By the time I get to the waiting room, I’m fuming from head to toe, and my footsteps show it. I march right out the front door without waiting for Jonah, and slam my way into the rental car. He’s driving. There won’t be any arguments on that point because I’m too angry to drive. But I have an idea forming as he pulls his keys out of his pocket and slides in beside me.
“Take me to my father’s farmhouse.” I tell him over the pounding of the rain. He doesn’t ask me why, and I assume that he understands. The rest of the way we’re both silent as I try to rack my brain for where my father might hide a tape.
* * *
As we pull up to the farmhouse, I realize that something is off right away. It’s not the fact that the barn is missing, May’s barking is gone, or the fact that my father is not waiting for me out front anymore. No, it’s not even the lack of life outside of the home that makes my skin crawl. What severely bothers me is the fact that there is a light on in what used to be my bedroom. I put a hand on Jonah’s arm and point at the window wordlessly.
“Shit,” He mutters as he turns the car off quickly. I don’t see anyone through the window, but we’re too close for me to be able to see into the entire room. “Stay here, I’ll go check it out. Maybe we forgot to turn off a light.” I feel my bladder starting to feel full and shake my head.
“You’re not leaving me here!” I squeak at him with my finger digging into his arm. “What if whoever was in there is still in there and comes out? What if they have a gun and shoot me? Please, don’t leave me in here alone!” I’ve never felt so needy in my life, but Jonah gently pries off my fingers from his arm and looks at me as if he’s looking into my soul.
“Fine, but you will stay right behind me. And if I tell you to run, you run.” I nod in agreement, and we both get out of the car and close the door very gently. Although I’m sure whoever is in there probably heard us pull up. I can only hope that Jonah is strong enough to knock that person out, or the person left through the back door.
I glance at the tree line to see if anyone is running through them. My gut twists and my knees knock together as we get to the front door. Then I straighten up, set my jaw, and thinking about the fact that this person probably killed my father. The murderous rage building up almost has me opening up the door myself, but I agreed to stay behind Jonah. So I do.
He holds his breath, and I count to three in my head as his hand goes down to the doorknob, then he opens it up gently, and we both wince at the creak. I really need to oil those hinges. I pull off my shoes so that I can step lightly, but Jonah is like a predator moving through the shadows. We head for the kitchen first, which is ransacked, to my horror.
Utensils litter the floor and dishes are broken on the countertops and amidst the utensils. The fridge door is open, and the entire thing has been toppled to the ground. Even the dish washer was pulled out from the wall and opened up. Someone was searching for something very hard in here, and I hope they didn’t find it. Every cabinet door is open like a ghost came through to terrorize me.
Jonah ignores the mess, tiptoes through it, and grabs two, large knives. He hands me one and then we head for the downstairs bedroom first. He tells me to wait outside the door with a movement of his hand, and I turn to watch the hallway that leads through the center of the house for anyone coming or going. The house feels as though it’s a gravesite it’s so quiet.
I catch a glimpse of the room as Jonah comes out, and it looks just as bad as the kitchen. Then we head up the stairs single file with me walking backwards. At the top of the steps, the floorboard squeaks painfully loud, and I feel my heart speed up in my chest. Jonah leaves me at the top of the stairs as he checks my father’s room, the bathroom, and then my old room.
He’s walking back towards me at the top of the steps when I hear the back door slam, and I can’t help the loud scream that erupts from me. Jonah puts a hand over my mouth to stifle the noise and then he flies down the steps after the sound. I’m right on his heels, and just as we open up the back door we see the shape of a man running into the woods.
Jonah makes to take off after the man, but I drop the knife and grab him with both hands.
“No! What if he has a gun? Let him go, and we’ll call the police!” He struggles with my grip for a few seconds, and then reason seems to take him over. I go back into the house and try to call the police from the landline, but the phone is dead. There’s a sour taste in my mouth as I pull my cellphone out. Jonah takes it from me with a leery look and calls himself.
“Yes, this is Jonah Quinton. I’m at the D’Salvatore residence, and it looks like someone broke in. The intruder ran out the back and into the trees behind the residence.” He waits a few seconds, and I assume the emergency operator is speaking. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” He hangs up the phone, and I plant myself against the exterior wall of the home. The rain is still coming down pretty heavy so I couldn’t get a clear identification of the intruder. But it wasn’t Henry Cooper. The silhouette was too small for him.
“What the hell is happening to my life?” I whisper as I stare out at the trees. Jonah puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close.
“I could say the same.” He mumbles as we wait for the beginnings of sirens in the distance. It doesn’t take them long to get there and find us at the back of the house. Chief Robertson is with them and confirms my suspicions.
“Henry Cooper is at home with his wife and has been for the past day. So can you tell me who it was?” I shake my head, and Jonah looks forlorn as we head back through the house and out to the front. They’re already dusting for prints and bagging evidence, although I have no idea why they would want pieces of the broken dishes.
“It looks like the intruder cut himself on one of the glasses.” The Chief explains, and for once since the beginning of this mess, I feel a tiny bit of hope. But I don’t let it grow because it’s been dashed against the rocks several times now.
