He couldn’t help but smile at her. She was such a lovely, beautiful woman. “Can you stand and walk?”
Clare’s eyes moved to her husband. Bob nodded, stood, and helped Clare to her feet. “It’s all right, darling. We need to go to the house.”
Clare obeyed, but she wasn’t all there. The blow to the head had short-circuited some neural pathways.
No one spoke on the walk from the barn to the house. The sun making its way up in the sky, swallows flitting around the barn’s roof, a gentle breeze playing through the corn fields—it was a perfect day on the farm. Perfect for Mitch, not so much for the Appletons. Or for Cody Wisner, Agricultural Consultant.
When they reached the front door, Mitch allowed Bob and Clare to enter first. “Head for the cellar, folks, and go on down.”
They obeyed without a word or struggle. They respected him.
Once in the cellar Mitch took a length of rope and tied them both to the thick leg of the workbench. “You’ll need to stay here for a while.” He looked at them both and found fear and uncertainty in their eyes. “Don’t worry; I have no intention of hurting either of you. That’s not why I’m here. In fact, up until an hour ago I was going to kill both of you, but you so impressed me with your integrity and respect for each other that I changed my mind.”
His plan had been to remove the Appletons and inhabit their home while he completed his work. He knew them to be independent people with few friends and no family in the area. The farm would provide a secluded respite from this world and a comfortable escape to another one.
He smiled at them, a genuine smile, for he genuinely liked them. “And you live to love another day.”
Bob lifted his head. “What are your plans for us?”
“My plans don’t include you at all. They’re much grander than one old couple living on a remote farm. But because I’ve chosen to allow you to live, it’s going to mean more work for me. For the next week you and Clare will live here in the cellar.”
“And then what?” Bob’s voice quivered ever so slightly. He knew they were on borrowed time.
“Then . . . well, let’s just get through the next seven days, and then we’ll see where we are.”
Chapter 11
ALICIA SIMPSON LEANED in close to the mirror and touched her left cheekbone. A dark charcoal shadow, rimmed in red, surrounded her bloodshot eye. The area below the eye socket was the color of raw meat and puffy. Derek had been at it again last night, and she was lucky he didn’t break anything. She’d already called in sick, knowing there was no way that makeup could completely mask her black eye.
She opened the medicine cabinet and reached for the Oxy-Contin to ease her thumping headache. Closing it again, she faced her disfigured reflection and barely recognized the woman staring back at her. Her nose was slightly off-center, and the right side of her mouth drooped ever so slightly. Both the handiwork of Derek’s temper. Booze always brought out the worst in him, and she didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.
Alicia set the bottle of painkillers on the sink. Her hand trembled and tears welled in her eyes. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take of this. Her nerves were frayed like worn threads; she lived in fear of the man she thought she loved. Her mother told her two years ago that she could do better than Derek, that she needed to find a man who would love her and take care of her. But Alicia didn’t deserve anyone like that. Not two years ago and certainly not today. No one else would want her now, not with all the baggage she lugged around. That was one thing about Derek; he looked past all that and said he loved her anyway.
So why didn’t she feel loved? Was love supposed to be like this? She was scared and lonely. She hated her own reflection, the sound of her own voice. Her thoughts plagued her, thoughts of violence and shame and embarrassment. Thoughts of suicide. Is that the way love was supposed to be?
Derek told her he loved her, sure, when they were doing it, but that was the only time. When he was sober, he mostly read his books and kept to himself. When he wasn’t home with her, he was out with his buddies—Rod, Buddy, and Jason—hitting the clubs and probably cheating on her. He’d come home smelling like alcohol, looking for a fight. And she, stupid woman that she was, didn’t know how to keep her trap shut and just let him talk. She knew he didn’t mean any of it when he called her a lazy whore, when he said she didn’t respect him and never would. She would protest, defend herself, and that only got him angrier. Eventually the fists would start flying, and the next thing she knew she was lying on the floor in a puddle of blood with another broken bone or colorful shiner to add to her collection.
