He looks up at her, his eyes narrowing. “I’m calling Porter,” he says, dialing his number. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until I confirm your story.” His eyes stay on her as the phone begins to ring.
* * *
Myra frowns, her hand that holds the gun shaking as she stares at the woman before her. Her face looks vaguely familiar even though Myra’s quite certain she doesn’t know her. The woman looks to be in her 40’s, slightly overweight with curly blond hair. Her clothes are casual… jeans with a T-shirt and an unbuttoned blue flannel shirt over the top of it that also looks vaguely familiar…
“Wh-what are you doing?” Myra asks, her voice trembling and sounding out of breath. Her gaze darts from the gun pointed at the head of an unconscious Porter slumped over in the recliner, to the two cans of gasoline sitting on the floor next to it. The phone attached to his belt is ringing.
“Ah, Porter’s just taking a little nap, aren’t you, Porter?” the unknown woman says with a giggle, patting him on the head. But then her eyes immediately narrow. “Don’t you dare try anything,” she says in a low voice as she shoves the gun pointed at Porter’s head a little harder. With her eyes constantly on Myra’s, she leans down and pulls Porter’s ringing phone from his belt and silences it before dropping it to the floor.
“Myra, Myra, you’ve been making things incredibly difficult for me… most difficult. You just don’t know how to take a hint, do you? What was it going to take to get you back to Philly with Susie where you belong, huh? What was I going to have to do next? I never wanted to hurt anyone, that’s never been my intent, but you just seem to be leaving me with no choice.”
“I-I don’t even know who you are,” Myra stutters.
“Hmm… that’s true… but I know who you are,” she sing-songs with a giggle. “I’ve said hi to you at the grocery store on three separate occasions, but you never bothered to talk to me. It’s your loss, I suppose.”
Myra glances down at Porter again and notices a plate of cookies on the coffee table. “What did you do to him?” she asks, swallowing back bile.
“Oh, I just brought him a little snack. He gobbled it right up, just like he always does,” she says, smiling widely and seemingly pleased with herself. But then her face completely contorts with hatred. “Don’t think he’s going to wake up any time soon to save you because he won’t,” she spits. She smiles again, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes stay dark and evil.
Myra swallows hard. “What do you want?” she asks her heart pounding ferociously. She can faintly hear her phone start to ring upstairs.
“What do I want?” the woman repeats in an incredulous voice. “What do I want?” she repeats again, her voice louder and raising an octave before laughs hysterically. “I want Dylan, of course.”
A sick, wicked grin crosses her face. “Would you like a cookie?” she asks before giggling, the only light from the TV casting strange shadows across her face.
* * *
Dylan feels like he literally can’t breathe as he dials Porter’s number again. When the voicemail comes on again, his stomach rolls violently. There should be no fucking reason for Porter not to answer his phone. He quickly hangs up and dials Myra’s phone again, his heart banging against his ribcage with every ring that passes with no answer. He snaps his phone shut when he hears the voicemail and leans over, turning Sabrina’s car off and snatching the keys out of the ignition. “You’re coming with me,” he growls at her.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Porter and Myra aren’t answering their phones,” he says through gritted teeth as he opens the car door and slams it shut.
Sabrina grabs her bag and gets out. “Porter was fine when I left. I never did see Myra, though, she stayed upstairs.”
“Just get in the truck.”
Dylan’s hands shake as he tries to put the key in the ignition. He looks over at Sabrina, his eyes narrowing. Is she lying about everything? Did she make up this whole story about the photo album?
“Why wouldn’t they answer their phones?” Sabrina asks with a frown before her eyes widen and her face pales. “You don’t think whoever messed with the album could be there, do you? Shouldn’t we call the police first?”
“Porter is the goddamn police. Let’s just go over there and see what’s going on. If you did anything to them, Sabrina, I swear to fuck I will—”
“I didn’t! Jesus, Dylan. I didn’t do anything, and I’ll prove it to you when we get there.”
Dylan stays quiet as drives as fast as he can to Myra’s house. His stomach churns and he feels like he might get sick at any moment. Something has happened… something bad. He can just sense it.
If anything happened to Myra… He winces, his breath catching in his throat as he presses his hand hard over his heart and drives faster.
