Shattered Blue: A Romantic Thriller

by Jane Taylor Starwood

  Now. Tell him now.

  When Matt lifted his head and looked at her, Shane said, “There’s something I have to tell you, and I’m terrified that it might change the way you feel about me.”

  He tilted her chin up and she saw nothing but tenderness and love in his warm brown eyes.

  “No,” he said, “it won’t. You have to believe that, Shane.”

  She wanted, needed, to believe him, and there was no question that she trusted him. She took his hand, led him into her room and closed the door against the dark.

  Inside the room, Shane propped the pillows against the headboard and gestured for Matt to sit beside her on the bed. They both kicked off their shoes and climbed onto the bed, sitting close together with their legs stretched out side by side.

  Matt put his arm around Shane’s shoulders. Sitting there beside him, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach, her courage nearly failed her. In spite of Matt’s reassurances, and no matter how much she trusted him, a part of her was still afraid that telling him about her past would ruin everything. Would she see it in his eyes every time he looked at her? Poor little Shane, the helpless victim?

  Her throat constricted and she swallowed hard. Did she really have to tell him? Was it really that important? Then she remembered her grandmother’s words: Let his love mend you. That’s what love is for.

  Shane drew a deep, shaky breath and let it out again. She needed to be closer to Matt. She would have crawled inside him if she could. She swung her legs across his and he eased her onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and held her while she began to tell him about the first time Jordan came into her room.

  Sensing her need to get the words out without interruption, Matt held his horror and rage inside while she talked and talked, her rigid body and subdued tone belying the welter of powerful emotions her words conjured up against the mundane background of the humming air conditioner. Matt grabbed onto that constant drone and made it his anchor as he listened to Shane, and held her, and hurt with her.

  In the back of his mind, where the primitive part of his brain had come roaring to life, he wished Jordan Ripley hadn’t killed himself, because he wanted to tear the sick bastard apart with his bare hands.

  When she told him Jordan had gone on molesting her for three years, it was almost more than he could bear. But he bore it, because she needed him to be calm, to listen, to hold her, to absorb her pain. He would do that for her. He would do whatever she needed. But his urge to explode into violence grew stronger by the second, until it was very nearly irresistible.

  Shane’s throat felt raw and her voice had grown hoarse, but she was determined to keep going. Now that she’d started, she had to get to the end of it.

  Only Matt’s calm strength kept the sickness in her belly at bay, kept the goblins under the bed from reaching her with their razor-sharp claws. Matt was her rock, her solace, her courage, her shield. Her love.

  She began to tell him about the night it finally ended.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Tomorrow was her eleventh birthday. Her mother had planned the party down to the last detail. All of her classmates at her private school had been invited. Shannon knew they would all come, but not because they were her friends. She didn’t have any friends, not really, just kids who hung around her because her father was even richer than theirs and her mother was beautiful and charming and threw wonderful parties, with expensive favors for everyone who showed up at the Sutton Place penthouse.

  Shannon didn’t want a stupid birthday party, but there was no point in saying so. Nobody ever paid any attention to what she wanted, not since her daddy died. She still missed him so much. He would have listened to her. And he would have protected her from Jordan. He would have squashed Jordan like a bug.

  It had been going on for so long now that she was sure it would go on forever. Until she’d taught herself how to send her mind away while it was happening, she’d wanted to die.

  Now that she was older, she wanted Jordan to die. She thought up lots of ways to make it happen, but she was too scared to do anything about it, and he had that big knife. He always brought it into her room, flashing it in her eyes like he had the first time, and told her all the ways he could use it on her mother if she told: Stab her in the heart; slit her throat from ear to ear; gut her like a fish and let her insides spill out; hack her arms and legs off and watch her bleed to death.

  The pictures his words painted in her head and the way he touched her all over made her run to the bathroom and throw up over and over again after he left her room.

