Mercy’s Angels Book 4
Kirsty Dallas
Copyright © 2015 Kirsty Dallas
EBOOK EDITION
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. While writing this book I broke out in a sweat on the odd occasion. Not an ugly man sweat with saturated pits, but a delicate perspiration on my brow. One day I even kicked my toe on the corner of my desk and it bled, causing me to cry (just a little). I wrote this book and literally gave it my very own BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS, so don’t steal it . . . Quote it if you wish, tell your friends about it, create shit-hot trailers and teasers (I love those), just please, DON’T STEAL IT!
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
Acknowledgments
For Sommah-Rose,
Who I would fight a grizzly bear for,
I would defy gravity for,
I would harness the moon for,
My missy-moo.
Prologue
I wished my life was just a nightmare, a horrific dream from which I would wake and my husband would tuck me into the protective warmth of his arms. Eventually, the lingering cold from the vicious dream would recede, and my life would move forward in a steady procession of normal and mundane events. But I wasn’t dreaming, I was wide awake, and that nightmare, which was anything but normal and mundane, had become my life.
“Get under your bed, Bean, just like I showed you how,” I whispered in a hurried voice. With a head of unruly curls and big brown eyes full of innocence, Eli scampered across his room and slipped easily under the small space beneath his bed. When he poked his head back out, I scowled. “Back against the wall, just like we practiced!” Eli startled at my unfamiliar harsh tone, but I didn’t have time to soothe the hurt right now. I needed to protect Eli; I needed to confront the raging storm and ride out the violence without having to worry about him being caught in the middle.
“Where the fuck is it, Annie!” a voice roared from downstairs. It was a familiar voice hidden under a rage that had become far too common.
Phillip and I had met in high school. He was my first everything; first kiss, first sexual experience, first home, first love, and unfortunately, my first pain. He had been an eccentric yet sweet boy who developed into an intense and troubled man. Phillip’s intelligent mind had crumbled under the fear of whispered voices, enticing thoughts of disloyalty, and paranoia. The doctors called it schizophrenia; I called it hell. On his meds, he was pacified and calm; even though a lingering undercurrent of irritability still dwelled, he was as close to his old self as possible. Off his meds, he was terrifying, an eruption just waiting to happen. I had come to know the mood swings well enough to know if he was taking his pills or not. This time the pendulum had swung too fast. Under the pressure of work and motherhood, I had missed the signs—the increased chaotic and frantic behavior, the negativity, the delusions—and was now confronted with a furious man in the grips of a psychotic episode.
Ostracized by friends and family who didn’t understand the complexities of Phillip’s illness, I had no one to turn to, no safe harbor. My mother was forty-nine when her and my father were greeted with the very unexpected news of my impending arrival. I was a bump in their road, but a bump they loved with all their hearts. At eighty-two, my father had passed away with cancer two years ago, and my mother joined him, passing peacefully in her sleep six months later at the age of eighty. I was all alone, trapped in this frightening world with no one to keep me safe.
Shutting Eli’s door, I pressed my shoulders back and turned to face the steps. I struggled to find the bravery and strength that was buried somewhere deep within me. On unsteady legs, I descended the steps one at a time. I had no choice but to confront the raging storm and try to soften the impending destruction, for we were trapped in our home; there was no way to flee. The phone lay smashed on the kitchen floor and my cell phone had been missing for two days now. Phillip, an avid hunter, had a basement stocked with weapons. Legally, he was not supposed to have them because of his illness, but when he kept sneaking knives and guns back into the house, I demanded he at least keep them in a safe and I alone had access to the key. The key was slid under a box in the top of my closet, safe and sound. Phillip couldn’t get at the hunting knives and guns, but the house was full of other weapons, innocuous weapons found in every home—kitchen knives, rolling pins, furniture. He had an arsenal within his reach, and I was walking straight into battle unarmed.
At the bottom of the stairs, I could hear his muttered cursing and the familiar sound of furniture being carelessly shoved aside. He was in his study, to my right and down the hall. While I wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction, there was nothing that would stop me from standing between him and Eli. He had never hit Eli like he hit me, which was the only reason I was still here. But this episode was a bad one. Phillip’s manic raging and the curses and accusations that spilled from his lips were worse than usual, and I didn’t trust him not to hurt Eli, even if it was by accident. I paused at the doorway to his study which had gone quiet. Pushing the door open, I saw the chaos that Phillip had wreaked; paperwork strewn across the floor, a chair upended, every drawer on his heavy metal filing cabinet flung open, hanging loose from its tracking.
“Did you find it?” I asked in a tone much more confident than I felt.
Phillip’s head snapped up, his attention so focused on the sheet of paper in his hand he hadn’t even noticed my presence.
His lip curled with distaste. “I told you not to touch it,” he growled.
I held my ground and used every ounce of strength I possessed to confront him. Like when facing a black bear, you didn’t run, that would just tempt it to chase. It was better to stare it down and show it you weren’t afraid. If protecting Eli meant confronting Phillip, then it was a no brainer; I would stand between him and our son.