The OxyContin seemed to be calling her name, beckoning her to come and take part in its painless escape. It was her ticket out of this hell. She could down the whole bottle with a fifth of whiskey, fall asleep, and never wake up. How would Derek like that?
She slammed the cabinet shut, took one last look at her image in the mirror, grabbed the bottle, and headed for the kitchen. She was going to do it. It was time to end this nightmare.
In the kitchen, under the sink, she found the bottle of Jack Daniels. Derek always kept a healthy stash in the apartment. She unscrewed the cap and held the mouth of the bottle to her nose, drew in a long breath. The odor stung her nose but enticed her as well; it was a genie with the power to grant wishes in one hand and a double-edged dagger in the other. It was ironic, she thought, that the very vice that had caused her so much pain and heartache was the same thing that would bring freedom and rest. She took a swig, swallowed hard, felt the burn in the back of her throat. Immediately she started to warm, to relax.
Next was the bottle of pills. The top was one of those safety jobs, but it came off easily. There were a dozen or so left from last month when Derek knocked out three of her teeth. She told the dentist she’d been mugged walking home from work. With the whiskey a dozen should be enough to do the job. She dumped the contents of the bottle into her palm and stared at the pills. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She was really going to do this, wasn’t she? She wasn’t going to write any note pointing the finger at Derek, wasn’t going to say good-bye to her mother. Wasn’t going to pay the month’s rent or turn off the appliances. It would be as if she existed one moment and didn’t the next. That was it. And the sad thing was, with the exception of her mom, no one would miss her. She was totally expendable.
The pills loomed in her palm and suddenly looked the size of grapes. There was no way she could swallow all twelve at once. But if she separated them she might have second thoughts about finishing them off. She had to do it quickly, just toss them into her mouth, take a huge swig of the JD, and swallow at once.
But she couldn’t. Something stopped her. Her hand trembled; the sweating increased. Her breathing grew shallow and rapid. She was panicking. She couldn’t do it. She wanted to, oh, how she wanted to end this misery, but her will to survive was greater.
She looked around the kitchen trying to find something, anything, that would give her cause to stay this execution, but there was nothing of any worth, either monetarily or sentimentally. Everything she had she’d purchased with her own money. The refrigerator held no photos of good times with Derek, of cute nieces or nephews, of graduation photos or colorful child artwork. There was one magnet she’d picked up at the grocery store. Looking past the kitchen and out into the living room was no different. No fond memories offered rescue. She saw Derek hollering at her, belittling her, hitting her. She saw herself, lying on the floor, hugging the carpet, covering her head, hoping Derek had had enough and didn’t start kicking. Her life was meaningless, so why was this so difficult? She stared at the pills again, and they mocked her cowardice. She was too weak to even take control of her own death.
Alicia cursed and jammed the pills back into the bottle. She turned on the water from the kitchen sink and stuck her hands under it, cupped some of the cold liquid and splashed her face. She had to get out of there, go somewhere and think. Back to the bathroom she went to dry her face and cover the brui
se with as much foundation as it would take.
She had to get out of the apartment, away from its destructiveness, even if for only a few hours.
Chapter 12
AFTER PICKING UP a few outfits for Louisa at the local JC Penney and running some errands of his own to the hardware store and auto supplier, Jim took the child to the Red Wing Diner for lunch. Their hot dogs were famous all over Rock-ingham County.
The diner was not unlike any other small-town eatery where locals gathered to catch up on local news and gossip, where political positions were waxed eloquently and world annihilation was avoided on a daily basis. Booths populated the floor space, and along the far wall was a counter that stretched from one end of the building to the other. Beyond the counter were the soda, iced tea, and milk machines, shelves of glasses and pitchers, and two swinging doors with round windows in each. The place smelled of cooking meat, frying oil, and onions.
