Only When I Sleep

by E V Lind

  Jonathon... a whispered memory tickled the back of her mind at about the same time a cold finger of recollection traced each knob of her spine.

  *

  Ryan looked at his tenant in annoyance. What was with her today? First of all, she’d looked as though she was about to impale him on those keys in her hand and now she looked about ready to pass out. He reached out a hand to her arm.

  “Beth? Are you okay?”

  She flinched and yanked her arm away.

  “Don’t!” she snapped, then shook her head slightly.

  “Fine, but don’t go fainting on me.”

  “I’m not about to faint,” she insisted and, to his relief, a little more color began to leak into her face. “I just don’t like being touched.”

  Ryan cocked an eyebrow, waiting for further explanation but, as usual, she was as tight as a clam.

  “Busy day?” he asked, picking up an armful of cuttings from the ground and starting to walk over to where he’d parked a trailer earlier on.

  “Your mom took me to see Aggie MacDonald.”

  “Ah, Crazy Aggie. How was she today?”

  Beth hesitated for a while before speaking, a stricken expression briefly flitting across her face. “Lost, I guess. She thought I was Lizzie.”

  “She did, huh?” Ryan hefted the branches onto the pile already on the trailer and dusted off his hands on his jeans. “What made you go and see her?”

  “I thought she might like her doll.”

  “Her doll?”

  “The rag doll that was in her bedroom.”

  “That was kind of you,” he said although he was a bit confused. What on earth had made her think to do that? “I don’t think anyone ever thought about packing anything for her beyond her clothes after her accident. I don’t think anyone expected her to survive. She was in a bad way when I found her.”

  “I thought I’d take her the quilt from her bed and a few other things tomorrow.”

  Ryan looked at her in surprise. From the moment they’d picked her up from the side of the road Beth had done her darnedest not to make a connection with anyone and yet she was suddenly playing nice with old Aggie? Women, he’d never understand them.

  “Sounds like a nice idea. Well, I’d guess I’d better clean up. I’ll be back tomorrow to finish off around the back.”

  “I thought you were going to send one of your men to do this?” Beth challenged him suddenly.

  “I decided their talents were better spent in doing what they’re trained and paid to do.”

  “Are you sure you’re not doing this to spy on me? I know you don’t trust me,” she said bluntly.

  He raised one brow. “That’s right, I don’t, but don’t kid yourself that I’m doing any more than keeping an eye on what’s mine.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them and she looked awkward, as if she was horrified by what she’d just said and was equally anxious about his response. Given her reaction to him when she arrived he guessed that it was unlikely she’d be inviting him in, although he could kill for a drink about now. A devil of perversity made him ask anyway.

  “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?” he asked.

  She looked startled. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll bring it out for you,” she said quickly.

  “No problem, I’ll just come inside,” he said following her up the front stairs.

  Her shoulders were straight as a drill sergeant’s and her spine so rigid it looked as if it’d snap under a gust of wind. He shouldn’t be goading her, but God alone knew he needed a distraction today. Last night had been a bad one. Pain, nightmares, sweats, memories. You name it, he went through it. It was part of the reason he’d chosen to do the work here today. If he could exhaust himself, then maybe he could scour away the remnants of the nightmares. Some days he felt like he’d never stop living his failure over and over again. Maybe that was his destiny after all, he thought as he stopped to scuff his boots on the front mat. The kitten, who’d tried her level best to distract him all afternoon, skittered past him, stopping for only a second to hiss at the front bedroom before heading through to the kitchen with her tail in the air.

  In the kitchen he sat down in one of the chairs and watched as Beth found a glass and poured him water straight from the faucet.

  “There,” she said, banging the glass down in front of him.

  Water sloshed over the side and formed a small puddle. Beth sighed in frustration and spun around to get a cloth from the sink.

  “Do I bother you that much?” Ryan asked.

  “No, of course, you don’t.”

  She said the words with force but even so he could see the tension in her eyes and the set of her mouth.

  “I just wondered, if it was just me or if it was all men?” he probed.

  She lifted his glass and swiped the cloth through the spill, studiously ignoring his question. As she went to put it down again he took the glass from her, his fingers brushing against hers. The instant he touched her again she went rigid, only relaxing once their contact was broken. She moved to where he could no longer reach her, her eyes flicking to the exits from the room even as she did so.

  Ryan sighed. “I’m not here to hurt you, Beth.”

  She made a sound halfway between a sigh and a snort. “I’ve heard that before. Look, I prefer to be alone. That’s all.”

  He skulled back the water and set the glass back down on the table with an audible click. “Right, I’ll leave you to it then. By the way, I’ve got the locksmith coming tomorrow. I’ll have to let him in while you’re at work. I hope you’re okay with that.”

  She gave him a small nod. “It’s your place, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll bring the new keys into the café once he’s done.”

  “T-thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

  Yeah, he just bet she would. She’d feel safer there, surrounded by everyone else. He wondered again what her story was. Actually, no. He didn’t want to know, he decided. He didn’t need that kind of shit in his life. Ryan pushed up from the chair to go. The instant he did, pain shot through his leg and it buckled beneath him.

