The Edge of Recall (30 page)

His broad man’s face came close, protruding eyes beneath dense
brows, fleshy, deeply indented upper lip, square bluish jaw. His breath
smelled sharp, metallic. Sweat pearled his forehead, sheening his cheeks.
He squatted, shining the light into her face.

“I see you.”

Her throat cleaved.

“You’re not afraid, are you?”

Her head made slow arcs side to side.

“Did you see something you shouldn’t have?”

She shook her head, even though she’d seen it all. Sobs climbed
her chest.

“You won’t say a word, will you? Not a word.”

She couldn’t if she tried.

“Because I’ll find you, just the way I did tonight.”

He would. She knew it. The monster would find her.

Her phone rang and she jolted up. “Hello?”

“Tessa. Bair here. Sorry, but I haven’t been able to reach Smith, and—”

She collapsed on the bed, sobbing.

“Tessa? What’s the matter!”

“He’s dead, Bair. The monster killed him.”

“What!”

“He attacked us and stabbed Smith, but no one believes me and they can’t find him.”

His stunned silence silenced her too. Then he rasped, “Who can’t they find?”

“Smith. Or the monster. They don’t believe me, Bair. You have to help me find him.” She started crying harder.

“Calm down, Tessa. Let me … how did …” His heavy breaths came across the line. “Where are you?”

“The inn. The sheriff won’t let me leave the area, even though he doesn’t believe me. It’s raining and he won’t look for Smith and I never should have left him.”

“All right. Hold on. I’m coming.”

The thought brought a flicker of relief. Bair should be part of this. His friendship with Smith had spanned years, and their falling out was nothing compared to the companionship she’d seen.

When he knocked some time later, she let him in, feeling grateful and relieved and miserable at once.

He stared hard into her face. “You were serious.”

She gulped back tears.

His features twisted. “Driving down here, I told myself you’d said it so I’d bring Katy back where she belonged. I thought that if I returned her, I’d find Smith all right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I …” Bair dropped to the wing chair. “I can’t believe it.”

“No one else does either.”

“I don’t mean— I just can’t take it in.” He clenched his hands on his thighs. The rims of his eyes reddened. “I should’ve … told him I was happy for you.”

She sat down and put her arms around his big shoulders. He was real; he was solid, and that made everything else real. She pressed her face to his sleeve. “It hurts so much.”

They grieved together, hardly speaking. Finally she said, “We can’t leave him out there.”

Bair nodded. “They’re not even looking? What’s wrong with them?”

“They won’t take me seriously. My therapist told them I’m having a psychotic break.”

“Are you?”

She didn’t begrudge his hopeful tone. “I wish I were. But look.” She held up her purpled arm, the grip marks clearly visible. She had only started to feel it.

“How did they explain that?” He ran his fingers over the bruise.

“They didn’t, just sedated me and said I need help.”

He heaved a sigh. “Let’s go have a look.”

She shook as she rode beside Bair to the scene she’d escaped— was it only last night? If Bair were not there, strong and solid, she might convince herself Smith had never called, never come back into her life, never made something happen between them she hadn’t dared hope for. She wasn’t sure she could have imagined the last part, but she wanted to believe it so badly.

Grimly, Bair drove up to the gate, plodded over to open it, then drove to the trailer and parked. He got out and stared, unable, it seemed, to take a step into the empty office. She touched his arm, and he unlocked the door and walked the trailer from end to end. “Were you attacked in here?”

“In the meadow. At the center of the labyrinth.”

He turned and plodded to the door. She ached at the stoop in his shoulders, the way his freckles spread starkly over his skin. He didn’t want this to be true, maybe blamed himself for not being there. “Where exactly?” He stepped out into the lingering drizzle.

“Out past the Bobcat. I’ll show you.”

Her feet squelched in the wet grass and old leaves as they walked back to the place where Smith had fallen. Were they inviting the monster to strike again? Smith had stood between her and whatever he was, a person—but with so many things wrong that when she had tried to describe him the sheriff thought she was lying.

She pressed closer to Bair, aware for the first time that he must be as tall as Smith, though his broad build disguised it. As they neared the meadow, her breath caught on a sob. Bair squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll find him.”

But after scouring the field and forest edges and returning to the place they’d started, Bair dropped his hands to his sides. “I don’t know where else to look. No way we can cover the woods, just the two of us.”

Tessa clutched her soaked sweater, drizzle running down the back of her neck. “We can’t give up. This is right where he fell. That’s the vine I pulled. That’s the disk we found. Smith has to be here.”

Bair’s face showed more than frustration. It showed doubt and distrust.

“Where else would he be, Bair? If what I’m saying isn’t true, where is he? Why won’t he answer when I—or you—call?”

Bair looked around. “Maybe he wasn’t killed. Maybe he crawled off somewhere.”

Her chest constricted. Had she left Smith wounded and dying? “Wouldn’t he call for help?”

“He might have lost his phone. It could be anywhere in this vine.”

She gripped his arm. “Call it.”

Bair speed-dialed Smith.

Tessa tensed. “Did you hear it?”

Bair searched the ground. “I don’t know. It was faint if …”

“Call again.” She couldn’t say for sure that she’d heard anything more than her own wishing. The second time neither of them heard anything. She wrapped herself in her arms, aching from lost hope. “What are we going to do?”

“I’m going to see the sheriff.” Bair turned back, moving purposefully now.

