by Kylie Brant
The words struck uncomfortably close to home. Cady had experienced the exact sensation when she tried to force herself to recall that pivotal moment when she was four. She remembered sensations the most clearly. And only scraps of images. She was never sure how much of the memories were hers and how much had been implanted in her mind by others’ retelling. And she knew she needed to be careful of not being guilty of the same: fixing an idea in Eryn’s mind that sprouted a fabrication.
“When was this painted?”
“Before we moved here, I think.” Eryn sank onto the mattress. “She signed all of the work she kept.” A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips. “She was a ruthless self-critic. Maybe it comes with the creativity. She’d show me every piece she finished if she intended to keep it. And she didn’t keep many. I remember the signature she used. It’s a small a encompassed in a larger capital P. But this one”—she nodded at the canvas—“I’d never seen that signature before. It’s on several upstairs.”
Cady stepped close enough to see the identification in the lower right corner of the canvas. A lowercase a next to an uppercase P. A shrink would have a heyday figuring out the implicit meaning of the final initial dwarfing the first. “What do you think it signifies?”
“The paintings with the signatures I don’t recognize must have been done when I was quite young,” Eryn said simply. “My earliest real memory is sitting on Mama’s lap while she put the final touches on a painting. It’s the one to the left of the windows. I think I was about three.”
Cady crossed to look at the picture. It was much smaller than the one on the floor. A busy beach scene covered the canvas. As Eryn had mentioned, the signature on this differed from the one on the other work.
“We moved here when I was three or four. And I only have snippets of memories before this house. Just a jumble of feelings more than anything. But then I saw the picture and felt . . . it’s like I’m in it. I don’t know why I’m certain of that, but I am. Someone hurt my mama when I was small. Badly.” She shook her head. “It probably doesn’t help you at all. I don’t know who or why. But I am sure it happened before we came here. Does any of this help?”
Did it? Cady took a final look at the first painting. It raised more questions than it answered. “I’m not sure,” she finally replied.
There was a distant sound of voices. The family had returned home.
Eryn walked quickly out of the bedroom. Cady trailed her. She could hear a child’s voice above the others, waxing enthusiastic about whatever film they’d seen. As they returned to the living room, small footsteps pounded down the hallway toward them. “Eryn!” A boy’s tones, his volume deafening. “Eryn, guess what?”
He skidded to a halt in the opening of the doorway when he saw Cady. “Who are you? Is that your Jeep outside? What’s that star mean on your belt? Are you a detective?”
“Sort of.”
He turned to holler down the hallway. “Mom! There’s a detective with Eryn!” Two adults appeared quickly then. William Pullman and a woman Cady assumed was his wife.
“Eryn.” The woman’s voice was sharp as she laid a protective hand on the boy’s shoulders. “Who is this woman?”
“It’s fine, Rosalyn.” But Cady could tell by William Pullman’s expression that finding her here wasn’t fine at all. “Get Jax ready for bed. I’ll be in soon.”
“But I want to tell Eryn about the movie!” the boy protested.
“You can tell her tomorrow.” With a backward look in Cady’s direction, Rosalyn guided the boy out of sight.
“Marshal, what brings you here this evening?”
Cady opened her mouth, but Eryn forestalled her response. “I called her.”
“I see. Is there anything I can help with?”
She glanced at Eryn. The young woman gave a tiny nod.
“I have a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”
The man released a sigh but gestured for Cady to precede him out of the room. When she glanced back at Eryn, she saw her retreating in the direction of the bedroom they’d just exited.
Assuming they were headed for the study, Cady led the way toward it. Within moments they were settled in the same chairs they’d occupied before. She wondered now if Pullman kept the desk between them as a subtle way of exhibiting authority.
“I’m sorry Eryn bothered you.” His words were abrupt. “I don’t know how she got your number. Perhaps from the card I put in my desk.”
“I wasn’t bothered.” Cady watched him carefully. He hadn’t been especially pleased by her last visit, but today he seemed almost belligerent. “She had a memory she thought might help. Was your sister ever badly beaten or involved in a violent accident of some sort?”
