Charlotte's Homecoming

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Maybe, just maybe, she’d needed the ten years away from home and her sister to discover who she was aside from an identical twin. But being home again also reminded her of how much she’d lost when she wrenched herself free.

  There was no going back.

  Would she also come to regret pushing Gray away out of a fear that felt uncomfortably similar?

  THAT EVENING, FAITH BUBBLED about the miraculous sale and, when they went upstairs to bed, startled Charlotte with a quick hug and a murmured “Thanks,” before they split off to their separate bedrooms.

  Charlotte was surprised to realize that needing her was disconcerting Faith. Everything about their relationship these days seemed to trip them up, as if they were so busy dancing out of each other’s way, they were instead constantly stepping on each other’s feet and stubbing toes.

  She went to bed feeling a little better. Difficult didn’t mean impossible. Maybe they could save the farm. Maybe she and Faith could become friends. Truly sisters. Faith, Charlotte thought gratefully, would be better at forgiveness than she’d have been in her sister’s place.

  Faith relaxed with Charlotte as the week went on, and even Dad’s mood improved. Business was better, and they had all regained some hope.

  The gray tinge disappeared from Dad’s skin tone, and he got out of bed more easily. He was becoming more adept with the crutches, too. He admitted he had cut his daytime pain meds in half and was glad to feel less muddled.

  Gray didn’t call or come by. He had taken her at her word, which made her more miserable than she’d believed possible. Ben did phone once and gave Faith a clipped report.

  “No news,” she said, her face revealing none of the distress she must feel at his retreat.

  Creep, Charlotte thought, even though she knew she was being a hypocrite. She’d hurt her sister more than Ben ever could.

  She found herself more restless every night. She’d never needed as much sleep as Faith did—that was one thing that had made them different from the very beginning. Mom had said that Charlotte’s naps were always shorter than Faith’s, and she gave them up altogether much sooner than her sister did. But this restlessness was something more. The worries that she kept pushing down were shoving their way back up again, but refused to present themselves tidily one by one.

  Gray’s voice, somber rather than mocking as she would have expected it to be: Only you can tell me that. Faith saying, I’ve always missed you, making Charlotte remember the expression on her sister’s face the day she’d announced that she wanted her own bedroom.

  Dad, revealing himself as grim and seemingly hopeless however he might have hidden his unhappiness since the night he’d said he thought it was time to sell out.

  Rory… What would he do next?

  It was Rory who kept her awake. These past few days, she could all but feel him out there, with a prickling sense that it was only a matter of time before he attacked again.

  When? she wondered, and flipped over in bed.

  Despite the open window and the small fan she had running at the foot of the bed, Charlotte felt hot and sticky. She wished for rain, then made a face and un-wished it. She had no idea how the corn maze would stand up to a serious summer storm. The air felt like there ought to be one, though—too sultry. She imagined the hairs on her arms prickling with electricity in the atmosphere, and she listened to the quiet as though thunder would rumble through it any minute.

  Ugh, what a mood! Disgusted with herself, she got up and went to stand at the window for a minute, savoring the cool air. It was hot only inside, no surprise when the day’s heat was trapped here upstairs. Hoping she wouldn’t wake Faith, Charlotte padded silently down the hall without turning on the light.

  Stepping into the shower, she started with lukewarm water and gradually adjusted it to cool and finally to flat-out, teeth-chattering cold. She was actually shivering when she stepped out, which felt fabulous. A minute later, a towel wrapping her wet hair, she opened the bathroom door and reached back for the light switch.

  At a whisper of movement, her pulse leaped into overdrive, zero to sixty in under a second.

  “You knew I’d be back, didn’t you, bitch?” snarled the man materializing out of the darkness.

  She started to whirl back toward the bathroom before thinking, Oh God, Faith. The bathroom door might lock, but Faith’s bedroom door didn’t.

  Too late, anyway.

  In the band of light from the bathroom she saw the knife Rory gripped and the rage that twisted his face.

