“Are you in pain?” Becca asked.
Maddie winced. “Yes, my arm.”
Becca pointed at Maddie’s tray. “Why don’t you try eating while I get you something for that pain?” She stepped toward the door. “Dr. Gordon ain’t exactly going to want to send you home unless you’re eating, Maddie.”
“Whatever,” Maddie replied, and picked up what appeared to be the most innocuous part of the meal–the dinner roll. Breaking small bites off of it, she slowly ate it and waited as Becca finally returned with two pills in a small paper cup.
“Thanks,” Maddie said and took the pills, swallowing them with a long swig of water that tasted like minerals. Although Brecca was scribbling notes in her chart, Maddie knew she was trying to see how much she ate so she could make a note of that, too. How much she peed, how much she ate, how emotionally disturbed she was--all fodder for taking her apart. More for show than the appetite she didn’t have, Maddie took a few bites of the meat and baked potato. With each bite, she tried to ignore what might as well have been cardboard for all it mattered.
Once Becca was convinced Maddie was eating, she closed the chart and headed out of the room. “If you need something, just hit the button.”
Maddie nodded. “Will do.”
After Becca had left and closed the door behind her, Maddie pushed the tray away and looked out the window at the falling snow that had coated everything. As she peered through the half-fogged pane, she realized just how cold she felt inside—how cold, and how desperately alone.
Tears pricked her eyes, and she wanted them to go away, not to spill down her face in uncontrolled streams. Always before, she’d been so sure of herself, but now she wasn’t sure of anything except fear. And pity. She saw it in everyone’s face, and Maddie wondered if she’d be able to work in this hospital after she recovered. Could she actually look these people in the eye and ignore the fact they’d seen her like this? She looked at the hospital gown draped across her thin figure, the cast shielding her arm, the bruises coloring her flesh. She hadn’t even glimpsed her face since the attack. She’d been too afraid. Malcolm Gordon had put twenty-seven stitches across her temple. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see what had needed to be stitched together, but putting it off wasn’t going to make it any less visible.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped her legs over the side of the bed where the IV post stood sentry. She slid to the floor, grabbed the post, and crept across the room, ignoring the slight shooting pains in her legs and stomach. Her chest ached with each breath as a result of the fractured ribs. Although she felt light-headed, she shuffled to the mirror and peered at her reflection.
A sharp gasp escaped her as she saw the angry cut the stitches had closed on the side of her face–a scar that all the make-up in the world might not conceal. Thick, bluish-purple bruises marred her other temple and eye. Her lips, swollen, had dried out and chapped from the cold night air she’d been left in. Falling in disheveled tangles around her face, her hair, dull and dirty, slipped into her eyes. With a trembling hand, she tried to push it behind her ears. Huge bruises clustered at her neck, and she closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his hands trying to strangle the life out of her. She touched the purple flesh, knowing he’d come damned close. What had stopped him? She couldn’t remember. More tears spilled down her face as she saw herself akin to a wounded animal, not a person.
Her body trembled and she covered her mouth as breathy sobs wracked her body, almost forcing her to her knees. She closed her eyes and clutched her side, stealing she headed back to her bed, dragging the IV post beside her. Her body, her face, her neck—all bore signs of his rage, and she tried to forget but could not. Even the blankets couldn’t ward away the chilling her bones.
She saw his face, heard his laughter at her pain. But this time, she saw him lean in close, and she remembered the smell of booze on his breath. “If you tell on me, I’ll come back and kill you, Slut.”
She blinked, driving him away, knowing just as surely as dawn followed night he would do just that–kill her. That was why she had nothing to say to the police or her therapist. Whatever she remembered had no place to go except deeper into the cold, empty cavern her heart had become.
Chapter Five
Although Gabriel had planned to spend the morning sleeping in, the ringing telephone jarred him awake. He could count on one hand who the likely culprit was, and as he mumbled a cursory greeting into the receiver, he wasn’t surprised at who was on the other end.