  A string of curses painted the air blue and both Beth and Snowball retreated to the far side of the kitchen as he braced his hands on the table and waited for the pain to recede. A cold sweat broke out all over and bile rose in his throat. One breath after another, he dragged them in through his nose and forced them back out his mouth as he’d been taught to do for pain management. They’d told him it would get better...one day. That day couldn’t be soon enough and yet, he told himself anew, what he was going through was no better than what he deserved.

  “What did you do?” a small voice came across the room.

  He didn’t answer straight away, rode instead the swell of pain that was finally beginning to ebb.

  “You tell me your secrets and I’ll tell you mine,” he said once he could relax his jaw enough to speak again.

  He lifted his head and watched her, saw indecision play across her face but clearly curiosity got the better of her.

  “I was in a bad relationship,” she offered.

  “I was hurt in Afghanistan.”

  Hurt. A fucking pathetic four-letter word that didn’t even begin to touch the beginning or the end of what he’d been through. Of the fear, of the disgust, of the wish that it had been him and not Tuck or any one of his guys.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered from her vantage point across the room.

  “Yeah, me, too,” he said on a huff of air.

  The pain was more manageable now and he straightened, tested his weight.

  “Are you okay to drive?” she asked.

  “What, can’t wait to get rid of me?” he taunted.

  It had the desired effect. The apprehension that had again paled her features eased and was swiftly replaced by annoyance. “Something like that,” she said, lifting her chin slightly.

  He couldn’t help it, he laughed. Shit, she was just like that bloody kitten he’d given
her. Fraidy-cat one minute, spitting and hissing the next.

  “Is that who you’re running from? The guy who did that?” He gestured toward her face.

  She swallowed and he watched the movement of her throat, mesmerized by the slim, pale column without even realizing it.

  “Yeah,” she finally said in a voice that was little more than a croak.

  “Did you go to the police?”

  She nodded. Man, it was easier getting intel out of a captured insurgent than it was getting information out of her. But she’d given him something, he told himself.

  “If he shows up around here, you make sure you tell me. Got it?”

  Her eyes grew wide but she gave him a brief nod.

  “Good.” Ryan tested the weight on his leg again. Not great, but it’d do. “See you tomorrow.”

  And he would. He’d make sure of it.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Riverbend, OR, December 1941

  Dear Diary,

  Jonathon knows Mamma beat me. I'm not sure how he guessed but he's so angry. He told me he will protect me. It's a noble thought but as much as he wants to, I know he has no real power over her. The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor. The news of war is distressing and I can see it is calling to him. His mother begs him not to listen to the broadcasts but he tells her it is only a matter of time and that he'd rather sign up and do his duty than wait to be conscripted. I don't want him to go. He's my only light in these dark days.

  We have taken to meeting in a disused cottage when Mamma is busy at the big house. The thrill of seeing him is constantly tempered by my fear that Aggie will let something slip and that Mamma will somehow find out. Aggie is a good girl. She's happy to play with her rag doll. Bless her, she named it after me and the thing gives her comfort when Mamma is in a fit.

  I wish...no, I mustn't wish for more than I have when I have a roof over my head, food in my belly and—most of all—I have Jonathon in my heart.

  He says that when he returns we will be married, no matter what Mamma thinks. If she tries to stand in our way, we will simply elope. Once it's done, she won't be able to turn back time. She'll have no power over me. He makes me want to believe it—that she is not omnipotent. That the only power she has is what I give her. But then again, he hasn't been on the receiving end of one of her sermons or the pain of her punishments.

  Yesterday, at the cottage, he reached for me. His hands are warm and callused and when he touches my cheek I feel as though I'm the most beautiful woman in the whole world, and when he kisses me—properly kisses me—I feel as though I've died and gone to heaven. I can't wait to see him again.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Dan paced his living room floor. They hadn’t even let him sit a desk. No, they’d stood him down pending investigation.

  Some witness had come forward saying they’d seen him around Beth’s house the night she’d gone missing, before it had burned down. And that they’d seen his car there before. The statement had been enough to see him removed from duty.

  Rage boiled deep inside. He’d find out who this witness was and he’d make them recant. And, if they didn’t, they’d regret they ever opened their stupid, fucking mouth.

  How dare they? Didn’t they understand the impact it had had on his life? As if it wasn’t bad enough to be stood down, the rumors had started, too. Even his two boys, his greatest joy in life, had asked him to stop dropping them at school. Yeah, he’d seen the looks exchanged between other parents when he’d said he was taking some time from work and, worse, seen the shame in his boys’ eyes. It wasn’t right. He was supposed to be their hero. The man they looked up to and strove to emulate.

  And it was all Beth’s fault.

  About the only thing left to keep him amused right now was the knowledge he’d catch up to her, and when he did he’d take great delight in inflicting on her the pain she so rightly deserved. He cast a look of disgust at the clock on the wall. Damn thing moved too slowly for his liking. He hated not being in charge, being in control.

