A crowd had gathered. So many people. Where did they come from? Silent witnesses to the show unfolding before them. The solemn faces of the kids who’d been playing kickball had joined the watchers. A small freckled-faced boy who reminded her of her youngest nephew, Darren, was holding the ball, staring. The faces zoomed in and out of her vision, becoming more and more fuzzy and indistinct as she tried to make them out. And then she saw nothing at all.
Chapter 32
“Okay, she’s back. She just passed out. Probably more emotional than physical,” the medic said. “Her vitals are good. But she’s losing some blood. Let’s move.” They’d clamped an oxygen mask over her face.
They were sliding her into the back of the ambulance when she heard the train whistle. Louder now. Almost like it was right beside her, sending a chill down her spine. She could hear the grind and screech of metal being pushed down the track and she closed her eyes, knowing what it was.
The train whistle blew again and again, a spine-tingling sound, filled with urgency and death. But perhaps that was only because she knew that Ken Roach was no more.
Within seconds, Abby heard sirens and seconds later cop cars approached from all points. One splashed through the shopping cart graveyard and water flew in all directions. Two more cars veered around it. The car doors of a grey sedan flew open and a man jumped out, gun drawn. Then she saw Karen bolt from the back seat and run toward her.
Karen was climbing into the back of the ambulance with her, and the doors closed on them. The attendant removed her oxygen mask, checked her eyes with a small light.
“Hey,” Abby grinned at her sister.
“I’m so glad you’re alive,” Karen cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Abby, I was so scared.” Her eyes widened with fear. “Oh, my God, you’re bleeding. No one told me.”
“It’s nothing.” Abby touched her fingertips to the wetness that had come through the wad of bandage at her throat. “Just needed a Band-Aid.”
“Are you sure? Shit, what happened to your hair?”
Abby laughed. It hurt her side where Tattoo had kicked her, and the laugh turned into a wince.
“You’re in pain. God, I’m so superficial.”
“No you’re not at all. You’re an aesthetic. You have an eye for beauty. And it is a pretty bad haircut.”
“Yeah, it is.” She wiped her eyes with a corner of the sheet covering Abby.
“I don’t know how you made this all happen, little sister,” Abby said, “but I’m grateful to you. You’ll never know how grateful. Where’s Pete?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.” She kissed her cheek and stroked her hair. “I love you, Abby.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
Abby watched a second ambulance roll silently over the hill and head toward the tracks, (No need for sirens now) the final chapter in a life fueled by hatred and resentment. A wasted life. She knew she would tell Karen that Ken Roach was Corey’s half-brother, but it would be her decision whether or not to share what she knew with Pete or the kids. Better to be open, she thought. Secrets had a way of festering and spilling over, tainting everything they touched.
The police woman who had taken Karen’s place was Officer Charley Fitch. Abby owed them all her life. And she owed a responsibility to that life.
She still had something to contribute to the world. She would honor the lives of her husband and child by celebrating the time she had them here on earth. The emptiness would always be there, of course. It would never go away. But she would try to deal with it in a different way. A more positive way. She would forgive the driver of the truck that took their lives, and knew it wouldn’t be that hard. Not now. And it would help in her own healing.
When they reached the hospital, and she was wheeled onto the pavement, she looked up at the sky. A white wispy cloud broke apart and reformed itself, and Abby could see the images of Corey and Ellie looking down at her.
“Do you see them?” she half-whispered to Karen, who was walking beside the stretcher, holding her hand.
Karen’s gaze followed hers. “Who, Abby?”
The cloud had already started to pull apart, to reshape itself again. She smiled at her sister. “It doesn’t matter.”
And it really didn’t. She had seen them.
Chapter 33
The hospital ran tests and fussed over her. She’d need eight stitches just under her chin. They re-bandaged her wound, but other than a couple of severely bruised ribs, there were no serious injuries. Doctor Gregory wanted her to stay overnight just to be on the safe side, but Abby was eager to get home to her own apartment and sleep in her own bed.
Karen picked her up and drove her home. They talked and laughed and cried and hugged, and Karen kept looking at her as if she might disappear at any moment. Abby told her how proud she was of her. Karen insisted on giving her a proper cut, and Abby let her because she knew the hair was driving Karen crazy.
The apartment seemed strange and familiar at the same time, as if she had been away for a very long time instead of the few days it had been.
“One day next week,” Abby told her, listening to the snip, snip of the scissors, “I’ll gather up most of Ellie’s belongings and take them to the Salvation Army so some other little girl can have them. And I’ll clean out Corey’s side of the closet as well.” It wouldn’t be easy, but she was ready now to let them go. To make an attempt at beginning a new life.
Karen said, struggling not to cry again. “I’ll help you.”
“No, sweetie. This is something I need to do on my own. But thank you. You’re a wonderful sister.”
It was nearly midnight when Abby finally sent her home to Pete. “I can imagine this hasn’t been easy for him, either, honey. He needs you. I’ll be fine. We’ll spend all day tomorrow together.”