“Of course not.” His tone was dismissive. “Did Eryn claim otherwise?”
“There’s some reason to believe it.” Cady picked her way carefully. “Could something have happened to Aurora you didn’t know about?”
“I can’t claim she shared much about her life at college, but I am certain nothing like you mentioned occurred once she’d returned home to live.”
“Maybe it did happen while she lived in Charlotte.” Perhaps shortly before the move back to the Pullman home. The picture itself only gained significance with the snippets of memory they elicited in Eryn. And they were important to Cady if the violence captured on the canvas had stemmed from David Sutton. “Surely she would have told you about something so serious.”
“She would have, yes. But she didn’t. Which means it never happened.” William stood. “I don’t mean to be rude. But this is the second time you’ve kept me from my son’s bedtime. Not to speak unkindly of my niece, but you’re aware of her history. And the irony is, if it weren’t for her, my sister would be here to put this nonsense to rest herself.” Cady’s interest sharpened. Apparently, the man was finished with diplomacy. “Please show yourself out.”
She did so. Pullman might be right. It could be extremely unwise for Cady to give credence to an unsupported memory shared by a mentally ill young woman. It said something about the situation, she figured, that Eryn had been more convincing than her uncle.
It was a measure of Cady’s exhaustion that she was halfway home before the obvious occurred. She could easily discover whether Eryn Pullman was right. A police report would exist if assault charges had been filed. She could turn around and drive back to the office to check the database. But before she did she eased to the side of the road and called the office number. Marshals kept irregular hours. Maybe she’d get lucky.
She reached Allen Gant, who agreed to check the records for her, and then pulled back onto the road. Her cell buzzed almost as soon as she hung up. Cady saw Ryder Talbot’s name on the caller ID and answered unceremoniously. “Do you have news?”
There was a pause. Then, “Deputy US Marshal Cady Maddix?”
She grinned at his falsely polite tone. “I’m surrounded by smart-asses.”
“Always better to be smart than dumb.”
Laughing out loud, she hugged the shoulder to allow a vehicle to roar past her. “Are you perhaps familiar with the driver of a red dually pickup whose customary speed is racetrack level?”
“Speaking of dumb-asses. Gilly Gilbert and I are going to have a come-to-Jesus moment as soon as Aldeen is behind bars.”
The reminder of the investigation had her amusement dissipating. “Has anything worthwhile shown up on the tip line?”
“The only way we’ll know is to continue to wade through each and every call. I thank God every day for the personnel to take care of things like the tip line. Even if I don’t offer thanks for some of the personalities and red tape involved in supplying that manpower.”
His wry tone had her smiling again. “So you just called to keep yourself awake on your drive home?” she asked.
“Plus I wanted to talk to you about the Pullmans.”
She raised a brow and swerved to miss a roadkill carcass in her lane. “What a coincidence. I just left there
.” Cady filled him in on her recent experience, finishing with, “I got the distinct impression William was unhappy with my presence or my questions. Both, probably.”
Ryder was silent for a moment. “I can guarantee he’ll be far unhappier about the call I’m about to make. I got a nasty piece of news today. The source of those phone calls tipping off Frederick Bancroft, the crazy pastor causing trouble at their estate? They were made by none other than Rosalyn Pullman.”
He’d managed to shock her. “Get. Out.”
“We traced the number and got security footage of her making the contacts on a public phone at the times appearing on the pastor’s cell.”
Anger flared. It wasn’t enough Eryn had to return to a family she barely knew. She also had to struggle with one of them working to sabotage her emotional stability. “What a bitch.”
“My sentiments exactly. If William was in a temper before you left, it’ll soon be worse.”
“Worse for Eryn, maybe.”
“It’s bound to be unpleasant around the house for a while. But I’m betting the calls to the pastor will come to an end now. And I think I’ve got him wound so tight, Bancroft’s church isn’t going to be involved in any protests at the Pullman’s anymore.”