  She had no time to evade him. He slammed her into the door frame, a guttural sound escaping his throat. Someone was screaming. She drove her knee toward his groin and felt it connect instead with the solid bulk of thigh muscle. The backhand of his fist smashed into her cheek, and her head, buffered only by the towel, cracked against the frame. Charlotte’s vision misted and her knees sagged, but she kept fighting.

  Pain sliced her shoulder. The knife. God, had he stabbed her? She staggered backward into the bathroom, just enough to open space between them, then put everything she had into a kick that connected this time.

  Bellowing, he almost fell. Crashed backward against the wall next to Faith’s now open bedroom door. Holding a baseball bat in her hands, Faith stood in the opening, yelling.

  Caught in the light from the bathroom, the knife in his hand red with her blood, Rory didn’t seem to have noticed Faith. He was staring at Charlotte with shock. Not at her face—at her hair, dyed dark. The towel had fallen off.

  “It was supposed to be her,” he said hoarsely.

  Downstairs, Dad bellowed, “The police are coming!”

  Rory gave a wild look over his shoulder.

  Some devil made Charlotte taunt him. “Disappointed it’s me? Or do you want to kill me, too?”

  Faith stepped out of the bedroom. Her expression was wild. She screamed, “I’m here, Rory.” She jiggled the bat, warming up. “Come and get me.”

  Like the coward he was, he broke and ran. No, hobbled by Charlotte’s last kick, he was bent over as he crashed down the stairs.

  Gripping the door frame, Charlotte waited for the pounding of his running feet to reach the back of the house. The back door and screen to bang.

  And then, in slow motion, unable to prevent it, she felt herself fold up and collapse to the floor, her cheek coming to rest on the hall carpet. The last thing she saw before she passed out was her sister’s terrified face, inches from hers; the last thing she heard was Faith’s voice, though she was past making out words.

  No, Charlotte thought hazily—she heard a siren, too.

  THE FIRST RING OF THE TELEPHONE had Gray rearing up in bed, heart slamming, before he realized what had awakened him. Groaning, he reached for the phone.

  “Van Dusen.”

  “Wheeler here.” The police chief’s voice was taut. “One of my officers just called. Hardesty broke into the Russells’ place tonight. Charlotte’s hurt. The EMTs are already there, and Cooper says they’re rushing her to the hospital. I’m on my way to the farm right now.”

  “How bad?” Gray asked, his voice nobody’s he recognized.

  “I don’t know. Just that she’s unconscious.” He paused. “There’s a knife wound.”

  Swearing, more scared than he could ever remember being, he was already pulling on jeans. “I’m on my way to the hospital. You’ll be there?”

  “After I talk to Faith and their father.”

  “Nobody’s with Charlotte?”

  “They don’t usually let anyone ride along in the ambulance.”

  In the act of pulling a shirt over his head, Gray hung up the phone.

  God. He’d known it would come to this.

  It occurred to him as he snatched his keys and wallet from the dresser top that Wheeler hadn’t said whether Rory was safely handcuffed in the back of the first responding officer’s car.

  He ascended the stairs two at a time and was backing out of the garage within a minute of snapping his cell phone
shut. The idea of Charlotte at the hospital without anyone who cared about her made him sick. Was Faith hurt, too? Or just too shaken up to drive herself? Or—hell—did she think she couldn’t leave her father?

  Ignoring speed limits, it still took Gray ten minutes from his river-bluff home to reach the small community hospital on the other side of town. The visitors’ lot was deserted at this time of night, so he was able to park close to the emergency entrance. He raced in and said to the nurse behind the counter, “Charlotte Russell.”

  “I believe they may have her in X-ray, Mayor. Let me check.”

  She lifted her phone, dialed and spoke quietly. He stood absolutely still, adrenaline rocketing through him. He wanted to lunge across the counter and grab the goddamn phone out of her hand.

  Hanging up, she said, “If you want to speak to her doctor, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until he’s reviewed her films.”

  “I want to see her,” Gray said roughly.

  “She’s still up in X-ray.” More cautiously, she asked, “And, er, are you a family member?” Her eyes widened at his expression. “Ah…I’ll have the doctor come speak to you as soon as possible.”