“I didn’t touch the letter, Phillip. I can honestly say I have never seen it. Your door to the study was locked, wasn’t it?” Phillip tossed the piece of paper aside and began to move towards the door, his manic eyes watching me with hostility far greater than I was accustomed to. This was going to be bad.
“It was, but like the safe downstairs, you probably have a key,” he spat, stopping a few steps short of me.
“I don’t have a key to your study, Phillip. This is your space and I promised I wouldn’t intrude on it. I keep a key to the safe because of the weapons in there; I don’t want anyone accidentally hurt with one of them.”
He took another step forward. “You mean you think I will use one of those
weapons on you.”
I swallowed my fear. “Not intentionally, I know you would never hurt me on purpose.” But the illness would forever hold Phillip in its grip, and his refusal to stay medicated meant I would always be on the receiving end of his manic brutality. My husband and his familiar grey eyes never left mine as he seemed to contemplate my words.
“But you took my letter, didn’t you? You told me not to write it. I told you that fucker next door was watching us, and you told me I was being ridiculous.” Phillip’s latest paranoia was focused on our sixty-eight-year-old neighbor, Gareth Richards, a retired soldier and part-time carpenter with bad knees and a fondness for golf. Phillip, however, focused on the soldier portion of Gareth’s life and had convinced himself the harmless, old man was now working for the government. Phillip was certain Gareth was snooping on us, and after numerous visits to the local police station with his unwarranted complaints, Phillip had taken to writing a letter to the director of the FBI in an attempt to have Gareth detained for suspicious activity.
“I didn’t take your letter. Even though I didn’t want you to write it, I wouldn’t invade your right to express your concerns like that.”
His fist caught me completely unawares; it came at me so fast I didn’t even have a chance to react. The hit threw me back across the hallway; my head snapped back and connected with the wall behind me.
“Don’t patronize me!” he screamed.
I felt liquid trickle down from under my nose as I shook off the shock of his unprovoked attack. Before I had a chance to speak, he hit me again. This time I fell into a crumpled heap on the floor, and he began to kick me, his temper throwing him into an uncontrollable rage. Knowing Eli was upstairs and not wanting to remind Phillip of that fact, I did my best not to yell out. I didn’t want to coax Eli out of his room. Instead, I took the beating and tried desperately to cling to consciousness while I protected my head from the worst of his attack. When the kicking stopped and the air around me stilled, I took the opportunity to peek out from behind my aching arms. When I saw Phillip lunging towards me, I scrambled to back out of his reach, but it was no use. He grabbed my hair and pulled me into his study.
“Let me go, Phillip, you’re hurting me,” I cried as he kicked the door closed. A part of me breathed a sigh of relief that he seemed oblivious to the fact Eli was in the house, but another part of me shuddered with trepidation as he dragged me to my feet. With a sharp tug of my hair, he pulled my face up close to his own.
“You’re going to find that letter, or so help me God, I will paint this room with your fucking blood!” Spittle flew from his lips over my face, and I tried hard to muffle my sob. With a stinging backhand, he flung me to the floor again then grabbed my hair and hoisted me unceremoniously to my feet once more. My face throbbed all over, and my body ached with unforgiving pain. One or more of my ribs was broken or cracked, the blinding pain each time I breathed alerted me to that fact. How long could I endure his beating before I passed out, or worse, he killed me?
Pushing me back, I staggered against his desk, my hands reaching behind me for purchase. My right hand landed on a paperweight, and my fingers instinctively wrapped around it. Phillip stilled, searching my eyes as some sick, twisted idea began to take shape.
“You’re working with him, aren’t you?”
I shook my head, panicked. “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“Gareth. You’re working with him. Motherfucker, that’s why you defend him, that’s why you took the letter!” he screamed, and I shook my head in a vicious protest.
As he clenched his fist and drew back his arm for another punch, I swung the paperweight. It connected with the side of his head with a sickening crunch. Phillip collapsed to the floor, unmoving. I dropped the paperweight and clutched my hand over my mouth in an effort to stem the scream begging to escape. I had killed him; I had killed Phillip, my husband. I hadn’t meant to kill him; I just wanted him to stop. I nearly blacked out from the effort of dropping to my knees, but after a few shallow breaths, I reached out a hand and tentatively searched for a pulse. When I found the faint yet steady beat, I shrank away, frightened he would explode back into his rage at any moment.
“Mommy?” came a small voice from upstairs. The reminder that Eli was in the house jolted me into action. Black spots danced in my vision as I stood, and I had to lean on the desk to wait for my eyes to clear before I moved. Adrenaline helped me stumble to the door, and I used the stair railing to haul myself upstairs. Tears streamed down Eli’s face at the sight of me.
