A Breath Away

by Rita Herron

  But he was. The feeling grew stronger and stronger.

  Maybe the secret was at the sanitarium where her mother had died.

  She pulled into the parking lot and gripped the steering wheel. Black Mountain Mental Hospital. What had happened to her mother here?

  Five minutes later, she was seated in an office, facing the director of the facility. Judging from the fine lines around her mouth, her graying hair and the stack of paper coffee cups on her cluttered desk, she was in her late fifties and had a serious caffeine addiction. “I’m Irene Gailstorm. What can I do for you, Miss Baker?”

  “I need some information about my mother.” Violet recited her mother’s name and the dates she had been hospitalized.

  “Hmm. What kind of information do you want?”

  “Well, recently my father passed away, so I guess I’m feeling very much alone.” Violet pieced together the story she’d invented. “I’m sure my father wanted to protect me, so he told me she died in childbirth. I was shocked to find she’d been here and didn’t die until I was two.”

  “Oh, my.” The woman worried with her gold loop earring. “I’m sure he did want to protect you, dear.”

  Violet tensed at the lie. “Right. You see, I’ve recently gotten engaged, and I’d like to know anything you can tell me about her condition. You understand?”

  “You mean you’re worried her illness might be hereditary, something you could pass on to a child?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Hmm. With both your parents deceased, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” She clicked on the computer to access the files. “Actually, those files are so old they’ve been archived into the basement. I’ll have to get permission to let you see them.”

  “Is the doctor who treated my mother still here?”

  “I’m afraid he passed away.”

  Violet sighed. “Do you remember my mother or his diagnosis?”

  The director pulled off her glasses, swinging them in one hand. “Actually, I do. It was a strange case. She had a reaction to some medication when she delivered you, and she was brought in afterward. She was suffering from delusions and never responded to treatment. Then one night she got hold of another drug and overdosed.”

  Violet struggled to maintain her composure. She hated to think of her mother alone, locked away, dying. “Thank you.” Her mind logged the details. Had her mother self-medicated and overdosed herself? Or, in light of all the recent revelations, could she have been murdered?

  Violet had to see those files.

  She slipped through the halls and found the staircase, checking over her shoulder to make sure she didn’t get caught. The wing housing the files was old and outdated, the staircase dark and musty. She shivered and fought her nagging fear of the darkness, once again sensing someone was following her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a shadow, which disappeared down the murky corridor.

  A clerk sat behind the metal cage, talking on the telephone and filing paperwork at the same time. Violet expected security, but the shabby facility hadn’t bothered to update it. The small lock on the gate to the rear had already been opened by someone else and hadn’t been refastened securely, so she eased it open and tiptoed inside.

  The room resembled an old warehouse, with boxes of labeled files stacked on metal shelves. She wandered up and down the aisles until she located a box marked with the correct year, plus the initials A to F. After pulling over one of the metal stools, Violet climbed up and dragged the box off the shelf. She had just sat down to examine it when a shadow loomed over her abruptly. Violet caught her breath and swung around, just as something hard slammed against her head. She saw stars, then slumped to the floor.

  Through the haze of semiconsciousness, the pungent scent of smoke drifted toward her. The room was on fire.

  And she was going to die in the blaze.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  DWAYNE DOBBINS REACHED in his pocket, removed the matches and lit another cigarette as he wove through the woods of Black Mountain. A giggle escaped him as the flame caught, then he raised the match and watched it burn down to his fingers. When he felt the heat scald his fingertip, he inhaled, then blew out the flame and dropped the match to the ground. Another drag and he started walking again, whistling as he went.

  His mama would be mad with him, but he didn’t care. He was a grown man now. He oughta be able to do what he wanted. She couldn’t keep treatin’ him like a kid.

  But she did. She got mad about everything. Mad when he tracked dirt on her clean floor. Mad when he didn’t take his pills. Mad when he didn’t run straight home from his job, cuttin’ grass out at the cemetery. But he liked it there. Liked to sit with the gravestones. Like to pretend they were tall towers reaching up toward the sky. Toward heaven where the great father lived. He could climb up the sides and reach up and touch him.