  He couldn’t sit. He paced the otherwise empty waiting room, hands balled into fists in his jeans’ pockets to keep him from smashing one of them into a wall. He’d never felt such violent impulses before. And the fear, it curled deep in his gut, expanding as each minute dragged into the next and he imagined… God. The worst. Charlotte dying back there while he prowled uselessly out here. Her blood dripping onto the floor. Her face, milk pale, slack without the force of her personality animating it, her lids covering her vivid blue eyes.

  He turned at the sound of the swinging door, his tension jumping another notch.

  “Mayor?” The E.R. doc was only a few years older than Gray, although already balding. They’d played a round of golf together at a charity tournament just two months ago. “I understand you’re here because of Ms. Russell?”

  “Yes.” What the hell was his name? Steven. Steven something.

  “She has no family here yet?”

  “No. Just me.”

  Nolan. Steve Nolan. That was it.

  “And your relationship to Ms. Russell?” Dr. Nolan asked delicately.

  “We’re seeing each other,” Gray lied. Hell; literally, it wasn’t a lie. Or hadn’t been a lie, until this past week. “Chief Wheeler called me as soon as he heard. He knew…” Gray stopped, his throat closing.

  “Ah.” The doc’s face relaxed. “Well, she’s regained consciousness and seems lucid, so I imagine she’d like to have someone she knows at her side.” He half laughed. “I’ve met Faith. Amazing how much she and her sister look alike, isn’t it? One of the nurses says they’re identical twins.”

  “Yes.” What the hell difference did it make? He said urgently, “Wheeler said she was stabbed.”

  Nolan shook his head. “Sliced. There was a lot of blood, but the cut’s fairly shallow. We were more worried about a head injury. He punched her face, and then her head got slammed back against a door frame, which tend to be pretty solid in those old houses. She’s got quite a goose egg on the back of her head and she’s definitely concussed. We’ll be keeping her overnight at a minimum. I’m about to put some stitches in that cut, and unless she objects I don’t see why you can’t be there.”

  Gray scrubbed a hand across his face. “I want to be there.”

  The doctor clapped a hand on his back and steered him through the swinging doors.

  Gray had toured the hospital after he took office. He knew there were two emergency operating rooms back here and a dozen cubicles. In passing, he glanced into one where the curtain was partially pushed back and saw a woman cradling a sobbing toddler.

  “Ear infection,” Nolan murmured.

  The other curtains were closed. Gray heard no voices, nothing but the crying child. At the last cubicle, the doctor pulled back the curtain, mentioned something about being back in a few minutes and let Gray step in alone, his attention riveted on the woman lying utterly still on the narrow bed. Her eyes were closed, and her face…

  The fury rose in him like a tsunami, swamping every other emotion until it receded enough for him to breathe again.

  One side of her face was swollen and already purple. She wouldn’t be able to open that eye even if she wanted to.

  A sound escaped him. He couldn’t help it.

  Charlotte stirred, turned her head on the pillow and moaned. One eye opened a crack. “Gray,” she whispered, and suddenly tears slid down her cheeks.

  He wasn’t even conscious of taking the steps to reach her side, only that he was there, gripping her hand, wiping her tears away with his knuckle on the one cheek he dared touch.

  “I’m so sorry we didn’t stop him in time. So damn sorry,” he said. “I should have kept sleeping on the couch.”

  He thought she chuckled, but then she whimpered again because it had hurt. “I wasn’t exactly…welcoming,” she whispered.

  “I shouldn’t have let that stop me.”

  “Faith… Is she all right?”

  “As far as I know. I imagine she’ll be along once she gets your dad settled. Wheeler’s out there talking to them.”

  “My head hurts.”

  “Yeah.” He gently brushed her hair back from her forehead and realized it was spiky and wet. “It’s going to hurt for a while.”

  “He got in the house.”

  “I know.”