  Shannon never knew when he was coming. That was part of what he called their “little game”—keeping her on her toes, keeping her guessing. At first she’d tried watching his eyes, noticing the way he stared at her when no one was looking, but he was too smart for that. He teased her, giving her sly, evil looks when no one was watching but staying away from her room for weeks. Then, just when she dared to hope it was over, that he’d finally grown tired of the game, she’d wake up with his hand covering her mouth and it would begin all over again.

  She hadn’t slept through the night since the first time and she was skinny as a stick because she hardly ate. Her mother was always nagging her to eat more, but she couldn’t get the food down her throat.

  For the first few months after it started, she couldn’t concentrate on her schoolwork and her grades had slipped way down. They sent her to a child psychiatrist who asked all kinds of embarrassing questions. Shannon had been so afraid he’d find out the truth that she forced herself to study harder and brought her grades back up, and finally they’d let her stop seeing the psychiatrist.

  Constantly terrified that Jordan would kill her mother if anyone found out, she learned to pretend that everything was fine. She made herself imagine that she was a great actress playing a very important role and she became very, very good at it. Every morning she put on her smile in front of the mirror, then she went out into the world and played the role of happy child. And she fooled everyone.

  Everyone but Jordan, with his cold gray eyes that saw beneath her skin.

  Tomorrow was her birthday, but tonight her mother and Ray were going to a Broadway opening and a party afterwards. Tyler was going to a rock concert with his girlfriend. Jordan was going to a movie and then staying over at a friend’s apartment. Their housekeeper, Mrs. Hale, was coming down with a cold and had retired to her room in the staff wing after dinner.

  Shannon planned to watch a video, then read until she got sleepy. Mrs. Hale had been given the usual instructions to check on her every couple of hours before bedtime. What for, Shannon wondered, to keep her safe? As if anyone could do that. Besides, she was perfectly safe tonight; Jordan wouldn’t be home until tomorrow.

  Relieved when the door closed after the last of them and she had the apartment to herself, Shannon settled in the media room to watch her favorite movie, “The Little Mermaid.” She knew it was babyish, but while she watched it she could pretend she was an ordinary, happy little girl.

  She was about to press the start button when she heard the front door open and close. There was no way anyone could get in without a key, and strangers couldn’t even get into the building past the doorman, so she wasn’t scared that it was a burglar or anything like that. Even so, a chill went down her spine.

  Somebody had come back.

  She knew it wasn’t her mother and Ray, because Mom always called out a cheerful greeting. She put down the remote and went out into the hallway. “Tyler?” she called. “Jordan?” Please don’t let it be Jordan.

  No one answered.

  Maybe it was the housekeeper, and what she’d heard was the door to the staff wing. “Mrs. Hale?”

  No answer.

  A stronger tingle of fear touched the back of her neck. Maybe a burglar had found a way past the doorman and broken in. Maybe he was hiding in the coat closet or the powder room off the foyer. She wanted to run to Mrs. Hale, but she’d have to cross the foyer to get
to the staff wing, and she was too scared. If there was a burglar, he might see her and come after her. What if he had a gun or a knife?

  Shannon backed into a dark corner of the hall, trying to make herself as small as possible. She stayed there for what seemed like a long time, waiting and listening, until she thought she heard soft footsteps crossing the living room. Suddenly she knew what she had to do: She had to call 911.

  The nearest phone she could get to without crossing the foyer was back in the media room. She would call 911 and then hide behind one of the big couches until help came. She wasn’t going to be a scared little baby; she could do this.

  Shannon tiptoed back to the darkened media room. As she neared the door she heard the theme music from the “The Little Mermaid,” which was weird, because she hadn’t started the movie yet. She peered around the doorway and sucked in her breath when she saw Jordan lounging with his shoes up on the white leather couch.

  “‘The Little Mermaid’?” he said. “I thought you had better taste, little sister.”