  Just like a real angel.

  Yes, he tried to be good for that father, just like Reverend Wheeler said on Sundays. Wheeler’s son understood. He tried to please his father all the time, too. But Wheeler was naughty.

  So was Dwayne. He liked girls. Only his mama didn’t know about it. She thought he was just a kid with a little itty bitty moron brain.

  But he was a man now. And he had man urges. His hand fell to his crotch, and he grinned. His mama couldn’t stop that. Couldn’t keep him from wantin’ what other men wanted. Like that pretty Violet Baker. He’d liked her when she was little and scrawny. Her and that girl Darlene.

  Too bad Darlene hadn’t liked him back.

  He’d liked Kerry Cantrell, too….

  But she hadn’t liked him. She’d looked at him like he was an idiot. But he was big and strong. Some day he’d show them all.

  Maybe he’d show Violet how strong he was. He’d watched her today at the graveyard. She’d looked so sad and lost. Lonely. Just like he felt sometimes. The two of them had connected.

  That’s why he’d followed her.

  He had to impress her.

  But then that fire had broke out. And he’d knowed he had to get out of there fast. They’d blame him. Then his mama would really be mad. She might find his matches and his Marlboros and take ’em from him. She might even send him away this time.

  He finished the cigarette, tossed it to the ground and stomped out the stub. Then he beat at his shirt to knock the smoky odor from the material. If Mama smelled the smoke on his clothes, she’d punish him. He’d be scrubbin’ his skin until it fell off in layers. Sometimes he could feel the bones pokin’ through when she used the brush on him.

  He should have brought a change of clothes.

  But he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  Oh, he weren’t as stupid as everyone thought. His daddy said so. His daddy was good to him. He let him drive his old truck. Left it parked at the junkyard so Dwayne could get it whenever he wanted. But he’d had to leave it there instead of driving it home.

  He wanted to see his daddy again tonight. But his mama had no idea he’d met him. She said his daddy was no account. But she’d run him off. It was her fault Dwayne didn’t have a father. So he had to sneak away to visit.

  Oh, there was so much she didn’t know. So much she’d punish him for. Especially if she knew the secrets he shared with his daddy. But he’d keep those secrets with him forever.

  He’d do anything to please his father.

  * * *

  AS SOON AS GRADY LEFT his office, he drove to Violet’s, but her driveway was empty. Irritated that she’d left with his deputy, he rode through town to see if he could find her. Tension crackled through the downtown area. No longer were women strolling with their babies in the park or people chatting and visiting on the sidewalks. The streets were empty, the citizens safely locked in their houses, behind closed doors.

  He radioed Logan. His deputy sounded out of breath when he answered.

  “Where the hell did you take Violet Baker?” Grady asked.

  “To her house,” Logan said. “But she was acting suspici
ous, so I followed her. She drove up to the Black Mountain Mental Hospital.”

  Grady frowned. “Why did she go there?”

  “I don’t know,” Logan said. “But a fire just broke out, and they’re evacuating the place now.”

  Grady snapped the siren on and raced out of town toward the mountain.

  * * *

  WALT MONROE WATCHED the west end of the mental hospital erupt in flames, and thought good riddance. That Baker girl shouldn’t have been asking questions. Dammit, he’d warned her to leave town. To let the past rest.

  Nosing into stuff that had happened twenty years ago wasn’t going to do anything but get her killed. Along with the rest of them.

  Teresa’s pale face flashed into his mind. Sure, her death had been ruled an accident, but he knew better.

  Regret for his own indiscretions played heavily on him.

  Maybe if he’d been a better husband, more understanding, more faithful, Teresa wouldn’t have done what she had. She wouldn’t have gone back to work. She wouldn’t have taken a job at that hospital. She wouldn’t have been desperate. And she wouldn’t have contemplated leaving him.

