“Are you okay?” Porter asks his shaggy eyebrows pulled together tightly.
Myra nods because she knows she can’t speak right now.
“You look white as a sheet,” he says as he steps into the bedroom. “Let’s sit down.”
Myra sits on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap as she stares at Porter.
“Sabrina got a package in the mail today. It was the photo album, and it was… well, it was quite sick.” He swallows hard and looks away from her for a moment, shaking his head. “I thought for sure Sabrina was our suspect, but now I think we were barking up the wrong tree. Whoever stole that photo album from Dylan’s house did some twisted things to it and then sent it to her. She tried calling Dylan, but he wouldn’t answer; she even tried calling his parents. It shook her up so much that she decided to drive here to try to warn you and Dylan and to turn it into the police as evidence. I had her take it over to the station. We’ll send it off to the lab and see if we can get anything off of it. Possibly some DNA… you know fingerprints, skin or hair samples.”
Myra’s stomach churns. “Who would do something like that?”
Porter shakes his head. “I don’t know, Myra. I honestly don’t know.”
“So where’s Sabrina now?”
“She’s going to drop the album over at the police station and then she said she was going to stay with her mom for a while.”
Myra’s phone rings and it startles her so much she almost jumps off the bed. Breathing hard, she pulls it out and glances down at it, silencing it when she sees Susie’s name. “Sorry,” she mumbles.
“You can take it,” Porter tells her before she puts it back in her pocket. “I’m just going to go downstairs and watch TV for a while. There’s a game getting ready to come on.”
“Thanks, Porter… for everything.”
“You’re welcome, young lady,” he says with a wink as he stands and exits her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.
She flips open her phone and manages to answer it before it goes to voicemail. “Hey.”
“Hey, how goes it?”
Myra sighs heavily and pulls her gun out of the back of her jeans, laying it beside her and leans back on the bed. “Not so good…” she says before getting Susie caught up on Natalie having the baby, Dylan leaving and Sabrina showing up with the photo album.
“What? Are you kidding me? Sabrina’s not the psycho stalker? I totally thought I had that figured out and had the case completely solved,” Susie says.
“Apparently not… I mean, why would she drive here to warn us and bring the album with her as evidence if she was the one doing it? That doesn’t make any sense. And she would’ve seen Porter’s police car sitting in my driveway so why would she knock on the door, knowing there’s a cop inside?”
“True. She’d have to be hiding dead bodies under her bed if she was crazy enough to do something like that. Damn, I really wanted to pin all of this on her. What the hell did the stalker do to the photo album? Did you get to see it?”
“No, but Porter’s face… he looked like he might be sick when he talked about it.”
“All right, that’s it. I’m starting to get really scared for you, Myra. Dylan the Greek god Guardian is gone, and even though he has a douche nozzle protruding from his forehead like a douche unicorn, the guy can at least kick some ass and can protect you. I know Porter is a gun-wielding cop and all, but he’s an old fart, bless his sweet soul, and the guy’s gut is huge. I got a good look at him when I came to see you, and I think his gut actually might be a wee bit bigger than mine, which means the man has some serious girth. He’d probably grab a donut before he grabbed his gun.
“So I think you should just book a flight and come out here until everything settles down a bit and Dylan gets back. In the meantime, maybe Porter can get some fingerprints off the photo album just like in those CSI shows so that we can nail the bastard. Now hurry up. Get to it and book a flight.”
“I can’t. I can’t just leave. I need to be here for Dylan especially with the Natalie situation because what if something happens to her or the baby?”
“That’s just a bunch of horse shit, and you know it. He can give you updates on Natalie over the phone, and God forbid, if something does happen to her or the baby, you can catch the first flight back there. But you have to stop putting Dylan first all the time and put yourself first for a change because you have a baby percolating now that you need to think about. What if this stalker tries to hurt you? What are you going to do then?”
“Nobody seems to believe me, but I can protect myself. I have my gun with me all the time and—”
“You always say that but what if you’re in a situation where you can’t get to your gun, huh? What are you going to do then? You’re pregnant and you weigh 95 pounds soaking wet. You’d stand up really well to some deranged psycho.”
“I’m not leaving,” Myra says firmly in a loud voice.
“Fine... be that way,” Susie snaps back.
The phone goes quiet for a long, awkward moment.
“Well, I gotta go,” Susie says fast-like.
Myra hums in agreement, more than ready to end this conversation.
But neither of them hangs up. They both just sit quietly on the line for a few moments. Finally, Susie sighs heavily. “Myra…? I’m sorry, honey, I’m sorry I got all snippety. It’s only because I love your ridiculously skinny ass. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be saying all of this. Oh, Jesus, come get me,” she moans. “I just sounded like my mother. It’s time for me to die. I’m just going to dig myself a grave, jump in and start scraping dirt on top of me, one handful at a time.”
Myra smiles. “You’re not your mother. Trust me you’re definitely your own individual. Thank you for caring enough about me enough to voice your opinion, but I’m getting sick and tired of everyone trying to tell me what to do. I am capable of making my own decisions, and I’m not leaving Dylan, period. I can’t and I won’t. I don’t even know how to explain it; all I know is that I have to be here and that I can’t leave him. And I can and will protect myself and this baby.”