She hurried beside him back toward the trailer, afraid to hope he would succeed where she had failed. Would anything in Bair’s personal history disqualify him? He had issues with alcohol and aggression, but as far as she knew, no psychiatrist calling him crazy. They’d have to listen.

She followed him into the trailer. She had never seen him so grim, so self-contained. He pulled the air-conditioner out of the window and locked it, then turned. “I want you to stay here, Tessa. Keep the door locked and stay out of sight unless you hear Smith.”

She nodded, tears springing to her eyes. Bair couldn’t believe him dead. He hadn’t seen the knife in his chest, hadn’t seen him lying unmoving in the rain.

“I’ll bring the sheriff back, but it might take a while to organize a search. You have to be here in case Smith gets this far, especially if he’s in bad shape.”

She gulped. “Okay.” He didn’t say it, but they both knew it would be better for Bair to see the sheriff without her.

“If you need a weapon, use whatever you can find to protect yourself—whatever it takes. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “I will.”

“You have my number.”

“Go, Bair.”

He looked at her hard, then grabbed her into a clutch and released her.

She sniffed. “Don’t let him say no.”

“I won’t.”

Then he was gone, and she had to face her deep and terrible failure alone. If she hadn’t been so messed up, would the sheriff have believed her? Would Smith already be found? She should have been calm, coherent, convincing. But she’d fallen apart. She’d been as worthless to Smith as she’d been to her daddy.
What?
She gripped the chair back.

Images pushed in, though she couldn’t tell if they were real or not. It had started in her room at the inn, the man’s face, the bulk of him squatting before her, his calm, evil words.
“Did you see
something you shouldn’t have?”

Yes! A wail pierced her control. She pressed her hands to her temples, seeing a shadowed violence she did not want clarified. With everything in her, she locked up the vision like a monster in her mind’s maze, but it lurked there, on the edge of recall, terrifying and tormenting her.

She sank to the floor, clutching the sweatshirt her dad had worn in the mornings, and unlocked a good memory instead. Daddy stoking the wood-burning stove, catching sight of her over his shoulder. “Come here, kitten. Come get warm.” And she’d run to him and piled onto his back like a cub. He’d stood up so tall and trotted around the room, bouncing her until her laughter brought Mom to the doorway, an amused smile on her lips.

And another one of him standing, hands on hips, as Mom led the brown horse that felt like a mountain beneath her, Daddy shaking his head. “Not sure horses are her thing, Vanessa.”

“I’d rather ride Daddy’s back.” She’d slipped off, knowing he’d catch her before she hit the ground.

Those were all she could find, but she soaked the sweatshirt with tears, laughing and crying. It was more than she’d had in so long.

CHAPTER

28

It shouldn’t be there, but it was. He pressed his head again to the wrong side of the chest and heard the rhythm of a heart. He’d heard it when he grabbed the body, heard it beating where it wasn’t supposed to be. The knife had not stopped it, and now the rage was gone and there was only fear—deep, terrible fear.

What was he going to do? He held his head and rocked. Fear coursed through him. They’d find him and hurt him. Nursey had said so. He remembered the blows. If he was seen, if he was seen again …

How could this be happening? Why had they come? They should have left him alone, left his place alone. He looked across at the man who shouldn’t be there. Should not be there. This was his place, his place, his place. Why hadn’t he finished him?

The stranger stirred, pain pulling his face. His breath came out in a soft moan. Any minute he would wake up and it would be too late. He should finish it now, finish him now. He should; he had to.

He stared at the man he’d stabbed without thinking. He wanted to strike again, but the rage didn’t come. The rage didn’t come because the man she’d called Smith opened his eyes. He recoiled, but he didn’t scream and he didn’t look away.

Smith hurt. His hip, his shoulder, his head, most of all his chest where the knife had plunged. Muffled voices hollering had drawn him from his faint. He had heard his phone, or thought he had, though everything seemed surreal.

Someone had clamped a hand over his mouth, pressing his bruised head to a surface as hard as stone. That someone sat across from him now in a state of distress. Smith shifted just enough to ease the pressure in his chest. His wrists and ankles were tied, although he doubted he could put up much resistance regardless. Not seeing Tessa, he prayed she had gotten away.

The man who attacked them held his knees and rocked. “It’s not where it should be.”

“What’s not—” Smith winced.

“Your heart. Your heart! I heard it pumping there. I heard it. It should be here.”

He pressed a hand to his own chest. If he felt his heart there, more was wrong than the protruding mandible, sloping shoulders, and obvious scoliosis. His eyes and skin were pale, his hair sparse. Nature had not been kind. And yet he must be strong to have moved someone half again his size.

Smith fought for breath. “Who … are you?”

He stopped rocking but didn’t answer.

Smith drew a painful breath. His chest felt like sludge. His skin like cold luncheon loaf. Every time he spoke it felt like the knife jabbed him again, but he needed to create a bond. The guy might not be a natural killer, as there’d been opportunity to finish the job and he hadn’t. “I’m … Smith.”

“Donny.” The guy pressed his hands to his mouth, too late to catch the word that came out.

Smith nodded and closed his eyes. “Donny.” He ached. A weight settled in his limbs. By the tacky feel of his shirt, he’d lost a lot of blood, and he felt weaker than he could ever recall.

Donny lowered himself onto his haunches, smelling very much like the grave. This was the person who had invaded Tessa’s room. Had to be.

Smith slumped. Fatigue snuck in beside the pain, weighting his eyelids that descended against all resistance like the slow creep of glacial ice. If he gave in, would he be killed in his sleep—now that Donny had located his heart?