Whether I wanted to believe that level of caution was necessary or not, I knew the three of them wouldn’t let me leave and go back to my mother’s house alone.
This was what support looked like in practice.
This was what I’d wanted, what I’d needed, from Keith.
I stood on the sidewalk next to my car in front of Gabe and Jay’s, a cold wind scattering a few crisp leaves. “Look…” I pointed overhead, where the stars looked like someone had tossed diamonds across a sheet of black velvet.
Ryan stood close. “Reminds me of some of those moonless nights in Three Rivers. Remember?”
“I do.” I shivered. “But it was warmer there.”
He put his arm across my shoulders and pulled me close. “You’re right.”
Just as I was getting uncomfortable with his gesture, he dropped his arm and stepped back. “So, I’ll follow you.”
I sighed. “I feel like a child. Really, I’ll be fine. It’s out of your way. You don’t have to—”
He reached out and put one finger on my lips to silence me. “You know I’d do anything for you.” He moved his hand to my cheek and let it linger there. Even in the dark I could see or sense something sparking in his eyes.
I stepped back, and he dropped his hand. “Don’t.” I shook my head. “Really. Just don’t.”
Ryan had always towered over me. Now he looked down at me. “Deni…”
I turned and opened the door of the car and got inside, but before I could close the door, he stepped into the space between the door and the car.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know the last thing you need right now is…” He shrugged. “Sorry. I know you’re vulnerable, and it makes me want to… take care of you. But…”
“I just need to go. Please don’t follow me. Please. Just let me go, Ryan. Let me go. Once and for all. Please?” We both knew I was talking about more than letting me drive away alone.
He looked back at the house, then down at me again. “Listen, I said I’m sorry. And you heard what Gabe said. You shouldn’t go home alone.”
“I’m fine. I am. I can take care of myself.” Tears brimmed. “Please…” I pleaded. Move. Please. Just let me go.”
He lifted his hands in surrender and stepped back.
I pulled the door and closed it, started the car, released the emergency brake, and put the car in gear, all while Ryan stood on the sidewalk and watched. As I drove away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. He still stood in the same spot.
As I drove out of Gabe and Jay’s neighborhood, I watched to make sure he wasn’t following me.
It seemed he’d respect my wishes.
Yes, while I longed for someone to support and protect me.
It was Keith I longed for.
Not Ryan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Denilyn
February 2010
With Keith gone and me having moved in, at least temporarily, with my mother, everything felt off. Wrong. And I began to doubt myself. Had I overreacted to Ryan’s touch? Had I misread his gesture? As I returned home from Jay and Gabe’s, I pulled into my mother’s driveway and then reached into the console for the garage door opener and pressed the button. The three-car garage had more than enough room for both our cars, and my mother had insisted that I was safer parking in the garage and walking directly into the house from there.
If I’d overreacted to Ryan or not, I wasn’t sure. I was too tired to unravel the myriad strands of our longtime friendship. Ryan had likely overstepped a boundary, and I’d likely overreacted. I hoped it was nothing we, our friendship, couldn’t endure.
The garage lit up as the door lifted. Before pulling in, I glanced in the rearview mirror and looked out both side windows one more time to make sure no one had followed me. I longed for the day when I’d no longer have to look over my shoulder. Although, maybe I always would. This experience was, I suspected, marking me in permanent ways.
My mother’s neighbors’ porch lights were on, their homes warmly lit inside. The street was quiet, and the neighborhood was an area where crime was infrequent. The car I’d seen earlier was nothing to worry about. Or at least nothing I could do anything more about.
The tension I’d felt on the drive home and the earlier fear Gabe’s warnings evoked had at least eased, if not dissipated. Gabe was right, I knew, this wasn’t a time for denial. But I also couldn’t live in a heightened state of anxiety forever. Somehow I had to find a balance.
I’d taken most of the prescribed precautions—we added the alarm to the house, I’d purchased a personal alarm that I attached to my key fob, my cell phone was always within reach should I need to make an emergency call. I was mindful, watchful, and attentive. I’d reported anything suspect, even when I’d felt silly doing so, as I had earlier in the evening.
Since receiving that third charm and the threat it implied, at the recommendation of the detectives working my case, I’d also canceled speaking events and public appearances, much to my publisher’s dismay. But they did seem to understand, and I assured my editor that the lighter schedule afforded me more time to work on the second book. However, I hadn’t written a word in several weeks. Focus was hard to come by.
And while I anticipated returning to my counseling work, it felt good to be away from the place where I’d seen Bradley Mathison, and where he’d delivered the bracelet and the second charm. The office was located in a busy area of town. With so many cars and people on the streets and in the parking lots, it seemed impossible to watch for him.
I couldn’t do much more to protect myself and still live my life.
This man had already taken too much from me. I couldn’t let him take all of me.
I eased the car into the bay of the garage and parked. I turned off the ignition, grabbed my purse, and got out of the car. I looked behind me one last time, but the street was empty. Tree branches swayed in the wind, and yard debris—leftover leaves and clippings—swirled in the street. Otherwise, all was still.
