“What happened next?” he asked after taking a swig of water.
Now that she’d reached this magical point in the story, she didn’t know if she could finish. “The last person who had to listen to this was my therapist.”
“I’m listening now.”
Damn Griff for knowing what to say and when.
Cassie adjusted her hat so the brim did a better job of covering her eyes. She rummaged in her backpack and came up with her sunglasses and plopped them on her nose. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to wear them in the first place.
“He came home that night with a gun and started shooting up the house. I tried to leave but he grabbed me by the hair and tied me to a chair. We stayed that way for a couple hours before he decided to call the police himself. After three hours of negotiating with a SWAT team, he put a bullet through his skull. I was tied to that damned kitchen chair and couldn’t get loose. The SWAT team broke in and that was the end of it.”
She’d kept the words matter of fact and unemotional, knowing if she didn’t tears would come.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” His voice held warmth, as if he had first hand understanding of the type of damage that could do to a person. “How long ago did all that happen?”
“Ten years.” She dared look at him, happy the sunglasses hid her moist eyes. His gaze was hard, filled with a pent up anger. She drew off her gloves and stuffed them in her coat pockets. “There was a benefit to the experience.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I’m a better person for it. It changed me forever.”
His silence on the subject comforted her in a strange way. He didn’t pontificate or judge or give her advice, and she found that refreshing. Sometimes letting what happened just be made the memory less painful.
“What the hell?” he suddenly said, looking toward the house.
She turned her attention to the house, and her stomach lurched. “The roses are blooming again.”
He threw a sharp glance at her. “What?”
“When I came up her the other day, the roses were blooming. When I came down the hill before you the roses were dead. I thought maybe I was just crazy. I didn’t even think much about it until now.”
A chill ran over Cassie, and she rubbed her arms.
“There’s got to be a logical explanation for it,” he said.
“You noticed it too the other day?”
“Yeah, but my experience was that the roses were dead both times I paid attention.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“No. I wouldn’t kid about something like that.”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Well at least we see the same thing this time.”
He took a step forward.
She grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Someone must be living there now. There was a lock box on the front door and there isn’t now.”
“You’re right.” He gently pulled out of her hold, but he didn’t take another step toward the house.
Apprehension she didn’t understand gripped her. Instinct told her to leave and leave now, but she couldn’t force the words up her throat.
“Weird as hell,” he said quietly.
“Let’s go. Maybe we just imagined it all.”
“Yeah.”
They started back up the hill, and as they left Cassie felt the strange fear abate. She couldn’t form the words to describe why she’d felt such intimidation from the place. A niggling disquiet lingered. It made no sense that they’d both seen something different. They reached the Point not long after. She took her pack off and laid it down near the flat rock where she’d sat the last time she was here. He did the same just as she settled on the rock and started digging her pencils out of the pack.
“So now it’s your turn to tell me more about you,” she said.
He stood walked to the fence line. As he had the last time they’d been here, he considered the beautiful view.
“You don’t want to hear about it,” he said.
Surprised, she said, “What?”
“It’s too bloody. Too ugly.”
“More bloody than watching a man shoot himself in the head? I know war is hell.”
“There’s that.” He didn’t look at her—he kept his gaze on the beyond. “And then there was my life before the military. When I was a kid.”
God, what secret is he hiding?
“I’ve been told I’m an excellent listener. It’s a skill I learned after my husband shot himself.”
“I’m sure you are. You might be ready to divulge your past, but I’m not ready to tell mine.”
More than disappointment came over her. She felt, even in the smallest way, as if she’d been screwed over. She’d revealed more of herself than she had with any other man in ten years. She drew in a deep breath.
Guess I should have known better. She swallowed sharp words. “That’s your right.”
He turned, and his eyes told her he didn’t like what she’d said. “You’re pissed,” he said.
“Okay, I’m pissed. At myself, actually. I shouldn’t have revealed that much about myself to a man I don’t know all that well.”
He wiped one hand over his jaw line, and for the first time she noticed he’d shaved. Yesterday his bristly beard growth had given him a harder-looking edge.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “You can trust me. I’m just not ready to regurgitate all my past right here and right now.”
She couldn’t think of a thing to say in response. Anger simmered inside her, twisting like a flag in the breeze and threatening to fly away.
“I guess we’re even,” she said. “Because you haven’t heard all of my past either.”
A real breeze tried to snatch her hat, so she tightened the chin strap. Griff did the same with his boony cap.
“Hey, I’m going to walk back down the hill a short way. I’ll be back,” he said.
His feet crunched over the dirt road and before she knew it, he was gone.
So he didn’t want to tell her his dirtiest secrets. She’d made a mistake telling him too much, expecting a little of the same. She wouldn’t do it again.
