In the Dark

by Chris Patchell

  Cahill had said the camp was a few miles downriver, but he had no idea how far he’d already gone. He could have easily shot past it. Without any lights or any markers, finding it would be nearly impossible. Seth searched the shoreline for a clearing in the trees, rooftops, anything that indicated the edge of the camp, but there was nothing. Just the river and the miles of darkness stretching out ahead.

  Terrified he’d missed it, Seth looked back, but it was useless. Even if he wanted to, there was no way he could turn the boat around. With the boat firmly in the river’s grasp, the outboard motor was no match for the swift current. Seth rounded the bend and he saw it.

  A thick column of flames and smoke twisted and writhed above the trees, stretching up into the inky sky. It was like a beacon in the night, and he saw it and knew.

  Seth dropped his scarred face into his hands. The boat swerved.

  Oh God. Oh God.

  Closing his eyes, he saw the green door. The flames. He heard the sirens, too far away. His scars itched and he knew. He knew what came next.

  Marissa.

  Dead.

  Seth raised his head from his trembling hands and watched the bright flames arc into the stormy sky, a terrible grief clawing inside him. Fire raced across the roof of the small cabin, and he knew with an awful, painful certainty what lay at the end of this journey.

  Pain. And loss.

  Seth stared into the flames and saw his life combust around him, the fire devouring everything he’d ever loved until there was nothing left.

  The boat hurtled downriver, unheeded, pushed along on the powerful current. There on the shore he saw a slender figure jumping, arms scissoring wide overhead.

  Kelly.

  He recognized her narrow face, the wet blonde hair plastered to her scalp.

  Only Kelly.

  She was pointing at the cabin. Screaming. He couldn’t hear her over the roaring river, the whining motor, his pulse throbbing in his ears.

  He saw the single word on her lips and knew.

  Mom.

  She was in there. Alive? Dead? He didn’t know. But one thing was for sure. He couldn’t leave her there. Not alone. Not this time.

  “Ah, fuck it,” Seth growled.

  Waving Kelly out of the way, he grabbed the tiller and jacked the throttle wide.

  The fear of what lay beneath the water’s surface was dissolved by the desperate need to get there. He stopped fighting the current and used it to propel him faster. The motor whined. The boat surged forward.

  Cranking on the tiller, he angled toward shore, picking up speed, slicing through the black river. Up ahead he saw something metal reflect in the firelight.

  What was it? Jutting up above the surface, it was the jagged edge of a windshield. A car? Marissa’s car? Seth sped toward it, adjusting his angle, lining up like it was a ramp. Dead center.

  He prayed it would work.

  Metal groaned underneath the boat’s weight. The bow pitched up. The boat launched out of the water and sailed through the cold night air.

  Crouching low, Seth held on for dear life as the boat speared through the wall of flame. Wood crashed and splintered. Debris flew, and the hull shuddered. Seth was thrown clear.

  He crashed on the floor near the back of the cabin. Flames danced and writhed all around him. The cabin groaned as if angered by his presence.

  Fear drove Seth to his feet. He leaped back; a huge chunk of ceiling narrowly missed him.

  “Marissa,” he screamed, desperate, searching everywhere for her.

  The blistering heat from the fire scalded his skin, igniting his scars like they were burning. Again.

  Smoke rushed along the ceiling toward the broken window at the back wall, and he knew it was his only hope. Stumbling toward it, he saw her sprawled facedown on the floor near the back wall.

  A loud crack, a hundred times louder than thunder, shook the cabin. Seth surged toward her. The cabin’s floor heaved and groaned.

  Marissa lay sprawled sideways on the floor like a broken doll.

  Oh God. Oh God, no.

  She was dead. Just like in his nightmares. She was dead. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t . . .

  A scream wrenched free from deep in his chest.

  He pitched forward, landing beside her.

