Authors: Ingrid Weaver
Tags: #mobi, #Romantic Suspense, #Paranormal Romance, #Fiction, #Shadow, #epub
Delaney's Shadow (2 page)
The girl lowered her face to study the fluff in her palm, then pursed her lips and blew it into the air. Taken by the breeze, the tiny seeds drifted over the pond in a speckled cloud, and she laughed again.
Would old man Wainright hit her when he found out she was here by herself? Max hoped not. From what he could see, her skin didn’t have any bruises. She laughed a lot, too. He liked her laugh. It sparkled on the air the same as those cattail seeds.
A train whistle whined in the distance, its notes trailing off like a deflating balloon. A cicada did its buzz-saw noise from the grass, startling the girl into dropping the rest of the cattail. It bounced into the water at her feet. Heedless of her white shoes and lacy socks, she stepped into the mud after it.
Max frowned as he watched the dark water creep up her legs. She would get in trouble for sure now. Despite the ache in his ribs that made it hurt to move, he braced his palm against the tree and stood.
Someone would come to get her soon. Max wanted to warn her, but he wouldn’t want to be caught trespassing, or they would take him home. And Virgil hated getting woken up when he was sleeping off a bender. Max should have hidden that belt. Or used it. Someday, he would. Yes, after he killed Virgil, he wouldn’t have to sneak around in the bushes like this; he’d be far away with Mommy and Skippy in the house with the white curtains—
It happened so fast, Max would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking right at her. One second the girl was reaching for the cattail; the next second there was a splash, and she sank under the water.
The bulrushes whispered together in the breeze. The cicada hummed. And Max was alone.
He ran to the edge of the pond. “Hey!” he yelled. “Hey, kid!”
The surface of the water bubbled upward in an oily bulge at the spot where she’d gone under. Ripples spread outward to lap at his running shoes. But the girl didn’t reappear.
Max toed off his shoes and waded out, sinking to his ankles in the muddy bottom. The fresh welts on his back stung as the water reached his armpits, but he blinked away the tears and waved his arms through the murky water in front of him. “Kid!” he called.
“Hey!”
“Hey!”
He was getting scared. He didn’t know what to do. He could run up to the big house and ask for help, but that would take too long.
And Max knew better than to trust anyone to help.
They never did.
Taking a deep breath, he dove under the water. Weeds brushed his face and wrapped their slimy fingers around his legs, holding him down. He struggled in panic, bursting to the surface to gulp in more air, then dove under again, fighting the mud and the weeds until his chest ached and tiny lights flickered behind his eyes. He couldn’t give up yet. She was so little. She must be more scared than him.
His hand struck something smooth and cold. Kicking his way closer, he reached out and grasped a tiny arm.
He ran out of air and swallowed water by the time he got the girl to the surface. Panting, fighting against the pull of the mud, he dragged her to the shore and laid her on the grass.
Last year, just after Halloween, the police had pulled a dead body from this pond. Max had seen it all from his hiding place behind the willow. At first he’d thought the police were after him for trespassing, but then he’d seen the boat and the bar with the chains they’d dragged through the water. It was just getting dark when they’d hooked Donna MacGregor. She’d been a skinny woman, but her corpse had looked like a sausage that had puffed up too big for its casing.
Max wiped the water from his face and looked at the little blonde girl. Her hair straggled like seaweed against her shoulders. Her lips were blue. And her chest wasn’t moving.
She was dead. As dead as Donna MacGregor had been. As dead as Max wanted Virgil to be.
“No.” His voice cracked. Why did this kid have to die? She wasn’t the one he wanted dead. Was this his fault?
Max put his mouth over hers and blew his own breath into her lungs, like he’d seen people do on TV shows. Nothing happened. He tried again. And again.
But the skin beneath his lips remained soft and cool and lifeless.
No! He wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t let her die. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve it. She had been laughing. Please breathe.
Please.
Please.
He didn’t know how long it took. He was getting almost as cold as she was when, finally, her chest heaved by itself. He lifted his head just before streams of muddy water spurted out of her mouth and nose. She started to cough.
Max wiped her face with the bottom of his T-shirt and sat back on his heels, uncertain what to do next, when she opened her eyes and looked straight at him.
Her eyes were the color of new ferns. It was a weird thing to notice, but he’d never seen eyes that color before. They were beautiful . . .
And she was alive.
He’d done it! He’d saved her. Maybe he wasn’t a dumb chickenshit all the time. He grinned. “Hi.”
He’d done it! He’d saved her. Maybe he wasn’t a dumb chickenshit all the time. He grinned. “Hi.”
Her mouth trembled. Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes to fall into her hair. Any second now she would start wailing.
His grin faded. “No, don’t cry. You’re okay.” He touched a fingertip to her temple, stopping one of her tears.
She parted her lips, and he braced himself for a scream, but the only sound that came out was a hiccup.
“Thatta girl,” he said. He helped her to sit up and patted her back. “Uh, do you hurt someplace?”
“I s-scared.”
“I was scared, too. You’re okay now, though. What’s your name?”
She hiccupped again. “Deedee.”
“My name’s Max, Deedee. Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble. No one’s gonna hit you. I won’t tell anyone what you did; I promise.”
She turned her face to his chest. Even through his damp shirt he could feel the warmth of her tears.
Max didn’t know what to do now, either. He didn’t know how to offer comfort. He’d had far more experience being on the receiving end of cruelty than kindness. Once more he let his instincts guide him. He lifted his hand to cradle the back of her head.
Just like a kitten, she curled trustingly into his arms. He felt her shivering, and he forgot about the aches in his body so he could pull her closer. He decided to help her the only way he knew how.
