by Debra Jupe
Ethan grinned wickedly as he watched her leave. The low lights gave him even a better view of the deliciousness underneath her flimsy pajamas. The material clung to her like plastic wrap, outlining her small body perfectly.
He remained in the doorway after she left, not wanting to tread any more river water onto her hardwoods. He hadn’t given it much notice to her home when he was here before, but now he took it all in.
The living area walls were painted a dark blue, decorated with vintage prints, combined with white furniture and subtler, pine woods. Knick knacks and light fixtures also antiquated, along with a mixture of family photos, sans the ex, were spread about to give the room a homey but classic feel. Something he was unfamiliar with and the hominess made him uneasy, but he knew he’d get used to this comfortable decor, and even come to like it after a while, especially if she came with the package.
“I dug out some beach towels.” Gracie held a large, thick, fluffy towel to him. “If you want I can put your clothes in the dryer.”
“I’m going to have to start paying you for doing my laundry.” He took the wrap and patted his face, then unfolded it to wipe away as much moisture as he could. “Now let me ask you something concerning tonight’s events. And I want the truth.”
Her expression was cautious, which made him wonder if she’d give him a direct answer.
“Is someone harassing you? Is that why you’re so jumpy anytime something odd comes around your home, and the reason you’re constantly trying to de-brain me?”
She let out a long sigh. “It’s stupid for me to be afraid, but we’ve had several burglaries in the area.”
“You’d mentioned that the other day. And I don’t think anything is wrong with being scared. Caution can be a good thing.” He rubbed the small knot on his forehead from the other night’s flashlight attack. “To a point.”
Her expression darkened. “I tend to get a little overcautious. I had an incident in my past.”
“Care to share?”
“When I was a young girl, my parents left me home alone for the first time. Someone broke in. Nothing happened to me. I hid in my closet until they left with a load of our stuff, but I could identify them to the police. Neighbor boys from across the street. The family held a grudge against me and my family for the longest time until they moved. They intimidated me to where I didn’t want to leave my home. The incident still causes me to be jittery whenever I hear a strange noise around my house.”
He wrapped his arms around her, and brought her close. “I’m sorry. How ’bout I do a check outside. Just to make sure.” He gently pushed her away. “Fetch me the flashlight you tried to kill me with the other night.
Twenty minutes Ethan returned. “I checked the house’s perimeter. No strange footprints, broken shrubs, or paint chipped away around the windows. Everything looks fine.”
“Awesome. Now I can sleep better.”
“No sleeping until I’ve checked one more place.” He snatched her hand.
She frowned. “Where?”
He grinned, leading her up the stairwell. “Your bedroom.”
Chapter 16
Something was off.
Haywire.
Ethan sensed the strangeness in the atmosphere, in the still of the darkness.
A loud whoosh from behind startled him. He rose to his elbow, instantly alert. Another blow up, an ominous tweet followed the wiz, trailed by an explosive blast. The discharge was fierce, so brutal he thought his eardrums would splinter from the noise.
He stiffened.
The earth shook as the detonation struck the ground.
His body lifted. Arms flailed, he hurled through the air, his torso twisted, turning the opposite direction of his lower extremities. He landed in a throbbing heap several hundred feet away. Pain riddled over him. His limbs seared from the heat, his entire body burned, as if on fire while flames rained around him. Bits of ash pierced his skin, leaving singeing whelps wherever they touched. The smoldering odor combined with flesh…the distinctive, metallic scent of blood saturated the surroundings. Bodies were scattered, many with limbs barely hanging on or missing. Some moaned, while others lay motionless, their lives stopped in a mere instant.
He tried to move, to leave, but his legs were so heavy, like they’d turned into blocks of wood. Unable to budge from his charred site, he panicked. Something was wrong. Why couldn’t he lift his legs?
People ran past him, yelling in fear, but he wasn’t able to understand them, only catching a word or two. They vanished into the darkness, away from the pouring smoke surrounding them.
Where was he?
His heart hammered into his chest. He held an arm out to the escaping crowd, tried to shout for help, but the words strangled in his throat. Smolders from fires, death, and the smell of danger lingered. He needed to getaway. No one would lend him a hand. He had to save himself.
He flipped over and raised his chest, balancing on his hands. A cluster of brush—brambles the fire had yet to destroy—was located about a hundred yards ahead. If he could make it to the mass, he’d be safe for the time being. He stretched an arm in front of him to crawl toward his target, dragging his useless legs behind him.
Every muscle in his body tensed. He stopped.
Warm hands seized his shoulder blades. His stomach plunged. He’d been captured. Someone spoke to him, but their words sounded foreign. He didn’t detect any threats in their tone, though they might be trying to trick him.
Trust no one.
Instincts told him that he must escape or this would be his end.
He only had one shot.
He braced, ready to pounce.
Swiftly, he whirled around, trunk first. His hands expertly went for the throat. Surprised, they released him. He pressed down on their neckline and squeezed, constricted, weakening his adversary. Tighter, his fingers gripped into the flesh, ready to snap his enemy’s neck as he sensed their life evaporate beneath his touch.