  The floor shook. Wood tore. Another crack and the front half of the cabin was torn away by the raging black river. Heat seared across Seth’s back. He gathered Marissa’s limp form in his arms. He buried his face in her smoky hair.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Clutching her tight, he broke for the hole in the wall made by the boat. Flames shot up from the burning floor, singeing his hair, his hands, every inch of his exposed skin. Ignoring the pain, he ran for the opening, shielding Marissa from the flames as best he could.

  The cabin heaved and the roof gave way. Seth launched out into the rainy night. He landed hard on his knees. Marissa tumbled from his arms onto the wet grass. Behind him flames shot high into the inky sky.

  Seth buried his face in his hands—black and burned and shaking. He should have found a way to stop her, called the cops, had her pulled over. Something. Anything. He knew this was what Bowman wanted. He’d known in his gut as soon as he saw the fire in Carnation that this was how things would end.

  He’d failed her. Just like he’d failed Holly. Just like he’d failed everyone.

  Fingertips grazed his arm. Seth raised his head. Marissa’s face was caked in soot and blood. One eye was swollen shut. The other opened. Her gaze locked with his.

  Her lips moved.

  Seth.

  He pulled in a deep, ragged breath, barely daring to hope. He grasped her small hand in both of his, shaking.

  “Oh God, Marissa. I thought I’d lost you.”

  Kelly rushed toward them, screaming, “Mom! Mom!”

  Marissa rolled onto her side, coughing. Kelly fell to her knees and threw her arms around her mother. Great wrenching sobs racked her body. Seth placed a soothing hand on Kelly’s back.

  Glancing up, he spied a form five feet away, closer to the river.

  Legs still shaky, he rose, limping toward Brooke. Another body lay facedown in the grass, burned. Bowman? It had to be. Seth rolled the body over. Dead. Bowman was dead. He kept moving toward Brooke.

  Brushing the matted mane of hair aside, he crouched down and pressed his fingers into the side of her neck and searched for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  “Brooke,” Marissa croaked.

  Just speaking triggered another coughing spasm. Kelly’s arm circled her mother’s shoulders and she stared at Seth—looking every bit the scared teenager she was.

  Seth rolled Brooke onto her back and crossed his palms. He drove them into her chest. Pain from his burns seared through him, but he kept going—knowing he was too late . . . knowing he had to try.

  Chapter 67

  The church was filled to capacity. Bagpipes wailed out a slow, mournful rendition of “Amazing Grace.” The notes hung heavy, like the sweet scent of incense in the air. Each phrase brimmed with sorrow and loss.

  Marissa pulled a fresh tissue from her purse. Hands shaking, she swabbed the tears from her cheeks. Seth’s arm tightened around her shoulders.

  “You okay?” he whispered, gray eyes filled with concern.

  Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

  She looked beyond the mahogany coffin to the stained glass window behind the altar. Pale November sunlight illuminated the image of a blue-robed Mary nuzzling her swaddled baby boy.

  Marissa didn’t understand the heart of God, but she did understand the fierce power of a mother’s love.

  Evan Holt stood tall and straight behind the podium. A poster-size photograph rested on an easel beside the coffin. It was a rare shot of Elizabeth Holt laughing. Her cobalt eyes sparkled with mischief and light.

  Evan’s chin dipped. His lips flattened into a thin line as he struggled against tears. Marissa’s heart s
welled with empathy, feeling his loss as keenly as her own. She thought about what Evan had said in the hospital, about how Elizabeth had stood by him when everyone else had given up, and she knew Elizabeth had been more of a mother to him than an aunt.

  After a few seconds of silence, Evan cleared his throat. His voice, shaky at first, grew stronger and clearer as the words poured out of him.

  “As many of you know, my aunt Lizzie . . . Elizabeth Holt,” he amended, “was an extraordinary woman . . .”

  Marissa’s gaze strayed away from Evan and back to the photograph of Elizabeth. She reached for the amulet hanging from the chain around her neck and thought about the last time she’d seen Elizabeth. She’d made a promise that night, and she’d kept it. She’d found Brooke and brought her home.

  Without Elizabeth no one would have argued with the cops and gotten Brooke’s case moved to the front burner. Without Elizabeth there would have been no foundation, no Henry Cahill. And no Seth.