“How long until you know whose it is?” Jonah asks for me, looking as if he’s hopeful, as well.
“Well, it all depends on if we have the information in the database already and if we do it will still be a few days.” I don’t know what to say to him because I have no idea who it was that was in my father’s farmhouse ransacking. “Why don’t you head back to the hotel suite and stay put for a few days? We’ll know who it was by then, and I have no doubts that the person who was in here is the person who killed your father and caused you all this trouble. We’ll find him, Ana.” He moves to put his hand onto my shoulder, and I let him begrudgingly.
Jonah escorts me back to the car, and we sit inside with the doors open and our legs hanging out on either side. I don’t know if they’re going to need a statement from me again, a formal one. I’m really starting to grow tired of police reports and my life being turned upside down. If I could just catch the person who is doing this or find that video tape, then I might be able to lead a semblance of a normal life.
The Chief tells Jonah that we can go, so I swing myself inside the car and close my door with a little too much force. I get a sideways glance for the attitude, and the radio turned on as we head back to the hotel. It’s still raining, but not nearly as bad. I follow my roommate up the steps to the suite entrance and flop onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
“Do you want to tell me what happened at the station?” I almost jump when he speaks beside me because I was so lost in my own thoughts. The stool teeters dangerously as I lean it back on two legs and prop my knees against the counter. My arms come up to wrap around the knobby knees as I stare at the fridge across the kitchenette from me.
“Well, he doesn’t believe me.” He drifts into my vision and pulls out a bottle of soda, pours us both plastic cups full, and then sits down beside me. I sip on the fizzy soda.
“Why not?” The cup hits the counter a little too hard, and some soda splashes out onto my fingers. I wish I could control the anger starting to bubble up again like hot, fluid lava.
“
Chief Robertson was at Mrs. Hash’s yesterday, and he saw me with the champagne. He believes I’m mistaken because I was on edge and tipsy. He also said that Henry has only been home long enough to have burned down the barn and kidnapped me. But there is no possible way he is my father’s killer.” Jonah’s fingers start to wrap around the plastic cup too tightly, and it makes a crinkling noise.
“You weren’t too drunk to know the difference, Anastasia, I was there. You know what you saw. It doesn’t matter that he might not be your father’s killer, what if he’s your kidnapper? I mean it would be great to tie everything up in a nice, neat bow. But what if there are two different people doing these things?” As soon as the words fly from his mouth, I feel my gut twist at the cold reality. Jonah’s right, there could be two people doing these things, and they’re most likely related.
I stop myself from pulling out my cellphone to call the Chief. In two days' time, he’ll know soon enough that Benjamin and Henry Cooper are most likely in on this together. Jonah appears to sense the change in me from anger to resignation, but he doesn’t ask for the reason.
Instead, he slides off his stool and puts his hands lightly on my shoulders. At first I tense under his touch, and he immediately moves his hands back until it’s just his fingertips touching the fabric of my shirt. Gentler than the feel of the wind across my face, Jonah moves his fingers back and forth across my shoulders.
With each passing minute, his hands become a little rougher until he’s giving me a full-blown shoulder massage. My head droops forward, and the pressure between my eyes eases as his fingers slip beneath my shirt occasionally. Whether the skin to skin contact is accidental, I can’t say. I do know that it’s doing some pretty wild things to my heart right now.
Neither one of us speak about the massage after he’s finished. I sip on my soda while he reads a book, and I attempt to get some work done on my laptop. Sporadically, my eyes roam to where he’s sitting, and he looks up at me with patience, unsmiling. Only when I feel my lips curl up in response to the care in his eyes does he grace me with a smile.
Chapter Ten
Jonah
I’ve always wanted to work and be an adult. I never realized that being an adult means having adult relationships, and I’ve been missing out on the sweeter side of a relationship. My life was bare before I meant Anastasia D’Salvatore, and now it’s just starting to be filled with the want, the need, to do more as a person. I want to be better for her, whether it means going to therapy or taking my medication.
Her blonde hair is spread out over my jean clad thigh with her face positioned so that her nose is almost touching my knee. I let my eyes roam over the curve of her hips all the way to her legs dangling off the arm of the sofa. My fingers are tangled in her hair, and I know that if I move them I will wake her. So in the meantime, I try to remember how we got in this position exactly.
Flashes of the movie we were watching last night clouds my mind, and the last time I glanced at the clock it was one thirty in the morning. Her head shifts and the strands of hair successfully loosen themselves from my grasp. I put my arms up behind my head and look at the ceiling as I try to think of a tasteful way to get out from under her without her knowing. There’s no possible way of getting out of this without embarrassing her.
The simple fact is, I don’t really want to wake her up in this moment. I’d rather be able to sit here and wait for her to wake up on her own, that way I can savor this slice of heaven for a few more minutes to an hour. But my medication is in the bathroom attached to my room, and I’m already half an hour late taking it. So I lower one of my hands slowly and rub it up and down her upper arm lightly.
Just my fingertips move over her shirt sleeves, but it’s enough to bring her back to reality. I try not to jump when she rolls her face over and almost plants it in a very private area. Her eyes are open, so I slide out from under her before she can realize what is happening.