“At least there’s that.”
“Are you nearly home?”
“Just pulling up to my gates, why?” Hero was tearing across the property toward her. He wasn’t barking. Cady wondered if he’d already learned to recognize her vehicle.
“Good. I wanted to make sure you were home before I hung up. I pulled into my garage a minute ago. After I call William Pullman, I’m gonna face-plant on the nearest flat surface and sleep for five hours. I figure you have to be in the same shape.”
She got out of the car to deal with the gates. And the dog. “You really know how to spend a crazy Friday night.”
“I used to.”
His audible yawn summoned one of her own. “Okay.” She cruised up the drive and under the carport. “Go ruin William Pullman’s night.”
Hero trotted along by her side as Cady walked to his doghouse and placed his food and water dishes into it before blocking off the entrance. After she unlocked the door he dashed through it ahead of her in what had to be a breach of doggy etiquette. When she sat down on a stool at the counter to eat the sandwich she made, he waited patiently at her side. Absently, she tore off a piece and fed it to him. She should be taking the opportunity to sleep too. Tomorrow she’d be up early to spend a few hours with her mom before heading back to work.
But Cady waited up to hear from Allen Gant. And when she did, sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. He’d pulled up both aggravated assault charges on Sutton’s record. The first one had been seventeen years earlier.
And the victim had been Aurora Pullman.
Eryn: Then
Eryn was cold. The little room where the babysitter had put her made her shiver. The floor was hard, and so were the walls. Dark. Everywhere was dark. Maybe there were monsters. She’d screamed and screamed in her head. But there was a nasty cloth in her mouth. And he’d tied her hands and feet. That’s what happens to naughty girls. Naughty girls have to stay by themselves.
She cried silently. Where was Mama? Why did she have to go out tonight? She’d danced Eryn around the kitchen before she’d gone. They’d laughed and laughed. When Mama was happy, Eryn was too.
But she hadn’t been happy when the babysitter had come into her bedroom. Then she’d screamed and yelled. He’d slapped her. Hard. And then taken her to the nasty basement. Everything stunk down here. And there were scary dark rooms behind the washers and dryers. Rooms where no one would ever find her, he’d said.
Something crawled over her leg. She screamed in her head again, shaking her legs from side to side as hard as she could. It was scary! Eryn wanted out. She wanted Mama. She’d be good forever and ever if Mama would find her.
She didn’t know how long it was before she heard the scratching at the door. Like a mouse. Or a monster. Pee dribbled down her leg. She tried to wiggle as far away as she could. But the cold wall was already at her back. The door creaked. Eryn hid her face against the cold, damp stone.
“Maybe you’re ready for some company by now. It’s chilly in here, isn’t it? Are you feeling a bit friendlier?”
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed. If she didn’t see him, it wasn’t real. Just like a movie. A bad scary movie.
“There isn’t room for both of us to sit.” Eryn felt herself lifted. When he put her on his lap she started to shake. “There now. Why don’t I warm you up?” His hands slipped into her pajamas. Touching her. Rubbing. Maybe there hadn’t been monsters in here with her before.
But there was now.
Eryn: Now, the Next Evening
Eryn stiffened as her door eased open, but when she saw Jaxson framed in it, her tension vanished. Lowering the notebook she was writing in, she said, “Hey. What are you doing out of bed? It must be after midnight.”
He approached her, his face troubled. “Can I sleep with you?”
“Jaxson.” Concerned chased through her. “What’s wrong? Is it your ankle?”
He shook his head dolefully. “No, it’s almost well. It’s Mom and Dad. They’re arguing again. Just like last night. Yelling, but in whispers. But sometimes they forget to whisper. I heard your name. Maybe they’re arguing about you.”
Her stomach clenched. A person would have had to be unconscious to miss the frostiness between Uncle Bill and Rosalyn today. Eryn had never seen her uncle so grim. And his wife swung between a state of near tears and a frigid demeanor. Eryn had played hours of video games with Jaxson just for an excuse to escape the simmering strain in the house. Neither of his parents had come to warn him he was spending too much time with electronics. That in itself was strange.
