Broken Pieces

by Carla Cassidy

  There was no relief for him here and the demons inside him were screaming for release. But he knew where to go. He knew who would calm the shriek inside his head, still the banging drum of need.

  Mariah.

  Was she the final piece? Was she the one who would finally make him whole? Stop the relentless madness inside his soul? God, he wanted it to stop.

  Sometimes in the deepest darkness of the night he wept, for in rare moments of clarity he knew what he was, what he’d become. A monster.

  But tonight the monster was loose and he needed her.

  Mariah.

  Chapter 32

  Mariah’s eyes snapped open and she was instantly awake. She remained unmoving, holding her breath as she stared up at the ceiling, muscles tensed in fight-or-flight readiness.

  What?

  What had pulled her from her sleep?

  What had interrupted her sweet dreams of Jack and love? She released a slow, steady breath, muscles relaxing bit by bit. Maybe she’d gotten too warm. Certainly the nights in this house without air-conditioning were getting a bit less pleasant, especially since she kept the windows on the lower level locked up tight at night.

  She pushed the sheet off her body and closed her eyes once again, wishing she could reclaim the pleasant dream she’d been having.

  Creak.

  Her heart stopped beating as her breath caught painfully in her chest. Every muscle in her body tensed once again. The fourth stair. Somebody had stepped on the fourth stair. She turned her head toward the bedroom doorway.

  It wasn’t Kelsey, for no lights had gone on. Kelsey would never have gone downstairs without flipping on a light. Somebody’s in the house. Panic seared through her, momentarily immobilizing her as she froze with terror.

  Creak.

  The fifth stair! Oh God, somebody was coming up the stairs, somebody hiding in the darkness of the night, moving with an intruder’s stealth.

  It was him! He was in the house. On the stairs. He’d come back for her.

  Get in the closet. Hide! Hide! She choked back a sob as she slid from the bed to the floor, her heartbeat crashing erratically, making her short of breath.

  The moment her knees made contact with the floor, a vision of Kelsey exploded in her head. Kelsey, who was in her room. Kelsey, who was vulnerable. The music playing in her ears as she slept would make her even more vulnerable. She’d never hear him coming.

  Mariah couldn’t hide. She had to protect her daughter. She had to keep Kelsey safe and to do that, she had to face the monster on the stairs.

  In that instant of awareness she remembered the gun. Janice’s gun. Her hand scrambled on the top of the nightstand and she gasped in frantic relief as her fingers curled tightly around the cool metal of the handle.

  Gun clutched in hand, she quietly rose to her feet, hoping she had the element of surprise. She hurried toward her bedroom doorway. No matter what, she couldn’t allow him to get past her. She’d shoot and ask questions later.

  Drawing a deep breath, she stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall. A dark shadow came up the stairs toward her.

  It was too dark to see who it was. She knew only that he was big and didn’t belong. “Stop,” she exclaimed. Instead of stopping, he rushed her and with a sob she pulled the trigger.

  And nothing happened.

  He hit her with the force of a freight train, his shoulder barreling into her stomach. She fell backward and her head banged into the floor with a sickening thud.

  She knew nothing more as darkness swallowed her.

  It was almost midnight when Jack got out of his car in front of the Tavern. He should be in bed with Rover snoring soundly on the floor nearby. He should be in bed with Mariah, her warm body snuggled against his and the scent of her lingering in his head.

  But Mariah hadn’t answered any of the phone messages he’d left for her that day, and by the time night had fallen, a fierce depression had settled over him.

  It was over. It was done. She obviously didn’t intend to have anything else to do with him. She’d told him good-bye, but he just hadn’t realized it was so final.

  Officially the Tavern closed at two, but when Jack walked through the door, it looked as if the place was already closed for the night.

  Henry, the bartender, sat at one of the tables talking to the only other person in the place, Clay Matheson.

  Clay looked like a dead man walking. His broad face was haggard, his eyes red and strained-looking. “You’re out late, Dr. Taylor.”