  And if he’d had better control over her, she wouldn’t have talked.

  That mouth had gotten her killed. And all because she’d wanted to avenge the Baker woman’s murder. Those no-account white trash hadn’t mattered. But he hadn’t been able to make her see that.

  Just like he hadn’t been able to convince Darlene to stay away from Violet. Damn tenderhearted women.

  He felt for the piece of bone in his pocket and ran his fingers over the jagged surface as he watched the fire truck race up to the building. Orange flames already licked the sky, and smoke billowed upward, a fog of black. The fire department would save the wing where the patients were, but hopefully, the files on the Baker woman would all be destroyed.

  Then nothing could link the woman’s death back to Teresa’s. Unless Doc Farmer decided to talk…

  * * *

  AT THE SIGHT of the thick funnel of smoke curling into the sky, Grady felt his heart slam against his ribs. Chaos had erupted. The lawn was filled with emergency workers and nurses unloading patients and running back to help evacuate more people. EMTs and doctors checked patients, calling out orders and vital signs. Nurses were scattered through the throng, assisting wherever they were needed.

  The firefighters jumped into motion, spraying water on the section of the hospital that was on fire. It seemed to be contained at the moment in the west end, but the structure was so old the fire would spread quickly. His heart pounding, Grady searched the exterior, then waded through the crowd looking for Violet.

  Five minutes later, he still hadn’t found her. Was she inside? Trapped somewhere? Or had she escaped and already left?

  He spotted Logan assisting an orderly with a gurney, and raced toward him. Another fireman helped a heavy woman in a white uniform toward the ambulance. She didn’t appear burned, but was gasping for air and obviously needed oxygen.

  Grady waved his arm and got his deputy’s attention. “Where’s Violet?”

  Smoke and sweat coated Logan. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her.”

  “Did you follow her inside?”

  “Yeah, she went to talk to the director. I heard them discussing old records.”

  Grady grabbed one of the nurses. “Where do you keep the old records?”

  She pointed to the blazing fire. “In the basement in that wing.”

  Jesus. Grady ran toward the building to get help. Violet might be trapped inside.

  * * *

  VIOLET STIRRED, her head aching, her eyes blurring. She tried to sit up, but choked on the smoke curling inside the room. It was thick and heavy. Perspiration trickled down her face. No, it was blood. She wiped it away. Someone had hit her over the head.

  Had whoever it was set the fire, too?

  A sob welled in her throat as panic tore through her. Wood crackled and hissed around her. Flames inched up the wall on the far side, rippling along the floor. Heat scorched her back, the acrid smells of burned wood and hot metal filling the air.

  She tried to scream for help, then crawled toward the door and felt it. It was slightly warm; not hot yet. Maybe she could still escape.

  Weak but determined, she covered her mouth to stifle the smoke and yanked on the door. The handle wouldn’t budge.

  A shelf of files behind her erupted into flames. Sparks spewed and scattered as ashes scattered along the floor. She yanked and pulled again, but the door wouldn’t open.

  Think, Violet, think. You have to save yourself. No one even knows you’re here.

  Frantic, she glanced around for something to break the small window at the top, but saw nothing. Fire sizzled and blazed toward her, eating the paper and files in seconds. A rag and a bottle of cleaning chemicals sat nearby. Oh, God. The chemicals would add fuel to the flame.

  She moved them out of the path of the blaze, but realized that gave her only a few more seconds. The fire was spreading way too fast. The entire back section was a fireball. Soon the rest of the room would be engulfed.

  The small metal step stool she’d used earlier had been shoved in the back corner. She grabbed it and slammed it against the window. Glass shattered and exploded. She dragged in air and screamed again. Someone had to hear her. She couldn’t die. Not yet.

  Not before she found her father’s killer.

  Not without holding Grady and kissing him one more time.