  Shannon felt stiff and awkward and scared and mad, like she always did when Jordan was around. She tried very hard not to be alone with him. But it didn’t matter how hard she tried to stay away from him, she couldn’t stop him coming to her room whenever he wanted. He was a lot bigger and stronger than she was, especially now that he was fifteen.

  “What are you doing back?” she asked him. “You’re supposed to be at the movies and a sleepover.”

  He must have crossed the living room, she realized, and come in through other door to the media room, the one that led to the library, which opened into the living room on the other side.

  Jordan fixed his sneering gaze on her face. “You’re good at vocabulary, Shannon. You must know what a ‘ruse’ is.”

  “A ruse?” Now it felt like ice water was trickling down her spine. Her knees buckled and she braced her back against the doorjamb to keep from sliding to the floor.

  He sat up and leaned toward her, intent on her face. “Go ahead, smarty pants, what’s the definition of ‘ruse’?”

  “It’s a trick,” she whispered. “Something you make up to fool people.”

  “Very good. You get an A-plus. That whole movie and sleepover thing? It was a ruse. Can you guess why I needed a ruse tonight?”

  Shannon shook her head. She knew, but she didn’t want to know. A sick feeling wormed up from her stomach into her throat. This wasn’t like all the other times. They weren’t alone in her bedroom and it wasn’t late at night; it was barely after seven. He was even acting different, talking to her like they were having a conversation. Always before he wouldn’t even let her speak.

  “Mrs. Hale,” she whispered, grasping at the only source of protection she could think of. “She’ll hear.”

  “Poor Mrs. Hale. She has such a bad cold. I thought she’d get better faster if I slipped a couple of sleeping pills from my dear stepmother’s stash into her orange juice.”

  He grinned at her and she saw the silver gleam of his eyes. “We’re going to have some extra fun tonight, Shannon, in honor of your eleventh birthday. I’ve been waiting a long, tedious time for this day to come, you know. So have you, if you’d only admit it.”

  A scream rose up in her throat, wanting out, but he was across the room in an instant, his hard, familiar hand over her mouth. He had the remote in his other hand; he turned up the sound so it was really loud, then tossed the remote onto the couch.

  “Uh-uh, no noise out of you,” Jordan said, his mouth so close to her ear that she felt his hot breath on her cheek. “The game begins now. The usual rules apply.”

  He grabbed her around the waist and started dragging her down the hall toward the children’s wing, one hand still over her mouth. She struggled and fought and tried to scream, but he was so much stronger. The soundtrack of movie followed them through the apartment.

  “Shut up and stop fighting me, Shannon,” he hissed. “Have you forgotten about the knife? The big, sharp, shiny knife?”

  The knife. Mom.

  Her will to fight and her last shred of hope vanished then, and she let him half-drag, half-carry her into her bedroom, where he pushed her onto the bed and locked the door. The door he would never let her lock when she was alone. He tested the knob as he passed her room every night; she knew what would happen if she disobeyed.

  “Take off your clothes,” he said. “All of them.” He pulled his dark blue sweater over his head and started unbuttoning his pale blue shirt.

  Wide-eyed with panic, Shannon instinctively glanced around the room for a way to escape, even though she knew there was no place in the world she could hide from him.

  “Take them off or I’ll cut them off,” Jordan said. His voice was ice-cold, like his gray eyes.

  She couldn’t move. Jordan reached under the foot of the bed and brought out the knife. He’d left the overhead light on and the blade flashed in her eyes, momentarily blinding her while she started to unbutton her pink cotton blouse with stumbling fingers.

  She was suddenly cold, so cold. She tried to send her mind away, but it wouldn’t go.

  “Hurry up, Shannon!” he hissed at her.

  Trying to make her shaking fingers work faster, she undid the last button and took off her blouse. Underneath she wore a pink training bra with white lace along the top edge. She didn’t really need it yet, but her mother had taken her shopping last week, insisting that she have half a dozen pretty pastel training bras with matching panties. “A lady needs dainty underthings,” she’d said. Remembering that now, Shannon almost laughed. Hysteria. Another vocabulary word.