  Dan took Sherry’s cell phone from his pocket. He’d lifted the device from her handbag when she wasn’t looking and he’d put it back the same way when she got home. He didn’t want this call being linked to his phone. Out of habit, he scanned through her messages and calls register and gave a grunt of satisfaction when he didn’t find anything beyond the usual school mom notifications. No new numbers stood out. Nothing to suggest she wasn’t perfectly satisfied here at home. He smirked. Yeah, she’d better be satisfied. He’d been fucking her six ways from Sunday since he’d been stood down, but even that was beginning to bore him.

  He punched a number onto the screen and listened to it ring. Anger flared. Stupid shit was supposed to keep his phone on him at all times. That was the deal. Dan’s fingers curled tight around the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “About time you answered,” Dan growled.

  “Sorry, don’t get mad at me. When I didn’t hear from you I figured you didn’t need me,” the weasel on the other end protested.

  Dan wasn’t about to admit he needed anyone. Especially not a whiny snitch from police records. “Who made the statement?” Dan demanded.

  “Some woman called Colleen Davies.”

  Colleen…the name rang a bell. Dan ran it through his head, started to smile when he remembered the name tag on the waitress at the diner where, coincidentally, Beth had worked, too.

  “Where does she live?” he enunciated slowly through clenched teeth, frustrated as hell that the snitch made him ask.

  The guy rattled off an address not too far from the bank where Beth had been last seen. Dan’s empty hand curled into a fist. So fucking close.

  The snitch spoke again. “Is that good, Boss? Is that what you wanted?”

  “Yeah,” he grunted.

  “Then you’ll get me that stuff?”

  Dan’s lip curled. His snitch had a fondness for the kind of pornography you couldn’t buy in a sealed wrapper from a magazine store. “Yeah, sure. I’ll have it delivered to you, but there’s one more thing I need.”

  “I did what you asked me to, now I want what you promised me!” the snitch whined.

  “Do you want it, or not?” Dan snapped, his temper flaring hot and fast.

  “Of course, I want it.”

  “Then get me more details about this Colleen Davies—whatever you can find out about her. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

  “And then I’ll get it?”

  “You’ll get it.”

  Dan severed the call and deleted the number off the call register. Sherry would be without her phone for another day while he waited for the scumbag snitch to call back. Tough shit. She’d think she’d lost it, but he knew she wouldn’t whine about it or even mention it to him for fear of being punished. Although the idea of asking her where her phone was and seeing her panic when she couldn’t tell him certainly had merit. He felt himself get hard and, just like that, he looked forward to his wife’s return home from the store.

  *

  “Off to see Aggie again, are you?” Mary-Ann asked as Beth put her apron in the laundry sack and tugged the hair band from her hair.

  Even though most people had stopped staring at the marks on her face, she still felt more comfortable with her hair loose. Hiding.

  “Yes, I am. I promised her I’d bring her quilt.”

  “She won’t remember it, hon. You look beat, maybe you should just call it a day and go home.”

  She felt beat. Last night’s dreams had been disturbing to say the least. Not like the others where she’d woken in tears or in pain. No, nothing as simple as that. Instead, she’d woken at three a.m. on the point of orgasm with the feel of a man’s body over her—inside her—and, instead of being terrified or worse, resigned to violent invasion, she’d been happy. A sense of bereavement had followed quick on the heels of the exhilaration that had suffused her body, a loss that was ridiculous. It was only a dream, she’d told herself over and over for the rest of the night until
the gray streaks of dawn had filtered through the crack in her bedroom curtains.

  It had to have been the diaries, she thought, thinking of the small packet of notebooks she’d found tightly wrapped in a square of stained canvas under the raised floorboard in Aggie’s room. She’d almost talked herself out of looking for them but Aggie’s voice had echoed in her mind. The board had lifted out easily, obviously something that had happened many times before in the past—although not recently, if the cluster of cobwebs and mouse droppings around the packet had been any indicator.

  There’d been a hint of a sigh in the air around her, a shiver of anticipation as she’d unwrapped and identified the diaries. Intrigued, she’d taken them through to her room and before retiring to bed. Curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d picked one up and read a few entries—briefly living the life of another woman before falling asleep with the diary still open on the bed beside her. And in sleep she’d continued to live Lizzie’s life, felt her hopes and dreams for the future, felt the depth of her love for her Jonathon.

  A heated blush rose in her cheeks as she remembered what that love had felt like. How anticipation had turned to excitement, excitement to pleasure and then that awful empty yawning sense of loss.

  “Mary-Ann?”

  “Yes, hon.”

  “Did you know Mrs. MacDonald?”

  “How do you mean, love?”

  “Was she—was she a cruel woman?” Beth finally found the words she’d been seeking.

  “She kept very much to herself and was deeply religious. She ruled the staff at the big house with an iron fist, I’ll say that much.”

  “Staff?”

  “Oh yes, back in the day there was Mrs. MacDonald as housekeeper as well as a cook and a maid indoors. And then there was a gardener and his boys as well. Of course, back then, meals were provided for all the hands on the farm every day, as well. My late husband’s grandparents still had staff, even when I first met him. Of course, after we were married, as the house staff retired, we didn’t bother replacing them. I ran the house and my husband, John, ran the dairy farm with his hired hands. Ryan could do with some more help out there now, especially around the house but, well, you know what he’s like.”