  * * *

  “I HEAR SOMETHING. That way.” Grady rushed down the stairs, the firemen on his heels. Although they’d tried to hold him back, he’d managed to bypass them and lead them to the basement. Broken glass littered the concrete floor in front of him. A shout erupted from behind the door. His heart pounded.

  “Help!”

  He raced toward the door. Tried to open it. It was locked. Hot.

  A fireman rushed up behind him.

  “She’s in there!” Grady yelled.

  “Stand back!” The fireman raised an ax and slashed at the door. Wood splintered. He swung again and a fist-size opening appeared above the doorknob. Another blow and it broke completely. Thick gray smoke poured out. Fire hissed at their feet.

  “Violet!” Grady tried to push his way in, but the fireman restrained him. “Violet!”

  A cry sounded, then she stumbled out. Grady grabbed her as she collapsed against him. Her forehead was bloody. She was coughing and choking. The fireman placed a mask over her face, and she gulped in air.

  A different fireman dragged a hose down the stairs. Another joined him and they started dumping water on the flames.

  Grady lifted Violet into his arms and ran up the stairs, taking her to safety.

  His lungs ached as he rushed down the smoke-filled hallway and into the fresh air. Outside, a surreal scene met their eyes, but a certain order had taken over the madness. Grady scanned the lawn for the nearest paramedic, then hurried forward. When he reached the ambulance, he eased Violet onto a stretcher.

  She pulled at the mask. “I’m all right.” She coughed again, running a finger over the bruise on her head.

  The orderly pushed the oxygen mask back in place. “Keep this on for a few minutes.”

  Grady examined her head, then motioned to the paramedic. The man nodded, reached for gauze and antiseptic to clean the wound and check for the severity.

  Grady took her limp hand and searched her face. “Are you hurt anywhere else, Violet?”

  She shook her head.

  Relief welled in his chest. He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “What happened?”

  Violet’s chin trembled as her big blue eyes met his. Her voice came out a whisper. “Someone tried to kill me.”

  * * *

  AFTER THEIR CONSULTATION with Violet Baker and seeing those drawings, Special Agent Norton reviewed the forensics report with renewed fervor. He hadn’t believed the woman, but he couldn’t figure out how she’d described the details of the Bone Whi
stler crimes that the police hadn’t revealed unless she’d been informed by the sheriff or witnessed the murders herself.

  And he believed Monroe when he’d claimed he hadn’t told her.

  Agent Adams had recounted other cases where psychics had helped the police crack cases, and seemed to think the Baker woman was the real thing.

  Norton suspected she was a nutcase. Maybe she’d somehow hacked into police files. Either that or she’d slept with Monroe, and he hadn’t even known when she’d accessed his files.

  Norton worked with details. Concrete evidence. He didn’t believe in hocus-pocus or ghosts or psychic abilities. In fact, he didn’t believe in anything intangible.

  Turning back to the file, he contemplated what he knew so far. His research into Monroe’s past had confirmed the sheriff’s story about his half sister’s death and the subsequent investigation.

  But Monroe had been holding back. Keeping something from him.

  Parents were always main suspects when children turned up missing. The sheriff hadn’t once mentioned that his father had been a suspect in his sister’s disappearance.

  And then there was that deputy. Logan’s past was questionable at best. His wife had disappeared last year. Logan had been a major suspect. And there were other things about the man that were odd. Like the fact that he practically lived in the dark. And he’d had some genetic tests run….

  Norton definitely had to do more digging on the man.

  Agent Adams entered, a slight scent of rose water drifting through the door with her. Norton’s libido kicked up, his body responding. He ignored it. This attraction to her was simply male hormones. Sexual chemistry. He could find someone else besides a coworker to sate that need. Especially a married one.

  So why hadn’t he lately?

  “What does the report say?” Agent Adams asked.

  As usual, she was oblivious to his thoughts. “We’ve found a connection between the victims.”

  Adams moved closer, one hand snaking out across the scarred wooden table as she read the report with him. Her wedding ring sparkled in the light.