He painted the picture in his mind, the place he went when things got real bad. And he took her with him. “Don’t cry, Deedee.” He bent his head to whisper in her ear. “We aren’t really here. We’re far, far away. Nothing hurts. Nothing bad happens. See the dog? His name is Skippy.”
She turned her head. “D-doggy?”
“No, close your eyes, and then you’ll see him. He’s big and black with floppy ears and a long tail. Now he’s licking your hand. That’s how you know he likes you.”
“I like doggies.”
“Can you smell the cake? It’s chocolate. My mommy made it. That’s her at the table. Do you hear her? She’s singing. She does that when she’s happy. She’s always happy here.”
“She’s pretty.”
Max squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated harder. He saw Deedee pet his dog. He heard her laugh. Her blue dress and her white socks were clean again as she ate a piece of cake. She clapped her hands and smiled, her lips dotted with chocolate crumbs, as his mother sang “Happy Birthday.”
This was nice. He’d never brought anyone with him before.
“Delaney? Baby, where are you?” The cry came from the woods on the other side of the pond. More voices called, getting closer. “Deedee?”
Max blinked and came back. But the picture he’d built was so strong this time, traces of it still remained, swirling like mist around him. Deedee squirmed out of his arms, stretching to reach for the dog.
“Over here!” someone yelled. “It looks like her hair ribbon.”
“Oh, sweet mother of God! She’s gone to the pond! Delaney? Answer me!”
Deedee twisted around, confused. “Gramma?”
The familiar, sick-sour taste of fear gathered at the back of Max’s throat. If anyone caught him here, he was going to get in trouble. It never occurred to him that the adults might want to thank him. They’d call the police and take him home to Virgil. He stuffed his feet back into his shoes and stood.
Deedee scrambled up and grabbed for his hand. “Can I have more cake?”
He leaned over to put his finger against her lips. “Don’t tell on me.”
“Wanna play,” she said.
“Promise you won’t tell.”
“Want doggy!”
“Promise, Deedee! Or I won’t play.”
She nodded quickly. “ ’Kay, Max.”
He tugged his hand out of her grasp and backed away. “I gotta go.”
“Play!” Her chin trembled. “Ple-ee-ase.”
Something flashed between them. A surge of energy, like lightning, like holding Virgil’s belt. In Max’s mind, the picture built again, the same but different. Everything looked bigger, as if he were smaller.
He staggered, staring at the girl. This wasn’t his picture. She was the one doing it. How was it possible? How could she be in his head?
She closed her eyes and smiled, holding out her arms.
Shouts echoed from the woods, along with the noise of heavy footsteps crashing through the underbrush.
Max turned and ran.
He never saw Deedee again. She didn’t return to the pond, but until she grew up and no longer wanted to play, he visited her often in his mind. Like a blue jay in the willows or cattail seeds drifting on a summer breeze, she became part of the place he flew away to when he painted pictures in his imagination.
It wasn’t until years later, after his parole hearing, that Max recognized the irony of how he had spent his seventh birthday.
On the very day he had decided to take a life, his destiny had been to save one.
ONE
HE CAME BACK TO HER IN A DREAM. YET EVEN AS DELANEY sensed his presence in her head, the watchful, grown-up part of her knew he couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. He was the boy of make-believe.
“Max?” Her lips mouthed the name. She hadn’t spoken it aloud since her childhood. It belonged to the past, to the girl who used to sleep in this ribbons-and-bows room, to the days of laughter in the kitchen and bees in the roses and sheets snapping in the sunshine.
She couldn’t remember when he’d first appeared. It seemed as if Max had always been with her, in some corner of her mind. Whenever she’d needed him, he would show up, the skinny little boy with dark hair and a crooked front tooth.
Oh, the times they’d had, the games they’d played. Racing along the lane, their arms extended like airplane wings, they would fix their gazes on the horizon and pretend to soar. Or quietly, so quietly, they would creep past Grandpa’s room to the attic for rainy afternoon treasure hunts. There had been safaris in her grandmother’s garden, elaborate banquets on the playroom floor, and gleeful, giggling slides down the curving oak banister.
But the best times, the very best ones, had been when he’d taken her to their own special world, the place they made up together, where nothing bad happened and nothing ever hurt.
She breathed his name again. Max. He’d been her partner in mischief, her secret confidante, the imaginary friend she had created to become her playmate. The first time she’d insisted on setting a place for Max at dinner, Grandpa had banged his cane on the floor and had told her to quit making up stories or by God she would turn out as flighty as her mother. Grandma had just winked at her and slid an extra plate beside the butter dish.
But then Delaney’s mother had died, and her father had returned for her. They’d moved to the city. She’d tried to bring Max, too, but there hadn’t been a banister or extra plates in the apartment, and Mrs. Joiner said that imaginary friends weren’t allowed at school.
And eventually Delaney had stopped believing. She’d grown up and left Max behind.
Yet if she’d left him behind, how could he be here?
It was a dream, she reminded herself. And unlike the other ones, this dream wasn’t filled with images of twisted metal and death.
Other books
Meltdown by Ben Elton
Dead Chaos by T. G. Ayer
Hell Hole by Chris Grabenstein
Catwalk: Messiah by Nick Kelly
Bjorn: Teutonic Knights MC by Carmen Faye
The Lonely Wives Club (An Erotic Short Story Collection) by Cavender, Aurora
Emily Franklin - Principles Of Love 06 - Labor Of Love by Emily Franklin
The Mortal One (The Mortal One Series) by Shannon Bell
Fire And Ice by Diana Palmer
Slices by Michael Montoure