“How’s your Saturday?” Ramsey asked in an overly cheerful voice.
“It was better when I was still sleeping,” Gabriel muttered.
“We just got a call about a burning car.”
Gabriel sat up in bed and peered at the clock. 7:05. “You’re calling me why? I’m not even on duty with you jokers.”
“It’s probably the doctor’s car, Gabriel, and I figured you might want to know.”
Groaning, Gabriel patted his head to convince himself his hair didn’t poke out everywhere; he didn’t have time to mess with it. “Yeah, I do. Where is it?”
“Kelly Road, a half a mile off highway 49. It’s off the road down a ravine, which is probably why nobody has seen it before now. We’re enroute.”
“I’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone, and as he stood, the bones in his ankles popped. Since he still wore the jeans from the previous evening, all he needed was a clean shirt, socks, and boots. Rifling through one dresser drawer, he found a navy blue t-shirt and jerked it over his head, and then he put on white socks and boots. Rushing through the house, he grabbed his keys from the table and his coat from the sofa. “So much for a day of relaxation,” he muttered.
Although snow still covered the landscape, the road was clear. It hadn’t been warm enough to melt anything and re-freeze it. As he started the engine, he thought about turning on the heater but knew it was pointless unless he wanted cold air on his feet. Each breath fogged outwards and then dissipated. He drew the coat collar higher on his neck and backed out of the driveway. As he headed toward the site, he thought about Maddie, about the expression she’d worn as he’d left– forced composure meant to cover the pain in her face. There was no way to express sympathy without destroying, at least in part, the defenses she was working so hard to maintain. He had a feeling those defenses were pretty much all she had left.
He gritted his teeth and flipped on the wipers to clear away new snow. Although the wipers brushed it back and forth, they grunted in protest from the dry windshield. Truth be told, Gabriel was looking for stupid distractions, like windshield wipers, to keep his mind away from what he couldn’t help. Maybe there wasn’t anything he could do for her, but that didn’t mean he had to accept feeling helpless and fail to do anything at all, even if it meant driving to the scene where her car had been found.
The landscape passed in a blur of white, at least until he arrived at the scene just behind the fire engine and four cop cars whose lights flashed, bathing the snow an alternate pastel pink and blue with each turn. Cops milled around the area, and as Gabriel scanned their faces, he recognized a few of them.
He stepped from his truck and walked to the fire engine where Ramsey and the others stood. “I knew you couldn’t stay away from us,” Ramsey said, smiling.
“Yeah, right,” Gabriel said. “What’s the scoop?”
Ramsey pointed off into the trees where the hose was still stretched and two other firefighters stood close by. “It’s over there. Not much left of it, but the cops think it’s hers, considering the plate is still partially legible. Most of it was burned up before we arrived. We just cooled it down a minute ago.”
“Has she been notified yet?”
Ramsey shrugged. “I don’t think so. Probably won’t be until they’re sure it’s hers.”
Gabriel nodded and followed the hose until he reached the embankment where the underbrush had been trampled. He looked down and saw the vehicle, upside-down and still smoldering, with wisps of smoke r
ising indifferently into the cold air.
“Not much left for the cops,” Ramsey said from behind him, and Gabriel turned to face his friend, rubbing his chin lightly with his thumb and forefinger. “So much for fibers or hairs.” He shook his head as he continued. “Still, she’s damned lucky. The SOB could’ve killed her and left her in the car when he torched it.”
Coldness swept down Gabriel’s spine as the image of a charred body fused to the car seat jumped into his mind. “Yeah,” he replied, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and latching onto his keys. “She is lucky, even if she doesn’t feel that way.” He turned away from the car. “And I can’t say I blame her.”
“Meaning?” Ramsey asked, matching Gabriel’s pace.
“Meaning maybe she doesn’t see surviving this as all that lucky. Maybe being attacked feels worse than dying, if that makes sense.”