Jim and Louisa stood at the entrance, her in her new jeans and long-sleeve T-shirt. She looked more like a regular kid now instead of an angel dropped from heaven.
The diner was slow this Monday, but already they’d caught the attention of the few patrons. Jim knew most of the folks and nodded hello to them. Word spreads fast in a small town, and already most of Virginia Mills had no doubt heard of the little girl who showed up at Jake Tucker’s burning home. “Well, kiddo, where do you want to sit? Take your pick.”
Louisa surveyed the empty booths. “How about on the stools?”
Of course the counter was lined with barstools, and every kid loved to spin on the stools. “Great idea.”
They found seats at the counter, and Louisa immediately had to try the spinning action. They turned smoothly, without a single squeak. Someone had taken the time to grease them properly.
Within seconds Angela, the waitress, was there with two menus.
Jim waved off the menus. “No need for them, Angela. I’ll have the Fat Boy platter, and Louisa here will have the hot dog special. Both with the largest, coldest Cokes you have.”
Angela smiled big. A middle-aged, single mom, she’d worked at the diner for as long as Jim could remember. “Nice to meet you, Louisa,” she said. “Your friend Jake was in here not too long ago. Just got out of the hospital and said he wanted some real food. He told me how you helped him last night. That was very brave of you.”
Louisa shifted her eyes uncomfortably, glanced at Jim then back at Angela. “Thank you. He needed my help.” She said it like she’d helped him carry the trash to the curb instead of kept him from the doorstep of death.
“Well,” Angela said, “you’re a hero in my book. This world could sure use more kids like you.” She placed her hand on Louisa’s and winked. “Jim and Amy will take good care of you as long as they need to. And as long as you’re in town, the food in here is on the house.”
She left to get the drinks, and Louisa turned to Jim. “What does ‘on the house’ mean?”
“It means you get to eat for free. You’ve got VIP status now.
You’re a celebrity.”
“I’m just a kid.”
“A kid who helped save Jake Tucker’s life, and around here Jake Tucker is a legend. So that makes you a celebrity.”
She thought about that for a second then said, “Do you think anyone will ask for my autograph?”
“You never know.”
“If they do, I’ll just have to sign my first name.” She paused while she scanned the shelves beyond the counter. “On second thought, I don’t think I want to be a celebrity. I’m just a kid.”
Angela returned with the Cokes and set them on the counter. “Your food will be right up.”
“Thanks, Angela,” Jim said.
Louisa looked around the diner, spun a 360 on the stool, then said, “Mr. Jim, why is everyone looking at me?”
“It goes with being a celebrity, kiddo. Get used to it. Just be glad the paparazzi isn’t knocking down the doors to get in here and snap pictures of you stuffing a hot dog in your mouth. That would be most unflattering.”
She smiled and took a sip of her Coke. “What’s a poppa rocksy?”
“Paparazzi. They’re the people who make big money taking pictures of celebrities in embarrassing situations.”
“Like stuffing hot dogs in their face?”
“For some that would be embarrassing. For others it’s how they make a living.”
She laughed. “That’s crazy.”
“You have no idea.” Jim decided to take advantage of the relaxed atmosphere. “Hey, do you remember anything other than your name and age yet?”
She thought for a moment then shook her head. “Nope.”
“Nothing? No memories of when you were younger, of school, of your mom and dad, movies, friends?”
“No. I try to think back, but there’s nothing there to think about.”
“What about foods? Any foods you know you don’t like?”
She gave him a blank stare.
“How about asparagus? You like asparagus?” Jim thought if he could jog her memory about something, anything, it may open the door for more memories to start slipping through.
She shrugged.
“Broccoli? All kids hate broccoli.”
Another shrug. “I probably don’t like it.”
He was leading her; he shouldn’t do that.
“Okay, what about your parents. Do you know their names?”
“Mom and Dad?”
“Their real names, first names, pet names, anything.”
“I don’t remember if we have any pets.”