  “I could say the same for you, Sheriff,” Jack replied as he joined the two men.

  “What are you drinking, Jack?” Henry asked.

  Jack noticed Clay had what appeared to be a soda in front of him. “I’ll take a bottle of Bud.” As Henry got up to get the beer, Jack looked at Clay. “Long day?”

  He nodded. “I have a feeling they’re all going to be long from now on.”

  “Mariah told me you had somebody coming in today from Kansas City to look at some of the old missing-persons cases.”

  “Scott Haynes. He’s a homicide detective on the Kansas City police force. We spent the day going over all the reports and trying to follow up with friends and family members of those missing.”

  Henry returned to the table with the bottled beer. “Clay’s friend thinks we have a big problem here in town,” Henry said.

  “Unfortunately, it’s just his gut feeling and nothing based in fact or evidence,” Clay added. “I’m taking the cases one at a time and reinvestigating them all, hoping we’ll come up with something concrete.”

  “And you definitely think these missing persons are tied to the rapist?” Jack asked.

  “Hell, man, I don’t know what to think. All I know is that it’s time for me to step up my game. As far as I’m concerned, the only three men I know for certain aren’t guilty are sitting right here at this table. Henry here because he just moved to town two years ago. And you because Mariah was positive you were too skinny to be her attacker years ago, and on the night of her friend’s attack, she told me, she talked to you on the phone and you were home. Then later you picked her up to search for her friend.”

  Jack took a swig of his beer, then set the bottle back on the table. “That leaves a lot of men in this town who might be guilty.”

  Clay leaned back in his chair and his eyes narrowed. “You know, I’ve spent the last ten years afraid that if something bad happened in this town, I wasn’t good enough to fix it. Now something bad has happened and I’m not afraid—I’m just plain pissed off. I’m going to catch this creep. I won’t stop until he’s behind bars. This is still my town and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow this to continue.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Jack said, and once again lifted his bottle. If and when Clay got the man who had raped Mariah all those years ago, Jack wouldn’t mind having a few minutes alone with the man. Kicking animals and hurting women—there was a special place in hell for men who shattered innocence, who preyed on the vulnerable.

  As thoughts of Mariah filled his head once again, a new wave of depression settled over his shoulders. He felt the same way he had when he’d been seventeen years old and found out the girl of his heart had left town. It was happening all over again and he was helpless to stop it.

  Marianne Francis awoke with a start. She’d been having a nightmare. It wasn’t unusual for a nightmare to wake her up in the middle of the night. She never remembered the dreams when she awakened, but she knew they were about the night she’d been raped.

  The bedroom was pitch-black, although she could see a faint outline of gray around the edges of the light-blocking shades that hung at the windows.

  She faced the wall and the luminous face of the clock on her nightstand told her it was just after midnight. Cold. She was always cold when she woke up from a bad dream.

  She moved closer to the middle of the bed, seeking Roger’s warmth. He was like having her very own furnace. He radiated heat when he slept. She inched over an
d over, but didn’t feel her husband’s warmth, didn’t hear the familiar sound of his breathing.

  They’d gone to bed together at ten. He’d told her he was exhausted. Of course that was because he was out late almost every night. She’d taken one of her sleeping pills and had almost immediately fallen into a deep sleep.

  She swept her hand out but encountered only the yawn of cold sheets and emptiness beside her. Turning on the lamp on her nightstand, she confirmed what she’d thought. She was alone in the bed.

  There was no sound coming from the bathroom or anyplace else in the house. “Roger?” she called, but there was no answer. She hadn’t really expected one.

  She slid from the bed and went to the window and peeked out behind the shade. His car was gone. She quickly got back into bed and pulled the covers up around her. Cold. So cold.

  Where are you, Roger? Oh God, she was afraid to know. She huddled beneath the blankets and prayed her husband wasn’t a monster.

  Chapter 33

  She was back in the dream with Jack. They were having a picnic on a blanket spread out beneath a majestic oak tree. Tiny ran in circles, barking with excitement at every squirrel that jumped from limb to limb, rustling the bright green foliage overhead.