It took a bit of persuading, but she finally went home. Abby walked her to the car. She kept darting anxious glances at Abby as if she didn’t want to let her out of her sight. “It’s over, Karen. It’s over now.”
Pete would be picking up the boys from camp tomorrow. Abby was anxious to see them, but right now all she wanted to do was shower and crawl into bed.
There were many messages on her answering machine. She listened to them all. Well-wishers. Good friends. She had more than she knew. One message was from her publisher.
“I’ve been following the story on the news, Abby. I’m so grateful you’re okay. You should really write about all this when you’re feeling up to it. It would be very cathartic for you. And people are interested.”
Maybe one day, she thought. Maybe.
Chapter 34
It was dark and the search for Ken Roach’s body was called off until morning. “He could have been catapulted in any direction,” the engineer said. “And a long way, too. That freight train was really movin’ when it hit that car as you can see. Nothing left but a smokin’ heap of scrap metal.”
There were a couple of cops on site. The ambulance had left hours ago. They’d call it back when they found Roach.
Detective Al Redding was still there. They’d had a report of a car stolen from the motel. No doubt it was the one presently being hoisted off the tracks. “Could he have jumped?” he asked.
The man thought about it. Then, “Yeah. Yeah,” he said. “It’s possible, I ‘spose. I doubt it though. Don’t worry, we’ll find him. Or what’s left of him.”
~*~
Abby turned the shower on full, stood under the hot spray and let it wash over her, as if it were possible to cleanse away all that had happened. The needle spray felt good beating on her skin and she closed her eyes and let it relax her. She massaged shampoo into her hair and worked it in well with her fingertips. Her hair was shorter now, and she rather liked it. Karen said she should wear her big gold hoop earrings, that they would look perfect with this new hairstyle. She smiled to herself, knowing how lucky she was to have such an amazing and talented sister. She’d even cleaned the apartment in her ab
sence, and Abby knew only too well how Karen abhorred housework.
Stepping out of the tub, she patted herself dry with a thick towel, then dried her hair, fluffed it with her fingers, and slipped into her terrycloth robe and slippers. She folded the towel and hung it back on the rack. She pulled the plug in the tub and let the water drain out.
She had just closed her hand over the doorknob to step into the hallway when a sudden cold draft brushed her bare ankles. It shivered the lace curtain on the small window and stirred the towel on the rack. Abby stood very still, and listened with the alertness of an animal sensing danger. And then it was over. The curtain grew still and the towel hung unmoving. Abby opened the door.
As soon as she entered the living room, she knew she was not alone. But she had already known it, hadn’t she? She’d been warned. Her newly cut hair rose cold on the nape of her neck like crawling things and her breathing grew shallow. She stepped from the hallway into the living room and the world stopped and there was only her thudding heart.
“Hello, Abby.”
~*~
Abby tried to swallow but the saliva had dried up in her mouth and throat.
Ken Roach stood inside the closed door. He was cut and bleeding. His clothes were torn and filthy. The black knit hat was gone, revealing shaggy matted hair. She’d been so sure he was dead. What a fool she was. She should have known he would figure a way to escape the crash. Nothing could kill the son-of-a-bitch. He’d obviously gotten his hands on another car to get here.
He was clutching something in his hand, but she couldn’t see what it was. The knife? No.
When she finally found her voice, she was stunned at what came out of her mouth. “Would you like some coffee?”
He laughed, and his expression was a bloodied grimace. Blood dripped onto the floor from his leg, just above his knee, and she remembered he’d taken a bullet from Officer Charley Fitch’s gun. He looked monstrous. In a different way from Tattoo, but monstrous all the same.
“We know about your coffee, don’t we?” he sneered.
“How did you know where I liv...”
“Your registration.” He smiled.
He had her keys too, of course. Both the key for the outside door and her apartment key. When she and Karen arrived home from the hospital, Karen had let them in with her own key. Abby had thought nothing of it at the time. She had just been so tired and not thinking clearly, otherwise she would have checked her purse earlier.
Now he showed her what he did hold in his hands. The telephone cord from the land phone. A quick look to her left and she saw the phone lying on the floor on its side; he’d ripped it from the wall.
“You betrayed me, Abby. We’re family and you betrayed me. Just like my mother did. I liked you. I don’t want to kill you. But now you’ve left me no choice.”
His tone was thick with deep effected sadness. Melodramatic. He was talking crazy. To imagine she owed him any loyalty was ludicrous. But she also knew that trying to convince him of that would be useless. He was a man who would always blame someone else for his troubles. Always. It had become a way of life for him.
Before she could take a backward step, he was on her, slipping the cord behind her head, and crossing it in front. “I want to kiss you, Abby. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time. Taste what my brother tasted.”