* * *
Myra’s arms shake, the weight of the gun heavy in her hands, but she stays alert and focused, waiting for her opportunity. All she needs is one shot, just one.
“I’ll let you have him… Dylan,” Myra says quickly. “There’s no need to kill me. You two can be together.”
The woman’s eyes narrow. “And how would that work?”
“I’ll break up with him. I’ll go back to Philly. You two can stay here… together.”
The unknown woman’s eyes narrow. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”
Myra shakes her head.
“You do!” she screams, a crazed look in her eyes. “You think you’re smarter than me but you’re not! Jackie told me you two broke up yet here he is every day with you! He can’t stay away from you!”
Myra flinches at the ferocity in her voice.
The woman’s face immediately relaxes. “There’s only one way to make this little problem go away… I just have to make you go away, far far away…” she says in a dreamy voice.
* * *
When Dylan turns onto Myra’s street, he holds his breath and leans forward, trying to see Myra’s driveway. He lets out a shaky breath and slumps back in his seat when he sees only Porter’s cruiser in her driveway. Maybe Porter and Myra are okay…
But then his body stiffens, and he sneaks a glance at Sabrina. Did she do something to them before she left? Could she be the one that…?
He pulls in behind Porter’s cruiser and shuts off his truck. “All right, let’s go see what’s going on and confirm your story.”
Sabrina rolls her eyes at him before she opens the truck door and gets out.
* * *
Myra desperately wants to take a shot when the woman looks down at Porter but she can’t risk it. The gun pointed at Porter’s head might go off. “I really hate that he’s here,” the woman says in a voice laden with pity. “He’s always been so nice to me. It’s too bad he has to die. Should I just go ahead and put a bullet in his brain now or should I let him burn?” She looks up at Myra with excitement glowing in her sick eyes as her lips curl into an evil smile. “Do you think he’ll feel it, since he’s asleep? Will he feel the flames burn his flesh like you will?”
Myra’s mouth drops open as she stares at the woman. But before she can do respond, someone pounds heavily on the door. Myra’s eyes dart to it, a scream flying from her mouth. Her body jerks all over, causing her to almost drop her gun. She hears a gunshot ring out, piercing her ears. Terror spreads through every inch of her body as her gaze darts from the door to Porter. The gun that was pointed at his temple is now pointed at the door as the woman stares at it with her mouth hanging open.
Myra reacts. She aims and fires a shot directly into the woman’s knee, causing her to scream in pain and collapse to the floor. Myra keeps her gun pointed straight at her as she watches the woman reach for her shattered leg, her face convulsing. Her face changes... it twists and contorts until her eyes are wild and her lips form into a small grin. Her other arm that was hidden behind her from Myra’s view comes up over her torso as if in slow motion pointed directly at Myra. Myra fires again, hitting the woman in the shoulder. Th
e gun flies from the woman’s hand to the hardwood floor with a loud clatter. Myra runs over and kicks it away from her under the couch as the woman screams and shrieks in agony.
Myra’s looks back at the door and there, towards the middle and a little to the left is a hole. She frowns when she sees light from her porch light shimmering through it and wonders… who is on the other side of that door?
* * *
Dylan’s head turns and his brows knit together. His eyes see the scene before him, but his brain can’t seem to interpret the images because it doesn’t make any fucking sense. Sabrina can’t be lying on the porch. That can’t be blood seeping through the hole in her coat. And that sound that he heard… that couldn’t have been gunfire, right?
Sabrina frowns and looks down. She touches her shoulder and brings her hand to her face. Her lips part and her eyes grow larger as she stares at the blood on it. “Wha…?” she gasps before her frightened eyes immediately seek Dylan’s.
Dylan’s eyes widen because that was blood… Sabrina’s bleeding. Sabrina’s been shot… somehow… from inside the house.
Myra.
His blood freezes in his veins as if it’s been turned to ice. He has to get to her, fast. His breath bursts in and out of his chest as he rips off his coat and drops to his knees, pressing it against Sabrina’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Hold this.” He lifts her hand and presses it against his coat to staunch the blood. A grimace crosses her face as she moans softly.
“You’re gonna be fine, Sabrina. It’s gonna be okay.” He’s trying to be soothing, but he can hardly force the words out of his throat because all he can see is Myra’s face. A flash of her limp, lifeless body lying on the floor with a bullet hole in her chest hits him hard, almost knocking the breath from his body. His breathing becomes more and more shallow. He sees her beautiful face… her eyes closed, her skin pale and drained of life. What if…? What if he’s too late?