  Sunshine filtered through the leaves and shone on Jack’s face, emphasizing the lines and angles she loved to see. He reached out a hand and caressed her face, the warmth and love in his touch swelling her heart.

  “You have to go,” he said, and there was a wealth of sadness in his green eyes.

  “No, I want to stay,” she replied. “I want to stay here with you.”

  “You must go.” He dropped his hand from her face and wind began to buffet the branches of the trees overhead. “There’s a storm coming.” He got to his feet as the skies turned dark, boiling with black, angry clouds. “There’s a terrible storm coming.”

  A flash of lightning nearly blinded her. Thunder roared and Tiny’s yips intensified, no longer happy but instead frantic and afraid. Mariah suddenly realized where she was, in the grove of trees outside her house. Where he’d once found her and hurt her.

  She scrambled to her feet, suddenly afraid. She reached out for Jack’s hand, but he backed away from her. “You have to go.” He yelled to be heard above the din of the storm.

  “Please. I’m afraid. Don’t make me go,” she cried. Again lightning rent the skies, followed by a tremendous boom. Tiny barked and ran in circles.

  “You have to go,” Jack repeated as he was swallowed up by the storm. “You have to find Kelsey.”

  Kelsey.

  Consciousness came in bits and pieces. The first conscious thought was pain. The back of her head felt as if it had been split open like an overripe plum. To make matters worse, Tiny barked and barked, the incessant noise only making her head ache more.

  “Tiny, enough,” she murmured.

  She twisted her head and frowned as she realized she wasn’t in bed. In that instant, total recall smashed into her brain.

  Kelsey!

  She shot up and nearly stumbled over Tiny. She ran to Kelsey’s room and flipped on the light. She fell to her knees and screamed at the sight of Kelsey’s empty bed. The covers were strewn on the floor and the lamp on the nightstand was overturned.

  He had Kelsey! Oh God. Oh God. She dry-heaved as she got to her feet. How long had she been unconscious, how long? Minutes? Hours?

  As she stumbled backward out of the room, she stepped on the gun, the gun that hadn’t fired when she’d tried to pull the trigger.

  Urgency screamed through her. Do something. Call somebody. She picked up the gun and realized she’d never taken off the safety. That’s why it hadn’t fired. She did so now as Tiny clumped down the stairs, barking all the way.

  Mariah followed, feet flying as she ran downstairs and to the front door. Maybe she’d see him. Maybe she had been unconscious for only a few seconds and he was now loading Kelsey into the back of a car or the bed of a pickup.

  She gripped the gun firmly and opened the door, nearly sobbing in despair as she saw nothing … nobody. Where was her baby? Where was Kelsey?

  Tiny barked once again and she looked down at the little dog who Kelsey loved, the dog who loved Kelsey. He followed her everywhere.

  “Tiny, where’s Kelsey?” she said. “Where’s Kelsey?” To her surprise Tiny danced off the front porch and took off running.

  Toward Finn’s place.

  Mariah froze.

  All she could hear was the thunder of her heart in her head. All she felt was the cold grip of memory. And she smelled the fires of sudden, burning knowledge.

  Hands pressing into her upper arms. Fingers biting into her skin. Fingers. Nine fingers, not ten. No thumb. No thumb!

  Finn!

  She took off running after Tiny, the gun held tightly in her hand. Her brain shut down. She didn’t feel the rough ground beneath her bare feet, or the cool night air that blew over her half-naked body.

  The full moon illuminated her way as she raced toward her neighbor’s house. Finn. He’d been her best friend. Finn. She couldn’t think about it or she’d go mad.

  She couldn’t think about Kelsey and what might have already happened. If she did, she’d fall to the ground, too incapacitated with grief, with despair, to do anything.

  Just run, her brain commanded. Legs pumped and lungs burned as she raced, afraid she was too late. Not too late. Please, God, don’t make it be too late.

  Kelsey. Kelsey. The name screamed inside her head and ripped apart her heart. What if she was wrong? What if it wasn’t Finn at all? What if Tiny was just chasing a rabbit through the woods?