  Beautiful words flowed from Evan’s lips, filling the church like the sad, resonant strains of a violin sonata. By the time he finished his eulogy, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Marissa wished she’d had a chance to say thank you—to say goodbye. She bowed her head, tears falling like sweet rain down her cheeks.

  Seth’s hand squeezed her shoulder. She dabbed her eyes and looked at him, no longer seeing the scars on his face. Instead she saw courage and sacrifice and love.

  Seth’s lips parted in a rare smile, and Marissa pulled in a deep, steadying breath.

  The memorial service drew to a close. The aisles flooded with mourners and well-wishers filtering out of the church. Marissa shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden pew. The Percocet was wearing off. Her back ached from sitting too long and her burns hurt. She needed to move.

  Marissa coughed. She stood grasping Kelly’s thin hand, reluctant to let go.

  Kelly wore a simple black dress and low-heeled pumps. She looked disturbingly grown-up.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” Kelly asked, releasing her mother’s hand.

  “I’m fine, honey. Just a little sore.”

  Marissa brushed her fingers across the red gash in Kelly’s cheek left by Andy’s ring. The bruises were fading to yellow. Although the cut was healing, Marissa knew it would probably scar.

  Kelly hugged Marissa gently, careful not to squeeze too hard. A lump formed in Marissa’s throat, and she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her—thankful to have Kelly at her side and Brooke safe.

  Over Kelly’s shoulder, Marissa caught Logan’s gaze. He smiled at the two of them. Kelly pulled back, and Marissa stretched her hand out toward Logan, who clasped it in his warm grip.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said. “You’re planning to stop by the house, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. We’ll meet you over there.”

  “We?”

  Marissa arched her eyebrows and glanced at Kelly, who was grinning like a kid.

  “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to ride with Logan in his new Tesla.”

  “Tesla?”

  “It’s a car, Mom.” Kelly rolled her eyes. “Jeez.”

  “I know it’s a car,” Marissa said, winking at Logan. “Have fun.”

  Kelly followed Logan out of the pew. The two exited the church hand in hand. Marissa watched until they disappeared from view. Seth slipped his arm around her waist and spoke into her ear.

  “Are you ready to go?”

  “Soon. I want to say goodbye to Evan first.”

  He nodded and planted a soft kiss on her hair.

  “I’ll get the car and meet you outside.”

  Marissa wiped the last smudges of mascara from her face and craned her head around, searching the crowd for Evan. But he’d already found her. Their eyes met and he broke away from the crowd. They met halfway down the aisle.

  Marissa held out her hand, but Evan engulfed her in a hug. She stood still in his arms, momentarily surprised by the unexpected display of emotion. Then she pressed her cheek to his chest and hugged him back.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” she said as he released her. “Elizabeth was an amazing woman. I’ll miss her.”

  “Me too,” Evan said.

  Grief hid in the hollows of his cheeks and the dark smudges beneath his eyes, leaving little doubt of the toll Elizabeth’s passing had taken on him.

  “She was lucky to have you.”

  Evan’s eyes moistened. He nodded and averted his gaze.

  “How is Brooke?”

  “They moved her out of intensive care today. We’re meeting with her doctor in the morning.”

  Evan’s large hand squeezed her shoulder. “I hope everything goes well.”

  Marissa nodded. The gravity of Brooke’s condition weighed heavily on her.

  “Brooke had her first session with Dr. Frank today.”

  “The psychologist? That’s good.”

  A beat of silence passed between them. They both knew Brooke’s road to recovery would be a long one, and in the end, this experience would change her in ways Marissa couldn’t begin to understand. It had changed them all.

  “I’ll be busy settling Elizabeth’s estate for the next while—fighting off the vultures, as they say. Call me when you’re ready to come back to work.”

  “You’re sure you still want me? Now that we’ve found Brooke . . .” Marissa’s voice trailed off. She’d never thought about what would happen after Brooke came home. She and Elizabeth had never discussed long-term plans. With Elizabeth gone and Brooke found, she didn’t know what came next. “The foundation’s yours now. You may want to move it in your own direction. Hire your own staff.”