“All right, honey, thank you for scolding me and making me feel like a Goony turd. But I really am sorry. I just love you way too much. Even though I completely disagree with you, I’ll try to respect your decisions even though I’m convinced they are the wrong decisions. Do I need to tell you a little funny to make up for my persnickety ways?”
Myra sighs as she turns on her side on the bed. “Okay, I forgive you, and I love you too, and yes, you can tell me a funny.” She smiles as she tucks a pillow under her head.
“Okay, this is a long, stupid Susie saga. Can you handle it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
Myra snickers. “I’m sure.”
“Good. Okay, I was doing a little self-grooming earlier. I had the whole Chewbacca eyebrow thing going on. So anyway, I got out one of those little shaver thingys that you use to buzz off excess facial hair; I bought it off of a TV commercial. I’m a wimp and loathe using tweezers or wax or anything like that near my bushes so I decided to use that shaver instead to help trim them up a bit.
“So I was mowing the hair at the top of my eyebrow, being very careful not to mow too much off when Jeff jumps into the bathroom and makes this growling ape-like sound, scaring the steaming turds right out of my fat body. And guess what I did? I shaved off half of my eyebrow.”
Myra busts out laughing.
“So I’m going to have to go dig in the boys’ rooms tonight and see if I can find an old brown crayon to color in my missing eyebrow because I sure as hell don’t own any eyebrow pencils. The stench from the pile of doodoo that man is accumulating is gas-mask worthy. I’m going to get him back and when I do, it’s going be good… oh so good.”
Myra wipes tears from her eyes. “Make sure to send me a picture of your eyebrow.”
Susie laughs. “I will. I love you so much. Please be extra,
extra safe tonight, okay? I don’t like Dylan not being there. And thanks for putting up with my overbearing self. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay. I love you too.”
Myra smiles as she closes her phone and lays it down on the bed beside her. She lays there for a few minutes before she slowly sits up, a crease forming in her forehead. Tilting her head slightly, she barely breathes as she intently listens. She hears muffled voices, almost like a conversation. Her heart rate spikes. Could Sabrina be back?
She holds her breath, tilting her head a bit more, trying to catch a word or two. She hears laughter and then remembers Porter told her he was going to watch the game. She rolls her eyes at herself, and lays back, taking in a heavy breath.
* * *
Dylan pulls up to a stoplight only a few minutes away from Myra’s. His windshield wipers scrape lazily across the drizzle on his window. He turns his head slightly towards the gas station that sits on the adjacent corner not really looking at anything in particular. His eyes widen and he sits up straighter, every muscle in his body tensing as his eyes strain to make sure they aren’t playing tricks on him when he sees Sabrina standing there pumping gas. What the hell is she doing in Nyssa? Is she here to hurt Myra?
The light turns green and his heart races as he guns the accelerator, squealing his tires and cutting across traffic. He pulls into the gas station up alongside her car, glaring at her. She looks up and her eyes lock with his, her mouth dropping open slightly before her lips form a grim line and her eyes narrow.
* * *
Myra pulls out her laptop and powers it on. She frowns when she sees the battery’s low and digs out the power cord, plugging it in. She needs something to take her mind off of the endless list of things she has to worry about. She knows she can’t do any writing right now, but she figures she can go back through what she’s already written and do a little editing work. She hopes that will keep her mind pre-occupied for a little while and keep the stress away.
She pulls up her Word document and begins reading. The soft fuzz of his mare’s lips nuzzled Colton’s hand, causing the left side of his lips to lift in a half-smile. “You lookin’ for something?” he said with a chuckle as the horse continued her diligent search in his palm.
Myra chews on her thumb as she stares down at the paragraph on her screen. That first sentence just doesn’t sound right… it needs something else. But before she can type anything, she startles and immediately looks up at the bedroom door, frowning. She heard something… a distinct sound almost like a chair scraping noisily across a hardwood floor. She swallows hard, knowing the direction that sound came from… the master bedroom.
She slows her breaths as she continues to listen, her eyes staring at the door unseeing, her concentration solely focused on listening. Her eyes widen and she jumps, gasping for air when she hears a loud thump followed by several smaller bumping noises coming from the room down the hall. It’s so loud it almost sounds like men are in there moving furniture around.
With her eyes still trained on the door, she slowly closes her laptop and picks up her gun, tucking it in her hoodie pocket. She stands… her heart pounding rapidly against her ribs as she takes light, slow steps towards the door. Swallowing hard, she reaches for the doorknob and cracks it open, peeking out into the dark hallway only to find it empty. Everything’s quiet again other than the sounds of the TV coming from downstairs, which she can clearly hear now. She sticks her head out further and stares at the closed door of her grandparent’s bedroom at the end of the hall, listening for any noises.
For a moment, she considers going downstairs and getting Porter. But she quickly decides against it when she thinks about how crazy she’d sound if she told him that she was hearing ghosts moving around in the master bedroom.
