of dog food and hoping for a tidbit dropped to the floor.

  “Aunt Janice is going to be released from the hospital in the next day or two and then we’ll head back.”

  Kelsey obviously had the same ambivalent feelings about leaving as Mariah did. She frowned down at her bowl. “I liked it here,” she said softly.

  “So did I,” Mariah agreed. “But I think it’s best if we get back to our lives in Chicago and put this summer and this place far behind us.”

  “What about you and Dr. Hot?” Kelsey looked at her. “I thought you two were, you know, really getting together.”

  A spasm of pain shot through Mariah at thoughts of Jack. “I guess some things just aren’t meant to be,” she said.

  “That’s sad ’cause I liked him and I like you with him.”

  “I know. So did I,” Mariah replied.

  It was after ten when Mariah stood in the doorway of Kelsey’s bedroom and watched her daughter sleep. Even from her distance from the bed, she could hear the faint tinny sound of the music that played in the earphones her daughter wore. Someday all the kids of this generation would probably need hearing aids, Mariah thought.

  She turned away and went to the bathroom, where she changed into her nightgown, then went into her own bedroom. With the lights off she stared out the window at the trees, as she had several nights before.

  The light of a full moon spilled down, painting the tops of the trees in a shimmery silvery light. It would be difficult for somebody to hide there tonight with the moon like a spotlight from the sky.

  He’s out a lot. At night. Marianne’s words played and replayed in her mind. He brought me flowers the next morning. Flowers because she’d had to walk home or because he’d lost control and raped her?

  Roger, who had always seemed to be hanging around in high school. Roger, who coached during the school year and painted homes in the summers. Was he capable of such a thing?

  He was a husband and a father. He was respected and well liked by his peers. Beneath the surface was he a monster?

  How many times in the news had she read the stories of serial killers who, on the surface, were fine, upstanding men, men whom neighbors never suspected, men who when discovered shocked friends and family members?

  She turned away and got into bed and reached out to touch the cold metal of Janice’s gun on her nightstand. Clay hadn’t mentioned its presence when he’d given her Janice’s purse. He’d probably found the license in Janice’s wallet and knew it was legal.

  Whether it was legal or not, there was no question that Mariah felt better knowing it was within easy grasp. She’d never shot a gun before, but that wouldn’t stop her from doing so if it was to save her life or the life of her daughter. How hard could it be? Point and pull the trigger.

  She rolled over on her back and stared up at the ceiling where the moonlight thr
ough the tree danced intricate shadows.

  A couple more days and this town would be nothing more than a distant memory. She’d come back one more time to close on the house; then she’d look ahead and never look back again.

  She’d faced her biggest fear, that somehow Kelsey would find out the truth, and she’d survived. Her friend had lived to tell the tale of her vicious attack and even the pain of leaving Jack would eventually heal.

  Marianne had told her she was brave, but she wasn’t brave. She was running from a place she’d grown to love, running away from a man she loved, because she was afraid, afraid that somehow the man who had raped her, the man who had fathered Kelsey, had been waiting here for her all along.

  Chapter 31

  He was going to explode. The pain no longer went away but was an unrelenting dagger inside him. The rage was like a beast within him, clawing and biting to get out.

  He walked the deserted street, fighting for control but feeling the resignation of a battle lost. There was a certain euphoric joy in just giving in to the madness, allowing it to carry him down the path to damnation. It was so much easier to give in to it than to fight it.

  Like a predatory animal, he shot his narrowed gaze left and then right, seeking vulnerability, eager to release the boiling emotions that burned in his gut.

  He stayed away from the town park, unsure if one of Clay’s men would be watching the area after the attack on Mariah’s friend.

  There had to be somebody out and about, some teenager walking home alone, a young housewife out for a little night air. He needed somebody. God, he was in so much pain.

  But after an hour his frustration level was at a fever pitch. He knew from the gossip he’d heard that day that Mariah had told. She’d gone to Clay and told him about the attack she’d suffered years ago. He also knew from the gossip that she hadn’t been able to give Clay anything that might identify him.

  What she had managed to do was ruin his hunting ground. Dammit, she’d ruined things. Tonight there were no young girls hanging out on the corners, no single women on the streets at all. The only place there were people was at the Tavern and a peek inside the window showed them all to be of the male variety.