He heard the rumble before viewed the helicopter blades drifting above. A relieved breath escaped. He was saved. His grip slackened as he glared at his prisoner. And so was this guy.
He lowered his head, his face placed close, nose to nose with his foe. “Who are you?” he growled.
A gurgled “Ethan,” replied in a rigid, anxious voice.
Thick fog swirled before his eyes. His mind reverberated into an out of control carousal, whirling backward until it fell off its axes. His head throbbed as his heart rate raced out of control. His skin felt like it’d been stripped from his bones, leaving every exposed nerve to scream from agony. The contents inside his stomach lurched, threating to exit at any second.
After several minutes, the heaviness began to subside.
Gracie’s frightened features hovered lucid in front of him.
He jerked his loosened hand from her throat. “My god, Gracie.”
She sat up in the bed, scooting away, cowering into a mound of pillows piled against the headboard. Her fingers clutched her neck. Her large eyes brimmed with tears from the horror.
He ran a palm across his rough, shadowed jaw. His body shook, sweat poured from his brow. The nightmare happened again. Something had set it off. Only the dream had never been this bad, never gone this far.
He glanced at a terrified Gracie, still gazing at him with a shocked expression. His eyes watered as he held in floods of emotion he couldn’t recognize. How would he explain?
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stretching to her. His trembling fingertips grazed her arm. She winced, jerking from his contact. Reluctantly, he pulled away. He sniffed and swiped the back of his hand across his eyes, brushing a seeping drop from his whiskered cheek.
“You, you tried to kill me?”
How should he answer? That was exactly his intent. He checked his legs, to make sure they worked before he rolled out of bed. He rushed to the bathroom.
Standing over the sink, he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over his face, soaking his skin,
hoping to wash away the bitter reality. He snatched a towel and dried before he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Sleepy streetlights peered through the small window, combined with the darkness distorting his image to show him precisely as he viewed himself. A monster.
The expression on her face—he’d tried to kill her. He hadn’t realized his hands had been wrapped around her neck, but still.
His insides churned. He hurried to the toilet and lifted the lid, heaving the contents of his stomach into the commode. He flushed, and then sank to the floor, resting his forehead on the cool porcine. His abdomen lurched again, but he had nothing left to throw up. He was empty. Totally empty.
“Ethan?” The soft click of a switch lit the room with a dim glow.
He raised his head but didn’t bother to look at her. How could he?
Her robe tightly knotted, she stepped further into the bathroom, and although he caught that she stayed clear of his reach.
“Can you tell me what happened, why?”
He swallowed searching for the right thing to say. The exact words to make this go away. “I would never hurt you intentionally…a bad dream. I had a nightmare.”
She seemed to relax a little, but he wasn’t sure she believed him. “Except this one was worse than last Saturday’s.”
He gulped to moisten his arid mouth. “I have these, these dreams. Horrible—something sets them off. I can’t control…” He wiped away another onslaught of perspiration. “I’m sorry.” His voice sounded dry and raspy.
What else could he tell her? He had no explanation, because there wasn’t one. Silence strained between them. What little trust she had in him faded before his eyes.
“Did I do something to bring on the dream?” she asked, her voice still packed with fear.
“Of course not.” Appalled she would even think she was the reason the damn thing erupted, he shook his head quickly. “I don’t know why they happen. It’s been a long time since…” He stared at her. “Do you want me to leave?”
She waited as if to consider his offer. “You can stay. I don’t know if I’ll sleep, though.”
She was only being kind. She didn’t want to be with him.
“No, I should go.”
He struggled to get to his feet, though his legs felt unsteady, rubbery. He tried to regain his balance, couldn’t. He collapsed in a heap on her bathroom floor.
“Ethan.” Gracie raced to him, her hands outstretched. “What is happening?”
He gazed at her worried expression. “I can’t—my legs. They won’t move.”
“We should call for help.”
He shot out an arm. “No. I’ll be fine. Just takes a few minutes.”
Her forehead wrinkled as she motioned to his dissolved body fused to the floor. “This has also happened before.”
He bobbed his head. Ethan remained on in place, hiding his face into his hands. A small twitch in his right thigh made him glance up. Feelings were returning. He glanced at Gracie, who’d gone back to the safety of the doorway.
She continued to watch him worriedly. “Can I do something?”
“Get my clothes.”
“They’re in the dryer, but they should be finished this time.” She turned and left, leaving him alone for several minutes.
Thankfully, the sensations in his legs returned. He used the bathroom vanity to hoist to his feet. He clutched the counter until everything felt normal again.
Gracie reappeared, holding his neatly folded clothes. She carefully walked to him, to hand him his things. He tried not to notice how quick she pulled away once he took them, but the action was too obvious to overlook.
“You’re okay now?”
“Better.” He slid on his boxers and reached for his jeans.
“Tell me more about these dreams.”
“I haven’t had them in a long time. They weren’t this bad before. Something, I assume my current situation, has triggered them again.”
“You keep saying again. You’re not telling me everything.”