I started for the door into the house, keys in hand. I planned to take a hot bath and then go straight to bed. I hoped another good night’s sleep would lift the malaise that had plagued me. Although, until the stress lifted, a few physical repercussions might remain.
As I crossed the brightly lit garage, everything suddenly went dark. “What—?” I stopped walking, unable to see anything. What happened?
Darkness closed in, suffocating in its descent.
My pulse rushed. Was there a power outage? I turned, heart pounding, and looked out the still open garage door. The neighbors’ lights still shined. I gripped my keys and turned back as something sounded near me, movement of some sort. Help me… A gust of wind rattled something. That’s all it was. That’s all. My eyes still hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark, but I took a couple of stilted steps toward the door and reached my hand out to feel for it. But the door wasn’t what my hand landed on. My heart leaped from my chest to my throat, and I jumped back.
“Denilyn…” A familiar voice spoke my name.
I fumbled with my keys, feeling for the alarm. That’s when I saw him lunge toward me, just a shape in the dark. Before I could find the alarm, the keys were batted from my hand and clattered to the floor.
He was too fast for me to put up any fight. He grabbed me, spun me around, and held me from behind, his hand around my neck.
“I waited for you,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.
There was a scream on my lips, but he tightened his grasp on my throat.
“Let go!” I hissed. But then the vice around my neck tightened again and a bright light shined in my eyes, blinding me. I closed my eyes tight against the glare.
“There you are. Now I can see you.”
I reached up and pulled on his arm, digging my fingernails into him, but he didn’t flinch, only tightened his grip on my neck, closing off my airway.
I struggled against him, kicking back at him, but he was too strong for me.
&nb
sp; “Please, Denilyn, please. I don’t want to hurt you,” he seemed to plead. “Just let me look at you.”
Panic surged as my head began to swim without air. I stopped fighting, willed my body to relax, or at least go limp, so he’d let go of me or loosen his grip.
For just a second, his hand moved off my throat and I gasped, sucking air into my lungs. Then his arm was around my neck and he pulled me back against him. “I won’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered again, his voice hoarse, his tone oddly gentle.
I breathed in and out, filling my lungs again and again. As I did, he seemed to bury his face in my hair and breathe deeply.
I shuddered. He would kill me. He’d come to kill me.
With his arm still looped around my neck, he shifted behind me, and even with my eyes closed, the light shone bright again.
“Open your eyes, Denilyn. Open your pretty eyes.” He tightened his arm around my neck. “Let me see your eyes,” he whispered.
I squinted against the beam of light until he moved it so it wasn’t directly in my eyes. “You’re pretty. So pretty.”
“Please… please”—I whimpered—“let me go.”
“Let you go?” He sounded confused. “I’ve just gotten you. We’re finally alone together. This is what we’ve wanted. Just the two of us.”
My pulse roared in my ears. Think. Focus. I needed to focus.
I nodded.
“That’s right. That’s why you took that picture of me. You wanted my picture. You’re the only one who’s ever wanted my picture. I didn’t understand. That’s why I ran. But now I know. I know.”
I swallowed. “Ye… Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.” His hold on me relaxed but just barely. “I… I wanted to… remember you.”
“I have your picture. On the back of that book. So pretty.”
I bit my lip and nodded again. “Thank you.” Oh God, please, please…
His arm slackened a bit more, and I moved slightly, turning toward him. But as I did, he pulled his arm tight against my neck again.
“I… want to see… you.” A wave of nausea flowed over me, and I was sure I’d be sick. I took a deep breath and the sensation ebbed. “May I…” I tried again to turn toward him rather than pull away from him.
He loosened his arm, and with the hand that still held the flashlight, he nudged me around so that I was locked in a face-to-face embrace, of sorts, with him. Sweat snaked down my spine.
“Look at me,” he urged. “Look at me.” He dropped his arm from around my neck, stepped back, and lifted my chin.
Each breath I took was labored, my heart pounded, and the dark was dizzying, disorienting. Focus. Stay focused. I had to focus.
I slowly lifted my hands and reached for his waist, where I rested my hands. Then I took a slow step back, as if to see him better.
I stood still for a moment as he brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. Again, nausea threatened. I closed my eyes and waited for it to pass. Then I opened them again. The flashlight hung down at his side, its light bouncing off the floor, distorting his face. But I forced myself to stay still. To look at him. For just a moment longer.
Then in one fast move, I pushed him away from me with all my strength, hoping he’d fall backward. Then I spun around, intending to run for the open garage door and to one of the neighbor’s houses.
I took a step, then another, I’d make it.
I would.
But just before I reached the door, a loud crack sounded somewhere, and pain… searing pain…
I felt myself falling…
Falling…
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Denilyn
March 3, 2017
As I pull into a parking spot at the Roseville Galleria, I check the clock on the dash. I have twenty minutes until I meet Jaylan for a late afternoon cup of coffee at a new place just outside the mall. I have just enough time to run into the mall to purchase a small birthday gift for Jay—something I should have done days ago.