“That’s crazy,” Ramsey said, yanking at the straps of his hat and pulling it off so he could scratch his head. “How do you figure that? I know he hurt her, and God knows I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve hell for it, but in time, she’ll heal. He didn’t invade her home, which should be some small consolation, and she can replace her car.”
Gabriel stopped walking, and a twig snapped beneath his shoe. “It’s not about having to replace her car. Yes, her body will heal. But how will she ever stop feeling like any guy out there might actually want to hurt her?”
“We’re not all like that, and you know it,” Ramsey retorted as he set his hat back on his head.
“I know that, but it only takes a handful like that sonofabitch to give her a reason to fear. How can anyone replace the sense of security she once felt?” He started walking again, shaking his head.
“I don’t know,” Ramsey answered quietly. “But this case is getting to you. It’s under your skin.”
“Have the cops said anything else?” Gabriel asked as the two of them reached his truck. “Where did she actually hit his truck?”
“I haven’t heard anything new,” Ramsey replied and pointed back in the direction from which Gabriel had come. “There’s a tree back about 100 yards. It was right in that area.”
Gabriel gritted his teeth and felt his fingers curl inward, forming fists. It’s just like Jessie’s case; they don’t have squat. They’re not going to find him. He opened the truck door and slipped inside. “They’re not going to catch him.”
“How optimistic of you,” Ramsey replied as Gabriel pulled away.
Although a soft jazz number crooned from the radio, Gabriel turned the knob and the song abruptly died, leaving only the hum of the engine as he drove. He’d always loved jazz, but right now he longed for silence, hoping it would allow him to think, to prepare for something he wasn’t sure he could ever prepare for.
At first, he drove at a good clip down the country road heading back to town, but then, as he saw a broken tree to the left, he knew by Ramsey’s description he’d reached the spot where Maddie had hit the truck. Decelerating and then stopping, he looked at the snowy landscape, so pure and white it was hard to believe it had witnessed a woman’s brutal attack. Gabriel turned off the engine and stepped out of his truck, ignoring the ringing alarm that said his keys were still lodged in the ignition. The slamming of the door echoed loudly, like the rapport of a gun, leaving Gabriel to wonder why the neighbors hadn’t heard something that night. Maybe they had. But if so, why hadn’t somebody, anybody, done something?
Folding his arms across his chest, he looked out at the landscape, unsure of what he searched for but knowing just the same the clues had to be present. He squinted, his eyes aching from the brilliant reflection off all that the whiteness, and tried to imagine Maddie out here alone, driving home in the middle of the night. He closed his eyes and conjured the image of a pick-up, and the faceless man who grabbed her. She’d tried to scream but couldn’t. There’d been no time, and she couldn’t fight someone twice her size and strength.
Even as the scene played itself out in Gabriel’s mind, Maddie’s delicate features melted into Jessie’s, and he watched, transfixed in horror, as the attack became one and the same assault that had ended his sister’s life. Gabriel shook his head, and his eyes flew open, unwilling to see anymore. There were still things he couldn’t bear. Droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead, threatening to spill down his temples. He could feel perspiration on his back, dampening his shirt. His throat tightened, making it difficult to swallow. His fingers curled inwards, forming fists. He stepped away from his truck. A handful of crows, which had rested in the gnarled branches of the tree, scattered, cawing wildly as they flew.
Gabriel’s steps faltered, and he watched the birds soaring against the grey heavens until they disappeared. Then he faced the tree, its thick, barren arms reaching toward the sky with small, twisted digits like outstretched fingers. Without the birds, the tree, the road, the landscape appeared dead, buried beneath a layer of whiten that flashed brilliantly in the afternoon light. The only sound he heard was the pounding of his heart, frantic and wild. Small wispy flakes tumbled from the heavens, adding to the blanket on the ground. A few flakes landed on his coat, and he brushed them away.
There was nothing here. No clues. Just a landscape that could never tell him what had happened.