His mouth came near hers. No. Never. Abby twisted her head away at the same time as she tried to work her fingers under the cord, but he just pulled it tighter and she could do nothing. It was almost a replay of Tattoo strangling her, except that this man would finish the job. But she wasn’t ready to give up. Not now. Not after she had survived so much. She fought him, clawing at his face, but he drew back, out of reach. There was no reaction in the eyes that stared into hers. He drew the cord tighter still. Her lungs howled for air, feeling like they were about to burst. The room began to go dark and she felt herself sinking, striking her elbow on the corner of the coffee table as she sagged to her knees.
On the verge of unconsciousness, Abby visualized the healing Buddha on the table, and in a last desperate attempt to save herself, her fingers sought it out, found it. Gripping the brass sculpture in her hand, Abby brought it across the Roach’s head with every ounce of strength left in her body.
The cord around her neck went slack and she heard a soft thud on the floor beside her. Then everything went still. Gasping air into her lungs, she unwound the loosened cord from her neck.
Ken Roach lay unmoving on the floor, blood trickling from the side of his head. The Buddha had struck him squarely on the temple. He was looking up at her but she knew he could no longer see her.
She slowly became aware of the pounding of feet up her stairs, then someone was banging on the door.
“Mrs. Miller. Abby, are you okay? It’s the police, ma’am. Open the door.”
Chapter 35
Three years later
The lineup of people holding their copies of Surviving Evil went all the way to the bookstore front door and down the street.
Readers liked to read about people who had come close to death and come out the other side. It was a triumph of the human spirit, they said. Abby didn’t know. She thought she’d had a lot of luck on her side. Not to mention a tenacious sister, and maybe a couple of guardian angels.
“Could you just sign it to Donna?” a young woman said. “It’s my mom’s name. Today is her birthday.”
“You’re even prettier than your picture on this book,” another sweet woman said. “And I love your outfit.”
Abby thanked her. Karen had helped her pick out a teal blue knit dress for the occasion, accessorized with silver hoop earrings and a single chain. It was early fall, and the days were becoming cooler. The leaves on the maple trees along her street were already changing colors. She experienced the colors. She was learning to live again. In the beginning came the nightmares but she hadn’t had one in a very long time. Sometimes it all just seemed like a bad dream. But she had only to look in the mirror at the thin white scar under her chin to know the reality of that time, and how close she had come to not being in the world.
Detective Al Redding and Betty Clair came to her signing. They were married now. Al had visited her in that first week after she got home. The next time he came he bought Betty with him. They were a special couple. Later, she’d had them to dinner along with Karen and Pete. There was little mention of the ordeal that had touched all their lives. That had changed each of them in different ways. It was a fun evening. She had thought then that they looked like they belonged together.
“We’re both proud of you, Abby,” Al said, as she signed their books. Betty just smiled at her. They looked happy.
Sally Nichols drove all the way from Halifax. Abby remembered her from seeing her on TV, pleading with the public to help find her parents’ killer. Her eyes filling, she thanked Abby, though there was no need. Abby took her hand in her own and smiled at her. Then she wrote in her book, “To Sally, a true survivor. Your friend, Abby Miller.’
“That’s a beautiful bracelet,” the middle-aged woman said, placing her own copy before Abby.
Abby glanced down at the slim silver bracelet encircling her wrist. The tiny diamond twinkled under the fluorescent light. “Thank you. It was a Christmas gift from my late husband and daughter.” Not until she had looked inside the bracelet had she seen her name engraved, a tiny heart etched on either side.
The next person in line was the policeman who’d broken in her door that day three years ago. He was dark-haired, slightly greying at the temples, deep blue eyes with fine lines at the corners, partly due to that electric grin. That infectious laugh. They’d been seeing one another for a few months now, after much pursuing on his part. She liked him. Liked him a lot.
“Would you sign my copy, ma’am,” he said, smiling down at her.
“My pleasure, sir.”
The End
Joan Hall Hovey books also published by Books We Love Ltd..
The Abduc
tion of Mary Rose
Nowhere to Hide
Books We Love Special Edition - Joan Hall Hovey
Listen to the Shadows
Night Corridor
Night Terrors
About the Author
As well as penning Award-winning suspense novels including Chill Waters, Nowhere To Hide and Listen to the Shadows, Joan Hall Hovey's articles and short stories have appeared in such diverse publications as The Reader, Atlantic Advocate, The Toronto Star, Mystery Scene, True Confessions, Home Life magazine, Seek and various other magazines and newspapers. Her short story, “Dark Reunion” was selected for the Anthology, Investigating Women, published by Simon & Pierre. Joan lives in New Brunswick, Canada with her husband Mel and dog, Scamp.
Praise for Joan Hall Hovey's novels
NIGHT CORRIDOR
"From the sinister beginning to the heated climax, I could not put the novel down.
… elegantly written and reads with ease. Exquisite descriptions bring images to life...
I highly recommend "Night Corridor" not only for those who like gripping mystery, but also for those who enjoy excellent writing." Mila Komarnsky, author of Wretched Land
"Will Scare you sane… Alfred Hitchcock and Stephen King come to mind, but JOAN HALL HOVEY is in a Class by herself!. …strongly recommended!" J.D. Michael Phelps, co-author of My Fugitive, David Janssen.
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