I get out of the car, lock it, then begin the long walk from the parking lot toward the mall. Though I prefer small boutiques over the bustle of the large shopping center, there’s a shop in the mall that I know Jay favors. As I reach the crosswalk leading to the department store I’ll enter through, my phone rings, but rather than dig through my purse for the phone, I decide to let the call go to voice mail. I walk into the warmth of the store, where a lilting melody from a grand piano sets a luxuriant tone. I slow my pace as I cross the store, taking in the array of rich colors, designs, and a shoe department that seems to span at least half of the ground floor of the store. When my phone rings again a few minutes later, I stop and pull the phone from my purse to make sure the call isn’t important.
When I see that it’s my mother, I answer. She rarely calls during the day unless necessary. “Hi, what’s up?”
“Deni, I need you to meet me at the vet.”
The urgency in her tone startles me. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to come now!”
“Mom, what? What happened to Max?” I turn around and jog back the way I came, shoppers staring at me as I go. “Is he okay? What happened?”
“Just get here, Denilyn. I’m here now. I have to go.” With that, she hangs up.
When I reach the crosswalk again, I look quickly, then run across the street, not waiting for the signal to change.
After making a quick call to Jay to cancel our plans and what feels like an interminable drive to the veterinary clinic through Friday afternoon traffic, I pull into the lot, park, and then rush inside. I stop at the reception desk. “Excuse me.” I step in front of a woman with a cocker spaniel on a leash. “I’m sorry—it’s an emergency.” I look at the receptionist. “I’m Denilyn Rossi. My mother brought my dog—”
“Yes, Ms. Rossi. Follow me, please.” The receptionist is up and around the reception desk before I’ve finished my sentence.
“Is he okay? What happened?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything. You’ll have to talk to Dr. Campbell.”
She leads me to one of the examination rooms. When I enter, my mother is seated, Max is on the examination table, and Dr. Campbell is leaning over him, listening to his heart. One of the veterinary aides is holding Max in place.
The space is tight, so I go and stand where I can see Max but not be in the way. He’s conscious, which offers me some reassurance. “Is he okay?”
When Max hears my voice, he lifts his head, looks at me, and wags his tail. Dr. Campbell pulls the stethoscope from his ears, steps back, and motions for me to move forward so I can see my dog. I step up and rest my hand on his head. “Hey buddy,” I whisper. I turn and look back at my mom and then at Dr. Campbell. “What happened?”
“He’s a very fortunate dog. Your mother took action immediately and probably saved his life. I think he’ll be fine. We’ll administer an activated charcoal treatment, and then we’ll want to keep him overnight to watch for signs of kidney failure, just in case.”
“Kidney failure?”
Dr. Campbell steps forward again, “Let’s get him off the table, then we’ll leave you two to talk.” It takes both Dr. Campbell and his aide to lift Max.
The aide attaches his leash to his collar again and hands it to me. “You can have a moment with him. I’ll come back for him so we can treat him.”
When they’ve left, my Mom puts her hand on my shoulder. I see something in her eyes that frightens me. “What…?”
“Denilyn, he was poisoned. Someone…”
She begins to tremble, and I know that whatever happened is just hitting her. Adrenaline got her this far, but now… “Mom, here, sit back down.” I lead her back to the bench along the wall of the examination room and help her sit. Max lies at her feet, obviously tired from whatever he’s gone through.
I hand the leash to my mom, then go to the small sink in the room where there’s a stack of paper cups. I fill one with water and take it back to her. I wait as she takes
a few sips. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “Oh Deni, I was so afraid.” She takes another sip of water, then hands the cup back to me. “I’d let Max outside, and you know how he is—he hates to be away from us at all. So when he didn’t come back in a few minutes, I went to the door to look for him. He was near the back of the yard, and it looked like he was eating something, which was odd. So I went out to take a look.” She rests her hand on her heart. “There was a dish—one of those aluminum dog dishes—with food in it. He’d just found it, I assume, because he hadn’t eaten it all, and you know how fast he goes through a dish of food. Anyway, I shooed him away so I could take a look. I knew I hadn’t put that dish there. I noticed a greenish residue, like maybe something had been poured on the food. Then I noticed something had spilled on the concrete footing of the wall—a thick, neon-green liquid. It was antifreeze. I just knew it was antifreeze. You know that’s toxic for dogs and cats.” Her words come in a rushed jumble. “I picked up that dish and made my way back to the house as fast as I could, making sure Max was following me. I called the vet as soon as I got inside. The gal I spoke with told me to give Max hydrogen peroxide to make him vomit—she told me exactly how much to give him based on his weight. I added it to a little water in his dish, then added some beef broth, just like she’d suggested. He lapped it right up, and I took him back outside where he did just as she told me he’d do—he vomited, more than once. Thank, God. Then I got him into the car…” She grabs my hand and holds it tight. “If I hadn’t found him when I did—if I hadn’t seen what he’d eaten—I’d never have known. He would have died. Suffered, mind you, and then, almost certainly, he’d have…” Her eyes are damp and she sniffs. She reaches in the pocket of her sweater and pulls out a tissue and wipes her eyes and nose. “I am so angry!” She spits out at last. “Between what’s happened to you, and now this, I am just so angry!”
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