“I’m okay, Bean, but we have to go right now. Be a big boy and go get your bag.” I had packed an emergency bag for both myself and Eli two months ago, and in a game that was to be my and Eli’s secret, we had hidden them away. Eli scrambled into his room and I limped into mine, ignoring the crumpled sheets of our bed that I had lain in with Phillip just this morning. The very same bed we had consummated our marriage, the very same bed we had made Eli in, with love in our hearts and smiles on our lips. My world had disintegrated spectacularly. From the trust and love of a man who had sworn to love and protect me, to threatening to coat the walls in my blood. Too afraid to pause long enough to wash that blood from my hands and face, I struggled with my own packed bag and met Eli at the door to the room. I didn’t stop to pacify him with words of comfort, not yet. When we were safe and away from Phillip, there would be time for healing. Eli reached for my hand, and we shuffled towards the stairs. The walk to the front door was painstakingly slow. My heart hammered, and my head urged me to move quicker, afraid that Phillip would wake. My body wouldn’t allow it, though, and I couldn’t afford to pass out and leave Eli unprotected. Tugging Eli behind me, I pushed open the front door, leaving the horror at my back. Stumbling down the porch steps, Eli almost pulled me towards the car. I faltered, my head groggy and slow feet struggling to keep up with Eli. Grabbing ahold of my car, I managed to keep myself upright. It was then I realized I didn’t have keys to the car. I didn’t have my own car. Phillip refused to allow me to get my driver’s license, trapped in some crazed belief I would leave him if I had access to a vehicle. Phillip’s keys were back in the house. I glanced over my shoulder and wondered if I dare attempt to get them.
“Annie?” The voice startled me, forcing a squeal from my lips. “Damn it, what did he do to you?” came Gareth’s urgent voice. He had abandoned his golf clubs at the back of his car and raced towards me. If Phillip were to see this, it would be game over; he would be completely lost to his manic mind. He would kill Gareth, maybe me, and maybe Eli.
“I’m okay, Gareth. I just need to get out of here. I need to get Eli to safety.”
“I’ll call the police.” Gareth pulled a phone from the back pocket of his pants.
“No, please, Gareth, I just want to leave. Can you give me a lift somewhere, please? You can call the police after I’m gone. I need to go. I can’t let him find Eli; I’m afraid he’ll hurt him.” Gareth paused, conflict warring on his face. My eyes darted nervously back to the front door, and I think my urgency nudged Gareth to respond.
“Okay, come on. Get in the car and I’ll get you both out of here.” He turned and hurriedly threw his golf clubs back into the trunk. Eli should have been in a booster seat—he was too small for a seatbelt—but I didn’t have that luxury right now. I slid into the backseat and placed him on my lap, pulling the belt over both of us. The pain in my chest as he leaned on me was almost unbearable and I scarcely contained the agonizing moan from my lips. I gently pushed him forward a little so I had room to breathe, albeit painfully. When Gareth glanced over his shoulder to back down the drive, he winced at the sight of me. “Honey, I should take you to the hospital.”
I shook my head. “It looks worse than it is, no life threatening injuries. I’ll be okay if you just get me away from him.” Gareth drove away from my house in an unhurried manner that had my knee bouncing with impatience.
“We don’t want to get pulled over, honey, not wi
th you looking like that. We’re going to drive away nice and slow. He’s back at the house, so we just need to get you somewhere safe.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “You want to tell me where that is?” he asked.
“Where what is?” I whispered, my body shaking as the downward slide from the adrenaline high left me swimming in an ocean of hurt.
“Somewhere safe, honey. Where do you want me to take you?”
I ran a hand though Eli’s hair. His big brown eyes were fixed out the window, his tears dried but his face paler than usual. He had to be in shock.
“As far away as you can drive me, Gareth. I just need distance from him so I can figure out what to do next.” Gareth simply nodded and drove, with no real destination in mind.
“I’ve got somewhere you can go,” Gareth murmured quietly. I winced as Eli leaned back into me again, his eyes becoming heavy. I shuffled him to one side so his weight was not directly on my chest.
“Where’s that?” I wondered despondently.
“I’m gonna drive you to Logan—”
“That’s a three hour drive, Gareth,” I hissed. Even though the idea of putting that much distance between us and Phillip brought flooding relief, I couldn’t ask Gareth to go that far out of his way. He was, after all, just a widowed carpenter with bad knees. My nightmare wasn’t his to fight.
“Just a nice Sunday evening drive, honey. I have a younger sister in Logan. You can stay with her and recoup, and when you figure out what you’re going to do next, you can do it with a clear head and a dress not covered in blood.”
“I won’t put your sister at risk by staying with her,” I murmured.
“Your husband doesn’t know me well; he certainly doesn’t know I have a sister. He doesn’t know you are in my car with me right now. I’m going to put in a call to the police in a minute and tell them I heard a disturbance from your place on my way out. Then I’ll call Gail and tell her I’m on my way. She would kick my wrinkly ol’ butt from here to Texas if I didn’t do this for you.” I wanted to protest, but in the same breath, I wanted to cry with the grateful reprieve Gareth’s offer brought. “Just sit tight and let me know if you start feeling sick, you might have a concussion. I’ll take care of everything else.”
Mother's Love Page 1