  “He thought I was Faith.” Her whisper was so faint he had to bend over to hear her, but she seemed to be driven by the need to tell him what happened. “I took a shower. I had a towel wrapped around my head.” One slender hand lifted as if she were going to gesture, then fell back atop the white blanket. “He had a knife.”

  The fear in Gray’s gut curled, snake-like. As if he were watching it on video, he saw her coming out of the bathroom, finding Rory Hardesty waiting in the hall with a knife in his hand. It was a miracle she wasn’t dead.

  “At home,” she whispered, “I do kickboxing.”

  Another time, he might have laughed. Trust Charlotte to kickbox instead of stair-stepping or doing aerobics in pink leotards.

  “I knew you’d fight.” He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her. One enveloped hers. The other cradled her face while his thumb moved over her uninjured cheek, stroking, stroking, feeling the delicacy of her bones and the satin of her skin, the lingering moisture. “Hardesty is a fool,” Gray said harshly.

  Her lips actually curved. “Faith came charging out of her bedroom with a baseball bat. You wouldn’t have recognized her.”

  “I’m glad to hear she’s got it in her.”

  “She’s…tough.” It was barely more than a sigh.

  God. God. His chest ached. All he could think was, Charlotte isn’t as tough as she wanted to believe she was. Hardesty hurt her. The son of a bitch hurt her.

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he murmured, the pad of his thumb finding her mouth with all the tenderness he felt.

  Quick footsteps sounded in the hall. They came faster and faster, breaking into a run. Then the curtains were shoved back with a rattle of the rings, and Faith all but flew into the cubicle.

  “Charlotte! Oh, no! Charlotte.”

  A sob erupted from Charlotte and, the next second, her sister was hugging her with exquisite care.

  Gray was aware of Wheeler standing there watching the reunion. Charlotte’s hand squirmed free from Gray’s so she could embrace her sister, cheek pressed to cheek.

  Feeling empty—no, bereft—he stepped back. She didn’t need him anymore, now that Faith was here. Why had he thought anything had changed?

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS STUPID TO FEEL EXTRANEOUS AND—damn it!—jealous just because Charlotte now had Faith here to hold her sister’s hand.

  He needed to talk to Wheeler anyway, find out whether Hardesty was in custody. He glanced at the police chief, who jerked his head toward the hall.

  But
when Gray took another step away, Charlotte’s head rolled on the pillow and her blue eye fastened on him with alarm.

  “Are you…are you leaving?”

  The jealousy faded and he felt… Oh, hell, like an even bigger idiot than before. But that wasn’t all he felt. Something that had been cramped in his chest almost from the day they met eased.

  He shook his head, smiling a little. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Faith had straightened to look at him and then down at her sister, her face a study in… He wasn’t quite sure.

  Charlotte swallowed. “You don’t have to…”

  “Yeah, I do,” he said softly.

  “Oh.” More tears leaked from her eyes, the one gazing at him as if she didn’t want to let him out of her sight, the other even more swollen than it had been when he’d first arrived. “Thank you,” she whispered, the words bumpy.

  “I’m going to go talk to Ben,” he said. “And then I’ll be right back to hold your hand while Dr. Nolan stitches you up.”

  “Oh, boy. That sounds like fun.”

  There was his Charlotte, trying to be peevish even when she didn’t have the spirit to actually grumble.

  The fact that she was able to make the attempt allowed him to smile again as he left the cubicle and followed Wheeler out to the still empty waiting room. Wheeler glanced at the nurse behind the counter and kept walking, through the automatic doors and outside where the night was cool and sharp.

  Gray’s smile was long gone by the time they faced each other at the curb where the ambulance had earlier unloaded Charlotte.

  “Tell me Hardesty is in custody.”

  Ben Wheeler shook his head, his fingers stabbing into his hair as if he wanted to yank it out. “Goddamn it, no. He’d disappeared by the time the first unit rolled in. He might have been hiding out there, but we couldn’t find him or his truck.”

  Gray let an obscenity escape. “I’ll kill him myself if you don’t get your hands on him first.”

  Wheeler gave him a dark look. “You know better than that.”