  Evan nodded. His smile deepened.

  “You’re right. I am hiring my own staff.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a black business card. “Starting with you. Lizzie chose you because you’re smart and tough and caring, and I think she was right. After all you’ve been through, Marissa, I can’t think of anyone better equipped to help families in crisis. This is for you, when you’re ready.”

  Marissa took the card from his hand, humbled by his confidence in her. Dropping her gaze, she turned the card over and read the silver ink.

  The Holt Foundation. Marissa Rooney. Assistant Director.

  Marissa’s mouth dropped open. She stared up at Evan, dumbfounded.

  “Really, Evan, I . . .”

  He silenced her with a raised hand.

  “Lizzie’s orders. And as you may recall, no one argued with my aunt. At least not successfully.”

  He winked, and Marissa’s hand closed around the card. A knot formed in her throat. Unable to speak, she nodded her thanks. Evan squeezed her arm and smiled. It was a sad smile, but Marissa was gratified to see it all the same. He turned and Marissa watched him go.

  With a heart much lighter than the one she’d entered the church with, Marissa stepped out into the pale November sunlight. No clouds marred the cornflower-blue sky. She scanned the crowded street and saw Seth waiting just where he’d said he would be. He leaned against the door of his new car, patiently waiting.

  Their eyes met, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Marissa smiled.

  Chapter 68

  The sweet smell of flowers filled the hospital room. The windowsill and side table were covered with colorful bouquets and get-well cards from people all across the country, strangers whose lives had been touched by Brooke’s story. Marissa perched on the bed beside Brooke, while Dr. Joseph studied the chart. His narrow face sober, he flipped the pages, his quick brown eyes taking in the latest test results.

  Finally he closed the chart and met Marissa’s anxious gaze. She wrapped her hand around Brooke’s cold fingers, holding on tight like she had when Brooke was a little girl with a face full of wonder and fairies in her hair.

  “Well,” Dr. Joseph said, “I’m afraid Brooke has suffered a cardiac event. Ventricular fibrillation.”

  “A racing heartbeat?”

  “Yes, that’s
one of the symptoms, no doubt brought on by prolonged hyperglycemia. There is evidence of mild damage to the heart muscle. If she had not received CPR right away, she quite likely wouldn’t be with us.”

  A chill shivered up Marissa’s spine at the thought of how close they had come to losing her precious girl. Thank God for Seth. Somehow he had saved them both.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, “What about the memory loss?”

  Dr. Joseph hesitated. He smoothed his hand down the front of his white pinstripe shirt and blue silk tie before he spoke. Marissa knew from the look on his face the news wasn’t good.

  “It’s too soon to say for certain, but there is a possibility that the memory loss Brooke suffered could be permanent.”

  Brooke pulled her hand from Marissa’s grasp. Anguish rippled across Brooke’s face, and she looked away from both of them, staring sullenly out the window.

  Dr. Joseph’s compassionate gaze met Marissa’s. She placed her palm on Brooke’s back.

  “First things first. We’re going to stabilize Brooke’s blood sugars and get her potassium levels back to normal. We’ll continue to monitor her heart activity, and we’ll run more tests to gauge the extent of the memory loss.”

  Dr. Joseph continued to speak, but Marissa felt far away, devastated by the knowledge that Brooke would carry the scars of this horrific event for the rest of her life. Her own scars from the fire were small by comparison.

  It was so unfair. Brooke was such a good kid. She wrapped her arm around Brooke’s shoulders. Drawing her daughter close, Marissa rested her cheek on Brooke’s sweet-smelling hair.

  The doctor asked if she had any questions, and Marissa shook her head. There were tons of questions she wanted to ask, but first she needed time to process everything.

  It felt like too much.

  Minutes passed in companionable silence as tears flowed down Brooke’s face. Finally, she wiped her eyes and offered her mother a tremulous smile.

  “I’m a mess,” she said.