Maybe Rosalyn had done as she’d promised and told Uncle Bill about taking pain medication she hadn’t been prescribed. If that was the cause of the arguments, her uncle must have been extremely angry about his wife’s addiction.
The tension had only been exacerbated by Henry’s presence at dinner tonight. Eryn had fled to her room as soon as possible to avoid the man.
Scooting over in bed, she patted the mattress beside her. “Hop in.”
He scrambled up and settled himself against the pillows. “Are my parents getting a divorce?”
The question rocked her. Were they? Eryn had no way of knowing what the dynamics were between the couple. She’d seen her uncle frustrated and impatient, but she couldn’t even imagine him yelling. “I don’t know. But couples fight sometimes.” At least, they did in the movies. That was as close to real-life experience she had in the matter.
“They were saying really mean things to each other.” Jaxson looked small and forlorn against the pillows she’d mounded to prop herself up on when she was writing. “Bad things. I’d get in trouble for saying them.”
“Sometimes adults have bad behavior. Just like kids.” Eryn had no marriage experience to draw from. But she had plenty of experience with therapists to rely on. “They’re working something out. Maybe it’ll be better tomorrow.”
“Maybe.” The boy’s voice sounded dubious. “Everything is weird. Henry is in the kitchen by himself.”
Surprised, Eryn said, “He is? What’s he doing?”
“He’s pouring stuff from a bottle into his glass. He’s sitting in a chair like this.” He leaned against the pillows with his limbs splayed out. “He and Dad talked after dinner and when Dad left the kitchen, Henry looked real mad.” The boy straightened on the bed, his expression a mask of worry. “Dad’s making everyone mad lately.”
It sounded like Henry had the misfortune of picking a particularly inopportune day to visit. Eryn wasn’t going to waste sympathy on her older cousin. He’d spread his share of misery when he was younger. But as Eryn had been leaving the dining room tonight she’d heard Uncle Bill snap at his son about not smoking in the house. She hadn’t thought anything o
f the man’s temper at the time. If Mary Jane were here, she would have berated Henry too.
“It’ll be better in the morning,” she said and then wished she could recall the words. Eryn was in no position to make promises. Especially when she had no idea what was going on with Jaxson’s parents. She searched for something to soothe him. “How about if you and me go to the mall in the morning?”
His eyes lit up. “For real? Because they have a visiting dinosaur display there, and it’s super cool. I saw it once, but we could go again. And then we could get corn dogs. And ice cream!”
“Sounds like a great way to get a bellyache.”
He made a face. “That’s what Mom would say.”
“We’ll have to ask your parents. And we will. First thing in the morning. Get some sleep so you’re not too tired to go.”
“Okay.” He pulled up the covers and snuggled into the pillows. “Thanks, Eryn. You’re cool.”
Something clutched in her chest. “You’re pretty cool too.”
She’d be wise to take her own advice. But Eryn already knew she wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. Her insomnia was worsening. She felt energized and revved all of the time, even though she was careful to take her medications. Anxiety gripped her. She’d have to share her symptoms with Dr. Ashland. Although she felt far better than she had in years, without the doped-up tired feelings, she knew the improvement could mean the medication wasn’t working anymore. The tachyphylaxis had ruined her trial transitions in the past.
If she failed this time, as well, she’d be tempted to give up.
The boy’s breathing was soft and even. Eryn closed her eyes. But she couldn’t shake the hyperalert feeling. Every creak and groan of the old home seemed magnified. She wondered if Henry was still here, or whether he’d driven home even after it sounded like he’d been drinking.
She didn’t know how long it was before a scream awakened her. The sound had Eryn sitting straight up, shaking off the drowsiness that had just crept across her consciousness. She listened, but the noise had ended as abruptly as it had begun. Eryn threw back the covers, stealing a look over her shoulder at Jaxson. He was still sleeping. Maybe Rosalyn had gone to check on him and gotten frightened when she found him gone.