  She should have called Clay. The minute she’d regained consciousness, she should have called for help instead of following a dog who might be leading her farther away from Kelsey rather than closer.

  As she reached Finn’s property, she came to a stop behind a tree. The house was directly in front of her. Dark and silent. Finn’s truck was parked in the driveway and nothing appeared amiss.

  Had she just wasted precious minutes? Had this just been a wild-goose chase that led to nothing? Kelsey! Where was her baby? Once again the urge to vomit welled up inside her.

  Tiny growled from someplace nearby and Mariah heard a low mutter. A man’s voice. Finn’s voice. She followed the sound and saw him coming out of the old smokehouse.

  As he turned to secure the door, she ran toward him. “Finn!”

  He whirled around to face her as she held the gun leveled at his chest. “Mariah! What in the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night in your nightgown?” He shoved a key ring in his pocket and smiled, that beautiful open grin that had always imbued her with warmth. “And I don’t even want to ask about the gun.”

  With a whine Tiny scratched at the smokehouse door. “Open it,” Mariah said with steely determination. “Open the door, Finn.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Mariah?” He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “It’s the middle of the night. I can’t believe you’re out here pointing a gun at me.” He took a step toward her. “I heard what happened to you. Honey, I’m so sorry. But I think you’re having some sort of a breakdown.”

  “I am,” she agreed, and tightened her grip on the gun. “I am having a breakdown and if you don’t open that door, I’m going to shoot. This time I won’t make the mistake of pulling the trigger with the safety on. And when I shoot, the noise will wake up your wife and your children. You don’t want that, Finn.”

  “Hannah and the kids are gone for a couple of days.” He took another step toward her. “Mariah, put the gun down and let’s talk. Remember how we used to talk?” His voice was soft. The moonlight bathed his face and for just a moment it was the face of the boy she’d known, the boy she’d loved like a brother.

  Emotion rose up inside her and brought tears to her eyes. “How could you, Finn?” Emotion made her voice tremble. “How could you hurt me like that?”

  For a moment he stood perfectly still
, like a moon-bathed statue. Then his features transformed into something unrecognizable, something dark and ugly. “Hurt you? Hurt you?” He screamed the words as his hands tightened into fists at his sides. “What about me? What about my pain?”

  “Just open the damn door,” she exclaimed.

  “No. Not until you listen to me.” Once again his features softened. “You have to understand, Mariah. I need to make you understand. The pain. Oh God, the pain.” He brought his hands up to either side of his head and squeezed so hard his hands whitened in the bleach of the moon.

  “That night … I didn’t want to hurt you. But the pain was so bad I couldn’t stand it anymore.” He dropped his hands to his sides once again. “I had to hold it together. I had to do it all. I was nothing but a kid, but I had to take care of them, do everything for them. My old man was useless. He cut off my thumb, for Christ’s sake.” Once again he was screaming with such venom even Tiny was silent and huddled against the door of the smokehouse as if waiting for a kick.

  “I love my sisters. I do. But I was trapped. I didn’t get to hang out—I couldn’t go to college. I had to be a man and take care of things. I didn’t do anything but take care of everyone else and if I had a moment to rest, my old man took that moment to beat the hell out of me.”

  His body vibrated with the force of the storm inside him. “The night before, he came back, like he did every once in a while. He took what money I had put away, and went out and got stinking drunk. Stumbled back home and puked in the hallway, pissed on the sofa and just made a mess, such a mess. The next morning he was gone and I had to clean it up. I had to clean up everything. That night I got the girls into bed, then left the house, and I had such a pain inside me. And I saw you and you were so good and I thought if I could just get a piece of you, a piece of your goodness, then maybe my pain would go away. And it did for a while.”

  Mariah hadn’t noticed the coolness of the night until that moment. Staring into the eyes of the man who had held her when her father had beaten her, the man who had lain in the sweet-smelling grass beside her and made clover chains, she saw his madness.