  She tried to keep her mind there, on that shopping trip, and not let it come all the way back to her room, where Jordan was stripping off his jeans, standing there at the foot of the bed in nothing but his white underpants. She saw the bulge in them and looked away, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.

  She knew what rape was. Jordan was going to rape her now and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  “Shannon?”

  The voice came from outside her bedroom door. She saw the surprise and anger on Jordan’s face as they both recognized Tyler’s voice. Shannon couldn’t help it. She screamed.

  “Tyler!”

  The doorknob rattled, but of course it was locked.

  “Shannon, what’s going on? Is someone in there with you? Unlock the door.”

  Jordan grabbed his jeans from the floor. “Your mother’s dead, Shannon,” he hissed.

  Shannon wished she could take back her scream, but it was too late. Now Jordan would keep his promise. He’d carve her mother up with his big knife. She couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face.

  It sounded like someone was kicking the door, and then it burst open and Tyler stood there, his gray eyes wide and questioning, his face flushed.

  Shannon was crying, shaking, holding her arms across her chest. She saw the embarrassment on Tyler’s face when he glanced at her and then quickly glanced away. She kept watching Tyler’s face while he stared at Jordan, who was zipping up his jeans.

  Then Jordan laughed, like it was all a big joke. He bent down to grab his shirt from the floor, but Tyler stepped on it. Jordan pulled, and Shannon heard a ripping sound as the sleeve tore off.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” Jordan said. “You ruined my favorite shirt.”

  “What did you just say to me?” Tyler said. His voice was very quiet. “What did you just fucking say to me?”

  Everything went still, like a picture in a frame. Tyler and Jordan stared at each other, Tyler still standing on the shirt, the torn sleeve still dangling from Jordan’s hand.

  Then a sound like a growl came from Tyler’s throat. He hunched his shoulders and charged at his brother. Jordan tried to dodge him, but Tyler tackled him in the stomach, knocking him to the floor and landing on top of him, fists flying.

  Shannon was crying so hard now that the room blurred. She scrambled to the head of the bed and clung to a bedpost.
Everything was happening so fast that she couldn’t make sense of it. She shut her eyes tight and heard howls of pain, grunts, ragged breathing, sounds like slaps, fists punching flesh. She knew those sounds from cop shows on TV.

  She wanted to run and get Mrs. Hale, but she couldn’t make herself let go of the bedpost, and anyway, Jordan had given Mrs. Hale sleeping pills. Tyler was the only one who could save her now.

  Let him win. Please, please, let him win.

  Shannon heard Jordan’s voice, a sobbing whimper: “Stop, stop.”

  He was crying. She’d never seen Jordan cry, never imagined he could.

  Then Tyler’s voice rose above the slaps and punches, hoarse and fierce and breathless. “What the fuck, Jordan! You mother-fucking son of a bitch!”

  The slapping and punching went on and on.

  “Stop! It hurts! Oh, it hurts!” Jordan sounded weird, like his mouth was full of mush.

  “You sick bastard!” came Tyler’s harsh voice. “She’s just a little girl!”

  Shannon heard the smacking, cracking sound of a hard punch, then more heavy breathing, fast at first, then slowing. She stopped crying and held her breath, shivering so hard she thought she’d shake the bed apart. Finally, after it was quiet for a while, she dared to open her eyes.

  Tyler rose from the floor, breathing hard, frowning down at something. Shannon saw the blood on his knuckles. She knew it was Jordan’s blood, and she was glad. She looked up at Tyler’s face. It was red, like he’d been running hard.

  Without looking directly at her, Tyler picked up her blouse and handed it to her. She pulled it on, trying to work the buttons with trembling fingers.

  When she finally dared to peer over the foot of the bed, she saw Jordan lying on his back with his eyes shut. His face was swollen and bruised and smeared with blood. Blood poured from his battered nose. He wasn’t moving.

  “Is he dead?” she whispered.