Jim smiled. “Pet names are things your parents call each other rather than their real name. Like Pumpkin or Lovey or Cookie or—”
“Snickerdoodle?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Did your parents call each other Snicker-doodle?”
Louisa shrugged again. “I don’t know. I just like how it sounds. Do you think they’re looking for me?”
“Of course they’re looking for you. If you were my daughter, I’d be blowing the phones up calling newspapers and TV stations and everyone I could think of to find you.”
“Then why did the policeman say he hasn’t heard anything yet?”
She was an observant child, smart too. She didn’t miss much. How could parents abandon such a child as this? And if they hadn’t, where were they? They should be busting every outlet they knew to get the word out about their missing daughter. “Sometimes these things take time to get organized. He’ll hear something soon; I’m sure of it.” Only he wasn’t sure of it, and the question nagged in the back of his mind: What if her parents never show up? What then? He and Amy couldn’t have children, might she be open to the possibility of adopting . . .
“I do remember one thing,” she said.
“What’s that?”
Angela returned with two plates and put them in front of Jim and Louisa. “Here ya go, you two. Anything else I can get you?”
“Looks great, Angela,” Jim said. “I think we’re good. Thanks.”
She walked away, and Jim turned his attention back to Louisa, ignoring the double-stacked hamburger with its special sauce on the plate before him. “What is it, Louisa? What do you remember?”
“My birthday.”
Her birth date would be invaluable information for Chief Miller. A spark of hope lit in Jim, but with it came a shadow of disappointment. He wanted nothing more than for Louisa to be reunited with her parents, to be happily home again, but there was a part of him, pushed way back into a dark crevice of his heart where it would stay, that now hoped she wouldn’t be claimed. She was everything in a daughter he ever wanted . . .
“When is it so I can send you a birthday card?”
“January twenty-first.”
Jim’s heart thudded, skipped, thudded again.
January twenty-first had been Amy’s due date.
Chapter 13
SITTING BEHIND THE wheel of her well-used Nissan Sentra, Alicia still contemplated her own death. The
pills took too much time, too much willpower. The thought crossed her mind to run her car into a tree. The stretch she was on was lined with tall, thick-trunked oaks and maples. It wouldn’t take much to stomp on the accelerator, take the Sentra to eighty or ninety, and steer the car into a sudden, deadly collision with an immovable object. Thing was, though, she wasn’t a good enough driver to spin the car so the driver’s-side door met the tree, and knowing her luck, she’d hit it square on, deploying the air bags. She’d walk away with nothing more than some bruises and brush burns and a one-way ticket to the nuthouse.
She rolled down all four windows and filled the car with fresh, cool air. She was getting panicky again and needed to get her mind off of death. It served no purpose. A question surfaced then as it always did, like a whale coming up for air and making itself known. On the surface it was just a question, innocent enough, but like that whale, beneath the surface there was so much more to it, so much more to contemplate, so much more the very inquiry said about her as a person.
If life with Derek was so bad, why didn’t she just leave him?
Yes, why didn’t she?
Her answer came quickly as it always did: because he loved her and she loved him. It was complicated, their life, their love. He only beat her when he’d been drinking, and most of the time she instigated it, pushed him too far. She didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. The last time they talked about it, he apologized, told her how much he loved her and hated himself for hurting her, but that sometimes she had it coming. And she couldn’t disagree. And the fact was, he could have left her at any time and found another woman, a better woman, more attractive, more successful. But he’d stuck with her because he loved her. She couldn’t walk out on that.
And where would she go anyway? The thought of being alone ripped holes in her heart. She couldn’t be alone. She didn’t do alone very well. But nobody else would want her; she had nothing to offer. She lugged so much baggage around with her she’d scare off any suitor in a matter of minutes. And she couldn’t move back in with her mother. For one thing, her mother now lived halfway across the country in Kansas with her new boyfriend. She was happy, finally, and Alicia didn’t want to ruin that by intruding on her new life and bringing all her rain clouds with her.
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