“I can’t recall one thing. All I know is it’s too disturbing.” He heaved a sigh and he slipped an arm through his warm shirt. “I don’t want to talk anymore, Gracie.”
“That’s fair.” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “Except your little episode almost cost me my life. I think I’m owed more than you not wanting to discuss the problem.”
“I’m sorry.” He stretched to her, but once more she jerked from his reach, only this time, she turned away. He blew out a stream of air. She was right; he did owe her more of an explanation. That meant revealing a dark secret few were aware of.
“I suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD.” She pivoted back to him with a look of shock. “It’s been under control for a while, but…” He shrugged. “These attempts on my life and Mike’s violent death seemed to have set them off again.”
“You’ve been treated for this?”
“Therapy.”
“Then you need to go back.”
“I will. As soon as this thing with Mike is over.”
“Sooner, Ethan. Tomorrow. I’ll go with you. I don’t understand anything about this disorder, but I want to help you.”
“You can’t help me, Gracie. As a matter of fact, I should stay away from you.”
“Why?”
“Because I almost—hurt you, and I don’t want to ever harm you. Besides that, I’m the person of interest in a murder of one of the most prominent citizens in the area. You don’t need to be seen with me. You’re a mother and a successful businesswoman. You have a reputation to uphold.” He attempted to smile. “Don’t want to give your parents any more ammunition. They’d really think you were a screw up if you’re hanging out with a murder suspect.”
“We could prove you didn’t do it. And get you the help you need.”
“No we can’t. Think about it. The combination of my problem and Mike’s death make a great fit. I have to fight this alone.” He made his voice cold. “You’re not to get involved.” The last thing he needed was Gracie Desoto mixed up any more in his mess. He was guilt ridden enough. It was his fault she’d been drawn in this far. “From now on, you need to stay out of my business.” He moved to her and placed his hands onto her shoulders. Although her body stiffened from his touch, he kept his palms glued to her. “For your own safety. If you have any problems with break-ins, then call the police immediately.” He tried to give her another small smile. “Although I’m confident you can take care of yourself, one day it may not be me you’re attacking.”
He released her and headed toward the bedroom door. He hurried down the stairs, glad his legs now were sturdy and able to carry him. Gracie followed him silently.
He swiped up his wet shoes, electing to leave them off. They walked outside and onto the street to where his truck waited.
“Will I see you again? After you get help?”
He didn’t answer.
“Ethan?”
He unlocked the cab door and slipped inside. “It depends on how things go.”
“The police?”
“If someone bothers you, they’ll do a search of your property. They’ll perform a more thorough inspection than what I did.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Ethan wrestled for tolerance. Guilt overwhelmed him from what he’d done to her—or what he could’ve done. He needed to get away from her, to think, to purge the past memories swirling in his head.
“You’re a person of interest in Mike’s murder. I was with you the night he was killed. Surely the authorities are going to want to question me.”
His jaw tightened. “No one will contact you. They’re unaware you exist.”
“So you, you didn’t tell anyone about me?”
“No. And if you care for me, please keep it that way. Again, keep our relationship quiet.”
He grasped the handle and shut the door with a slam. Eyes forward, he started the engine. Without as much as a glance in h
er direction, he sped off into the night, leaving her at the curb.
Chapter 17
Ethan stomped on the accelerator. An inadvertent glimpse in his rearview mirror had him fighting the desire to hit the brake and turn around. Gracie stood in the middle of the road, her silhouette immersed in the streetlight’s glimmer as she watched him leave. Thank God he couldn’t see her face.
Fuck. He should’ve followed through with his original intentions and not see her again. Yet he somehow ended up on her dock.
Who was he kidding? Chance wasn’t a factor in his appearance tonight. He’d purposely sought her out. He needed her. His life had turned to shit in the matter of seconds, and he wanted their connection. To feel human again. And she made that happen.
How did he repay her?
By trying to kill her. Unconsciously, yes, though awake or not, the end results would’ve been the same if she hadn’t managed to rouse him. A lot of things going down in his life he may easily dismiss, even this bogus murder inanity, but no way could he justify hurting her.
The distressing memory flooded his thoughts.
The look of disappointment, her loss of faith in him. The fear in her eyes would haunt him forever.
He glanced in the mirror one last time to view her fading image. She needn’t worry about him messing up her life any more. Their moment had ended. He was out of her hair for good.
And he was miserable.
He turned onto the empty stretch of interstate and forced the pedal to the floorboard, not bothering to search the area for the local police or highway patrol. A speeding ticket would be a mere raindrop in a hurricane after what he’d experienced.
At the moment, he didn’t care if they captured him, threw him in a barren jail, and tossed away the key. Solitary confinement would suit his disposition perfectly.
Within minutes he arrived at the lonely, dark turnoff to take him home. God, he didn’t want to spend the rest of the night by himself. The fact he was dead tired was futile. His horrifying nightmares would replace sleep.
The buzz of his phone hailed him away from his melancholy mood. He yanked the gadget from the side pocket of his truck, glancing at the caller ID before he pushed the “on” button. “Yeah?”