She poured her feelings into sketching. Perhaps her confessional loosened her creativity. Her pencil flew over the page. Today she didn’t draw Griff in a military uniform. She sketched the landscape before her and imbedded it with a strange, monstrous quality. Vines grew where none truly did, mountain ridges stabbed sharply into the air, jagged and higher. Snow covered more of the peaks, and iron-rich soil was closer to blood red than rust. Green grass took on a shade it couldn’t reach this time of year. She was glad she’d brought her colored pencils. Time had no meaning. She blinked as she looked down at the sketch. Her pencils had flown over the page in such quick succession. When she looked at her watch, it had taken her less than six minutes to slam together the violent, ugly images. Compelled beyond anything she’d done in a long time, she began to draw rose bushes. She didn’t understand why and didn’t care. Once more she worked swiftly, first with black, then gray than blood red. When she quit drawing a very few minutes later, the rosebush she’d drawn resembled one of those she’d seen in front of the ranch house down the hill. White roses with red lines running through them, and razor sharp thorns. Disturbed, she stopped and stared at the picture. More than once in her life she’d drawn pictures that moved her, had created a vision of her imagination without stifling herself. This time she wished she had stopped herself.
She put her pencils away and shook her hand out.
A shadow fell on her page. Surprised Griff had made it back without her hearing him, she wondered if his ability to sneak up on people was a military skill.
She smiled. “You’re blockin’ my sun.”
“Well, I’d hate to do that now, wouldn’t I?” Dougray’s Scottish accent asked.
Blackout: Chapter Four
“Son of a bitch.”
Griff couldn’t believe hi
s eyes. He took one step and then another down the driveway of the ranch house with the weird-as-hell rose bushes. Now the roses looked trampled and shredded, as if they’d been run over by a mower or a car. A cold tingle darted over his skin and caused goose bumps. He tried to look at things rationally. How could he? Unless a car had come through her or a mower since they’d gone up to the Point, there was no way these roses would be in such bad shape. A niggling sense of unreality made him want to ignore the evidence in front of him. He could rush back up the hill and tell her what he’d found. On the other hand, she’d think he’d lost every marble he had.
He took his sunglasses off and hooked them into the neckline of his t-shirt, as if the dark shades obscured what really had happened to the rosebushes. No. They still lay mangled on the driveway.
When he’d refused to tell Cassie anything else about his past after she’d spilled her guts…well, cowardice had talked for him. He’d walked down the hill to cover two things. His conflicted thoughts about telling her what he’d experienced years ago, and to satisfy his curiosity about the house.
“Fucking nuts,” he said under his breath.
This house was strange, and no doubt about it. Not any stranger than him standing here in someone’s driveway eyeballing the house. He’d be lucky if someone didn’t call the cops, although he didn’t see any sign that people were out and about anywhere nearby. The neighbors on either side of the dirt road had up to five acres or more each. Driveways on the left side of the road, across from this property, were so long he couldn’t see homes from here.
He could have turned away, but the house called him. Without another thought he started down the driveway. Griff didn’t question why he was compelled to walk toward the house and what he’d do when he arrived at the door. The driveway meandered around the strange rosebushes and curved left and then right. As a trained observer he looked for signs that someone had run over the bushes. No recent tire tracks marred the dirt. Yet the bushes lay broken. He squatted by one rosebush and noted the blackened, dried petals. All of the flowers looked as if they’d been dead for days, dry and crumply even with the recent rain. Check that. One bloom on one bush was white with red veins running through the petals. Weird.
Shaking his head, he stood and examined he house as he continued walking. The driveway ended at the garage, which looked big enough for two cars. Had the house ever been updated? Paint peeled, cracks showed, and dirt crusted the facade here and there. As he walked along the dirt driveway, his heart picked up speed. His skin prickled as he took one step after another, every instinct telling him to get the hell out.
Maintain, marine. It’s not like you’re taking point into an ambush.
His body argued differently. He craved a weapon, but he’d left his gun back in his room locked in the safe. It never occurred to him he might need it on a hike. As he reached the door everything within him screamed that he did need a weapon. Logic tangled with instinct until panic made his breath come short. In his twenty years as a marine, he’d been award medals but now his bravery was shredded. Shame mixed with determination. He swallowed hard as he arrived at the entrance. The lock box was no longer on the door. He could knock, but if someone answered what the hell would he say? Your freakin’ house drew me here? The air felt thick, as if he’d taken a swim through molasses. A compelling urge to open the door made him grab the doorknob. Ice cold metal touched his palm.
A word stuck in his throat. No.
Another instinct kicked into gear. Leave. Leave now. With effort he released the door knob, turned on his heel and hurried off the porch. It took everything he had, but Griff managed the path back to the road. When he stepped onto the dirt road, the strange miasma that had gripped him dropped away. A new instinct struck him, this one more powerful than his encounter with the house. He needed to return to Cassie. He had to find a way to mend the chasm he’d created after she’d revealed her history. More than that, something pushed him up the hill to the Point. He didn’t like leaving her there alone.