With a soft sigh, she starts to close the door but startles when she hears the sound again. With wide eyes and her mouth gaping, she sticks her head out again and stares down at the closed door. Reaching for her gun, she pulls it out of her hoodie and opens the door further. With shallow, ragged breaths, she steps out into the hallway and begins taking one slow small step after another towards the door at the end of the hall. She swallows hard, her chest heaving as she gets closer and closer to it. Her heart beats so hard it feels like it might burst from her chest.
She stops when she gets in front of the door and listens. From behind it, she hears a loud thud like someone just dropped a box on the floor. Her body jerks all over, and she can’t get enough air into her lungs. Flipping the safety off on her gun, she says frozen in her spot, listening hard for any more movement. Hearing nothing, she licks her dry lips and swallows again. Holding her gun close to her chest, she reaches her free hand out and lightly rests it on the icy door handle.
She doesn’t move, listening hard, absolutely terrified to open the door, but somehow feeling almost compelled to do it nonetheless. She turns her head, looking quickly behind her before she turns back to the door and starts to turn the knob. Her arms break out in gooseflesh and the hair on the back of her neck stands straight on end as a cold sensation slides up the right side of her body. An eerie voice whispers directly in her ear, “Myra. Run.”
She screams and runs, straight down the hallway towards the stairs. With the gun still clasped in her hand, she kind of leans and hangs awkwardly onto the railing enough to keep her upright as she flies down the stairs. She stumbles into the living room, her legs weak and shaky.
Her mouth drops open and her eyes bulge at the scene before her. Instinctually, her arm immediately raises her finger firmly on the trigger as she aims the gun at the chest of the person standing before her.
“Myra, Myra. I wasn’t quite ready for you yet,” a shrill voice calls out. “Why don’t you scurry back on upstairs where you belong?”
* * *
Dylan leaves his truck running and jumps out of it. “What the fuck are you doing in Nyssa?” he shouts.
She rolls her eyes and continues pumping her gas.
He walks around to where she’s at. “Did you hear me? What the hell are you doing here?”
Her eyes flash with anger at him before she shoves the nozzle back into the pump and quickly twists the cap onto her gas tank. “Why can’t you answer your phone? If you had just bothered to listen to one of my voicemails—”
“Is this because someone questioned you this morning?”
“Not even close… but I am so pissed at you over that. How could you send a cop to my house to question me? What the hell is wrong with you? How could you think so low of me?”
“Because you’ve given me a lot of reasons to think you could with the way you showed up at Myra’s house basically threatening her and shit. And then when I talked to you the other day, you went on about how you’d do anything to get us back together again. That’s some suspicious shit right there.”
“No, it isn’t. I just wanted us to try to work on getting back together, that’s all. I had nothing to do with what’s been happening to you and Myra, nothing. I am beyond hurt that you could even think that I could be involved in something like that.”
His eyes narrow. “You still haven’t answered my question… why are you here?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to talk to you about this right here at the pump. Besides, it’s cold out here.”
“Fine… pull over into a parking space over there,” he says, nodding towards some empty spaces behind her.
She turns and looks then nods at him. Dylan jumps into his truck and pulls into the space next to her. He gets out and slips into her front seat. Flipping on the heater, she rubs her hands together for a moment. “After I was visited by the cop this morning, I went to work. I was so pissed off I couldn’t think straight so I ended up leaving a little early, and when I got home, there was a package on my doorstep. I opened it and it was your photo album.”
His mouth drops open. “What?”
She turns in her seat towards him. “Whoever stole your photo a
lbum is a sick, sick person… I’m talking scary sick.”
His stomach drops and his breath hitches. His hands that rest on his knees clench into tight fists. “What do you mean?”
“They cut my face out of every picture and made a disturbing collage. It had all of these things written on it that…” She stares at him for a moment and shakes her head. “Let’s just say it scared the hell out of me. I shoved the thing back in the box and threw it in the trunk and immediately left my house. I was terrified that whoever sent it might still be hanging around, watching me or something.
“I didn’t know what to do. I thought about calling the cop that questioned me this morning, but I threw his card out the window on my way to work. So I went over to my mom’s house and showed it to her. She felt like I did that you two might be in danger so I stayed there and tried calling you; I even tried calling Sherri and Natalie, but just got their voicemail. I stayed over at moms until she had to leave for work. I told her that since I couldn’t get ahold of you that maybe I should drive here and try to warn you guys and turn the album into the police here. She agreed.
“So I drove here and went to your house first, but you weren’t home. Then I went to Myra’s and I was so relieved when I saw that cop car in her driveway. I told Porter everything that happened. He told me that he was going to be staying with Myra and asked me if I could drop the album off at the police station. So that’s what I just did. He’s going to send it off to the crime lab to see if they can get any fingerprints or DNA samples off of it.
“I’m headed back to my mom’s house. I’m not going home. Because whoever did this knows where I live. I plan on staying with her for a while until they figure this thing out.”
Dylan pulls out his phone and flips it open.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
Color of Forgiveness Page 36