Her throat clears as she sits up and tries to make her hair more presentable by running her hands through it. She succeeds in making it look even more bed-hair sexy than before, and I turn away from her before she can see just how much waking up to find her in close proximity has affected me. My hand visibly shakes when I reach for a water bottle and pop the pills in. I guzzle them down, and ignore the way her arm brushes against mine as she reaches for the bottled water we’ve been using for the coffee pot.
“I’m going to shower.” I tell her quickly before I retreat into my room like a coward. The cold shower that I take doesn’t help me much for the first time in my life. What makes it worse is the fact that I can hear her in her own shower, and I can’t stop thinking about the fact that she’s not wearing any clothes.
I take up my trademark spot in the leather chair and try to drown myself in one of the books I brought along from the cabin, but it’s no use. I’m stuck sipping my coffee, watching her emerge from her own room in a sweat shirt and a pair of jeans. I can tell that she’s wearing nothing but a camisole beneath the sweat shirt by the way it rolls off her shoulder and only two straps are visible.
“You don’t have to wear that.” I tell her while I flip one of the book pages. I’m not really reading it, but I need to do something to keep myself busy as I say the words.
“When I don’t wear sleeves, people stare.” I quirk up one corner of my mouth even though I feel kind of sick inside because I wish that my deficiencies were easily covered with a sweatshirt.
“I won’t stare at you. I promise.” I look up from the book to make eye contact with her, but she’s pouring a cup of coffee into a rather large mug. Her left hand shakes as she reaches for the sugar bowl, and I know that my words have touched her in some way. Without looking up at me, she puts in six teaspoons of sugar and methodically pours a little creamer into the coffee. If a horse drank that coffee, it would be around the world in about five minutes.
Then she sits down at the breakfast bar with her back to me, opens up the laptop she works on so studiously, and I watch her slowly remove her sweatshirt. It slides down off her shoulders to reveal the bare, untouched flesh. Then it moves down to reveal her flawless upper back until it slides past the camisole’s material just at the bottom of her shoulder blades. Who knew watching a woman take off a sweatshirt would be arousing?
My face is tilted downwards as if I’m looking at the book in front of me, but I can see her out of my peripheral vision glance up at me to see if I’m staring. She won’t understand that I’m not staring at the scars up and down her arms. I’m mentally attempting to keep myself under control. Anastasia D’Salvatore might be the death of me yet.
I flip a page and she goes back to typing on her laptop. We sit that way for a long time, and I finally get lost in the works of Ernest Hemingway. I’m just at the part where Henry meets Catherine in A Farewell to Arms when the doorbell rings, and I glance up to see Anastasia get to her feet. She slips the sweatshirt right back on and closes her laptop lid before she hops off the stool.
Does she have to wear jeans that tight? I think as she walks across the room. Her finger slides over the doorknob, and for an instant I wonder who could be at the door. We didn’t order out, and most people would call before they came over. I’m about to tell her to look out the peephole, but she already has the door partially open.
When her face goes as white as a ghost’s, I realize my error. I should have offered to get the door because whoever is on the other side is strong enough to overpower her and shove her back into the room. The book falls to the floor as I jump to my feet, but my effort is rewarded with a gun pointed at me from the intruder.
A few seconds tick by where I study the man wearing a pair of ripped blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a ski mask. Anastasia stumbles back to the kitchenette where she tries to quietly open up one of the drawers. The only metal knives we have are the butter knives, but they’ll do in a pinch. I deliberately sidestep to distract the man, but I see his eyes shift in Anastasia’s direction anyway.
“Put
the knife down or I’ll shoot him!” It’s starting to become off season for the hotel, and there aren’t many guests. I doubt anyone has heard him shout at her, and my hopes die off as soon as he gets the door closed behind him. He reaches up as he keeps his eyes on Anastasia, who has followed his orders, and locks the deadbolt.
“You, sit on a stool and keep your hands in the air!” I do as the madman says without hesitation. Right now placating him is our best option, until I can get my hands on a weapon. Then I’m going to pummel him to death before the cops have a chance to arrive.
“Why don’t you take your mask off and we can talk.” I don’t recognize him, but by the way Anastasia is staring at his face, I can tell she does. I have a feeling this is her kidnapper, which means he’s one sick puppy.
“Fuck off, Quinton. Come over here and kneel down, bitch!” I watch out of the corner of my eyes as Anastasia takes a jerky step forward.
“Don’t, sweetheart, he’s not going to shoot you. He wants to know where that tape is.” I stare at the hazel eyes surrounded by the ski mask and try to imprint them into my mind. If this asshole gets away before I can kill him, I’ll remember the eyes. The next time I see them, I’ll pull them right out of the sockets.
“No, I won’t shoot you, D’Salvatore. But Quinton’s going to eat lead if you don’t do as I say.” The gun is turned on me again, but I don’t flinch away. He’s about ten feet in front of me, which is a large gap for someone facing a gun. I won’t be able to get to him in time without potentially being shot.
“Don’t!” I yell at her as she starts to walk towards the brute. His body structure is close to Henry’s, but I’m not sure that it’s him.
My Kind Of Crazy Page 14