* * *
Cassie jerked in surprise at Dougray’s voice. Was this guy for real? Was it simply coincidence he continued to turn up wherever she was? Today the Scot looked as rugged as the military man he’d claimed to once be. Dressed in a flannel shirt, black cargo pants, hiking boots and with a huge backpack, he looked ready to climb Mount Everest.
“Dougray, I didn’t hear you walk up.”
“My military buddies always called me the ghost.” Arrogance dripped from his words.
“What are you doing up here?”
His smile disappeared. “It’s a free country last time I heard. What are you doing here?”
The man was a twit. “Sketching.”
Dougray sat on the rock next to her, and she shifted away from him. He looked at the sketch before she could close the book.
“Weird,” he said. “Why all the odd colors on the mountains?”
“Why not?”
“Surely you had a plan when you did this. A reason for taking the real colors and making them slightly off.”
She looked him in the eye. She heard criticism in his tone, and she didn’t like it one damned bit. “With art there doesn’t have to be a why. It’s what you feel and what you want to show.”
He grunted softly. “I don’t like modern art.”
She shrugged. “I prefer realistic landscapes, but when I draw I create whatever appeals to me at the moment. I’m not creating world peace with this drawing.”
Dougray didn’t answer but he reached over and flipped a page to the roses.
“Do you mind?” she said, angry that he was manhandling her sketch book. She slammed it shut.
His expression went from cocky to shocked. “Where did you see those roses? This one with the white and red?”
“In front of the house on the west side of the road. Back down the hill.”
He swallowed hard, looking disconcerted. He didn’t explain his reaction, but took a deep breath. For once his cockiness had disappeared, and she saw a hint of vulnerability.
To her surprise he snatched the sketch book from her hand and flipped more pages. She was so surprised she couldn’t think what to say for a moment.
He reached the picture of Griff in the military uniform. “You like the military, darling? Who is this? A boyfriend?”
Darling? She didn’t like the endearment or the questions. “Give that back.” She snatched the book out of his hands and stood up. “Are you always this rude?”
His eyes narrowed, their blue icy and intent. “Why isn’t that boyfriend here with you?” Dougray threw a smart-ass grin at her. “If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t leave you sitting up here alone.”
Pissed, she stuffed the sketch pad in her pack and started back down the hill. “I’ve really got to go.”
“I’ll walk with you. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
He started down the path after her, and she didn’t like him behind her. No, she wanted to hightail it. To run like hell. She was halfway to the old ranch house when she saw Griff heading back to her. Relief made her walk faster.
“Here comes the hero,” Dougray said loud enough for her to hear him.
When Griff reached them, the Scot continued his obnoxiousness.
“Hey, Griffin,” the Scot said. “You shouldn’t leave your lady alone up at the Point. It’s not safe there.”
Tension rippled in Griff’s body and in his hard expression.
Griff said, “Thanks for the advice, but I think she can take care of herself.”
A part of Cassie warmed to Griff’s acknowledgment.
“Maybe.” The Scot said, his accent a tad thicker. “But there’s something weird as hell going on up here at the Point.”
Cassie’s curiosity pushed her to ask, “Such as?”
“She knows something is wrong here.”
Griff looked at her. “What the hell is he talking about?”
“Beats me,” she said.
Dougray pointed do
wn the hill. “That house. It has those damn rose bushes, and she sketched one that I’ve seen there. One that comes and goes all on its own from one minute to the next. That is seriously screwed up.”
“Dude, what is this all supposed to mean? So she sketched some flowers. Who cares?” Griff said.
The Scot’s eyes turned sad, an emotion inside them she wouldn’t have expected to see from him. “My sister went missing at that house a year ago. Walked right in and never came back out.”
Shocked by this news, Cassie asked, “What happened to her?”
Dougray’s frown appeared sincere. “Wish to hell I knew. She was hiking here with some other friends from Scotland. She went into the house; they followed her. They had this story about what happened but…”
When he trailed off Cassie found she wanted to know more. “But?”
“Never mind.” Dougray shrugged and started away from them. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Wait.” She followed Dougray a few steps. She couldn’t let it go. “What did they say?”
Dougray looked from her to Griff and back again as if gauging whether he could trust them. “They said when they went in the house to look for Sally she simply wasn’t there. She bloody well disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“I’m so sorry. That’s awful,” she said, feeling the bite of his grief.
“That house swallowed her whole.” Dougray punched the air with his index finger. “Get away from this place and don’t come back. Or you might disappear, too.”
Griff reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s take his advice.”
Surprised both by what Dougray had said and Griff’s compliance, she allowed Griff to lead her away. Once they were far enough down the hill and Dougray hadn’t followed them, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“What was all that about?” she asked, pulling her hand out of his.
“He’s a nutcase.”
She closed her eyes a moment and let out an impatient sound. She stopped right in front of the house they’d all been talking about. She pointed at the building. “If he’s a nutcase than I must be, too. Something isn’t…” She hesitated, unsure and fumbling for the right explanation and the right words. “Something isn’t right with that place.”
Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers Page 121