“What did you think you would find?” he muttered. Defeated, he slumped his shoulders and headed back to his truck. Opening the door, he climbed in on the driver’s side and drove away, still wondering what Maddie had seen and how he could help her.
Although Gabriel had expected to drive back to the house, he found himself heading to the hospital instead, knowing there was a good chance David and Steve would probably be paying Maddie a visit. He tried to tell himself his interest was purely professional, but he couldn’t separate his feelings about his sister’s murder from Maddie’s assault. It didn’t matter that the two women had suffered at the hands of vastly different men, or that years separated the crimes. It didn’t matter that in helping Maddie he still wouldn’t be able to save his sister.
As he pulled into the hospital parking lot, Gabriel wondered what in the hell he would say. He couldn’t keep popping in without looking like a stalker or some weirdo who might frighten her. That was the last thing he intended. Shoving his keys into his pocket, he crossed the lot and headed inside. As he passed through the automatic glass doors, he saw two floral delivery workers carrying arrangements toward the elevators. A handful of guests milled around the lobby. A couple sat next to a table, where a woman spoke into a cell.
Sauntering past, Gabriel headed up to the third floor. Once the elevator doors had slipped open, he stepped out and ran into a blond woman as she stepped toward the elevator. “Excuse me,” he said in passing.
“Gabriel? Gabriel Martin?” The woman turned to look at him. As she stared at his face, she brushed the bangs from her eyes.
“Yeah?” he said, squinting to get a closer look at this woman who seemed to know him.
“You don’t remember me?” The woman stepped back off the elevator, and the doors closed behind her. Her hand touched his shoulder softly.
Gabriel scrutinized her features, uncomfortable with her complacent familiarity. Friendly blue eyes peered at him, and a smile he’d seen a million times before greeted him. Of course he remembered. Before he’d even thought about it, he embraced her.
“How are you, Tammy?”
Leaning against him for just a moment, she rested her head against his chest and then pulled away. “I’m doing well,” she said. “I finally finished my practicum hours and am working as an LPC. I just moved into a new apartment over at the Eastside complex.”
“Really? Do you like it?” Gabriel asked, warmed by her smile.
Tammy nodded. “Yeah. Now if you had asked me that last weekend when I was moving all the furniture up three flights of stairs, I would’ve told you that you were crazy, but today I’m good.” She looked him over from head to foot. “And you? What are you doing these days?”
?
??I’m a firefighter over at Station 17, have been for a good ten years now.” He marveled at how different she appeared these days than when she’d dated his brother, right before Jessie’s murder—right before life had changed drastically for both of them, and he’d started believing in Hell. Her hair, although she’d pulled it away from her face, was a longer, darker blonde than he remembered. “You look really good.”
“Thanks,” she said and nodded. “How’s Sam been? We haven’t exactly spoken since....”
“Since he told you he didn’t need some future shrink poking around in his brain?” Gabriel finished for her.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.” She looked down at the keys in her hands. “I guess my directness is a quality most people hate.”
“It’s not the directness, Tammy,” he said, patting her softly on the shoulder. “It’s the fact you don’t lie, and sometimes everybody needs to be lied to a little, even if we know it’s a lie.”
She shoved her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “So how is he?”
“He’s a cop in Owens. Still single. He still mentions you from time to time.”
“Both of you still trying to save the world?” She looked directly into the depths of his blue eyes, searching.
“We do what we can,” he replied, looking toward the elevator.
“What are you doing here?”
“Visiting an acquaintance,” he said. His watch beeped, letting him know noon had arrived. “You?”
“Working—or trying to.” she said, shaking her head. “Therapy doesn’t do much unless a person is willing to let you help.” She rubbed the smooth end of one key with her forefinger. “I thought of Sam today when I was talking to this woman, trying to make her understand how therapy can help her.”
Frowning, Gabriel asked, “Why’d that make you think of Sam?”
“The case is similar to Jessie’s. Except this woman lived through it.”