Stolen Prophet: A Horror Supernatural Thriller (The Prophet's Mother Book 1)
Page 13
Strands of dark hair had escaped the confines of her cap. The tip of her nose had reddened and her lips seemed to struggle to form words. Her disappointment was obvious. “Yeah, we dated. I mean, it wasn’t that serious but we were headed that way, I think.” She smiled in a manner that made her sexier. “I thought I’d figured out a way to tame you, but then you were gone.”
Harry shrugged, again apologetically. “I’m sorry, Luce. After the accident, I sort of lost a year.”
She raised the camera, snapped a few pictures at nothing in particular. She added, “I tried to visit you in the hospital after the accident, but she was already there and…I dunno, I guess I was a little afraid of her.”
Harry tried to recall something, anything about the car accident. His efforts turned the thread of pain in his brain into a steel band. New pressure behind his eyes forced him to grind his teeth. “She?”
Lucy talked as if she hadn’t heard the questioning lift in his voice. “I don’t know how to say this, but there is no record of you being in a car accident. I mean, did you ever look for your file? Or talk to your insurance company?”
Harry massaged his temples with his thumb and middle finger. The steel band turned into barbed wire and cranked up the nausea in his stomach. He was afraid that he would spew on Lucy’s shoes.
Lucy continued. “I did some serious digging to find out what happened to you. I mean, I couldn’t find any records of a collision involving you or your car. What I did find out was that your car was sold the same day you were admitted into the hospital.”
She leaned in close. “Your attending physician was Mason’s wife. Did you know that? Don’t you think it’s odd that before you were assigned as his partner, his wife was your doctor? I mean, you go into the hospital a patrolman and you come out a detective?” She said with an incredulous flair, “What the fuck?”
Her eyes darted about before locking with his. “I started to get a little paranoid. I thought I was being watched, so I had to stop digging. I wish I could’ve found answers for you, but you seemed to be doing fine and I was scared.” She lowered her voice, “I’m still scared.”
Harry’s interest swept past Lucy. His partner, his best friend, father to his goddaughters, apparently had changed his mind. He was just outside the SUV, hand on the door, and staring at them.
Harry knew his partner. He knew that look. Mason was going to come over, and soon, so he said, “We don’t have much time. You found this shit out a long time ago, why are you telling me now?”
Lucy saw Mason confidently stride over before he was intercepted by Tommy who grabbed his arm and jabbed a finger in his face.
Mason yelled, “Not your call, Tommy! You ain’t the lead on this one! You guys had media all over the place and you can’t get what? Do I have to do everything for you?”
Harry used to intervene when those two clashed. Today he could’ve kissed Tommy’s ass. He needed Lucy to keep talking. Somehow her words were like a foghorn in a grey mist. He grabbed her when she tried to scamper off. She looked up at him somewhat distraught, no, terrified. He pleaded, “I need to know who I am, Luce.”
She seemed to weigh her choices and then she leaned in close and whispered, “I lost you to another woman. I think we both lost you to that accident. I could tell after a few conversations that you didn’t remember a lot. But you were doing so well with your career that I didn’t want to get painted as a crazy stalker bitch, so I backed off.”
“And you were scared.”
She nodded and looked away.
He asked again, “So why are you bringing this up now?”
Lucy appeared stunned. “What? You don’t remember her either? I wasn’t sure. When I heard Victor was missing, I wanted to give you my condolences. I don’t know why she did it, but I just can’t believe the Lieutenant put you on this case.”
Harry choked down a rising crest of bitterness. His eyes glazed over and then focused on Mason who anchored him with a guilty expression. “Lucy, you can’t be telling me this.”
She was on the verge of tears. “Harry, you left me for Evelyn…Evelyn Adamson. I didn’t get so much as a goodbye. You were just gone. Have you really looked at the boy? My God, he looks just like you!” Her eyes began tearing.
The world swerved. His nose leaked. He rubbed the fluid pooled on his upper lip and saw blood.
He didn’t have a son, he would’ve known. Somehow, he would’ve known.
Lucy asked, “Are you okay?”
Mason clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Damn man, you bleeding? I don’t have any nose tampons.” He said to Lucy, his demeanor suddenly sinister, “Scat, lab rat.”
Lucy did just that. She ran.
Mason asked, “You okay, partner?”
When Harry wiped his nose again, his hand came away clean. “I’m starting to feel like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Every time I try to think about the accident, or the year before the accident, my reward is pain. Better not to think about it, right?”
Mason laughed. “You hear the old joke about the patient that told the doctor ‘Every time I drink coffee, my eye hurts?’ The doctor says ‘Take the spoon out of the cup.’ Okay, not that funny, but I say stop thinking about the accident and you’ll stop hurting.”
Harry pushed Mason’s hand off his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Mason said, “I’m not the enemy.”
Harry asked, “Who is she to you?”
Mason laughed, “What you talking about?”
Harry felt the pencil inside his pocket and squeezed it just enough to keep it from snapping in half. “I have a son, and you’ve known? All these years you’ve known? That’s not possible, right, but it’s true?”
Harry was a mere second from going atomic. He got into Mason’s face. The pain of betrayal in his heart matched the agony in his head. He said through clenched teeth, “We’re going to talk to her now!”
Mason was frank. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“What is it you know that I don’t?”
Mason said, finally, “More.”
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The End
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About the Author
Julian Coleman is my pseudonym. I’m not really hiding behind an assumed name. Julia is the first name of one grandmother, and Coleman is the maiden last name of the other. It’s my way of honoring the strong women who came before me. In reality, I’m not made of the “same stuff”. They each were the proud, resilient and resourceful mothers of ten children (two of Grandma Coleman’s were stillbirths). I only had one and well…need I say more?
My nightmares — actually night terrors — made me feel weird and alone as a child. I thought everyone suffered from cringe-worthy terrors where the lines of wakefulness and sleep were blurred. Facebook and Twitter friends have shared their nightmares and night terrors with me. I’m grateful. Now, I’m not so alone. That’s a good feeling.
I would like for you to keep in touch. You can visit my website and check out my blog: http://www.JulianColeman.net
Email: JulianMColeman@gmail.com
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