The baby.
His heart jerks painfully in his chest. Standing, he almost rips the screen door off its hinges. Grabbing the door handle and yanking as hard as he can, he uses his other hand to beat on the door. “Myra!” he shouts. Yanking his baseball hat off and throwing it on the porch, he shades his eyes with his hand to try and peer in through the small window in the door. He can barely make out anything in the dark room, but he startles when he catches sight of her. She stands, unmoving, a gun dangling from her hand.
Dylan almost sinks to his knees in relief, but he knows something is very wrong. This whole situation, the entire scene is wrong.
“Uh, Dylan, I know you need to make sure she’s okay, but I’m kind of bleeding,” Sabrina says from behind him. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you maybe call the police?”
“Shit, Sabrina, I’m sorry,” Dylan says. He hurriedly dials 911, keeping his eyes on Myra the entire time. He hastily tells the operator that there’s been a shooting and rattles off the address. The operator wants to keep him on the line but he mumbles he can’t and hangs up.
“They’re on the way,” he quickly says to Sabrina.
He beats his fist against the window, trying with all his might to bust through it. Standing back, he kicks and kicks at the bottom of the door, but it’s a goddamn solid wood door, and it won’t budge. “Myra!” he yells again. He pushes and tugs on the door handle, his forearm muscles straining with the effort. His eyes search the porch for any other way to get into the house.
Pressing his forehead against the glass of the tiny window, his nails dig painfully into his palms as he clenches his fists and stares at Myra, calling her name. He pounds on the door again one last time, trying desperately to get some kind of reaction out of her. If she doesn’t respond, he’s going to get something out of his truck and bust out one of her windows. Finally, she looks up. She stares for a moment before she drops the gun and runs to the door.
Sagging in relief, his heart throbs turbulently in his chest, his breathing jagged as he listens to her on the other of the door, trying to unlock it. He continues to push and tug on the door handle, praying like hell that it will turn and open any second.
The door finally opens and his eyes meet hers, wild with fear. Her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes closing as her face crumples and she begins sobbing. He lunges at her, grabbing her, desperate to touch her, desperate to feel her. To make sure she’s real and that he’s not imaging this. To make sure she’s alive and breathing and uninjured.
“Myra, oh god, Myra,” he says, panting heavily, his legs growing weak as his trembling hands touch her cheeks, her hair, her neck. “Myra, Myra, oh god, Myra…” He chants as his hands brush against her. Unable to stop himself, his rough fingers caress her soft skin, touching her over and over again, everywhere… anywhere he can get his fingers.
Her hands fist his shirt tightly. Holding her face between his hands, he presses his lips against hers for just a moment before he begins running his lips over her cheeks and eyes, kissing her tears away, loving the satiny feel of her skin underneath his lips.
“Get away from him, you bitch!” a voice screeches. Startled, Dylan jumps slightly his head turning towards the voice.
He frowns as he stares at the woman writhing on the floor with blood seeping from wounds in her shoulder and knee. “Rhonda?”
Myra gasps lightly and he looks down at her. “You know her?” she asks.
“No. I changed a garage disposal out for her once.”
“You know me, Dylan,” Rhonda screeches. “We’re supposed to be together.”
Dylan’s eyes widen. “She’s wearing my goddamn shirt,” he mumbles under his breath. He pulls Myra closer to him, wrapping his arms around her as his eyes shoot to Porter. His heart plummets to his gut.
Rhonda continues to scream, but he ignores her and looks back down at Myra. “Is Porter…?” he asks, his eyes moving back to his slumped figure.
“She said she gave him something… to make him sleep.”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he whispers. Reaching a hand up, he rubs her cheek softly. His eyes quickly flash up and down the length of her body just to make double sure.
She shakes her head as tears continue to cascade down her cheeks.
His lips touch hers again, just the lightest touch.
“You shot her?” he asks.
She nods.
“She has a gun?”
She nods again.
“Where is it?”
“I kicked it… under the couch.”
Cupping her face in his hands, he kisses her lips and her forehead. He gently wipes her tears with his thumbs. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to go check on Porter, okay?”
As she nods, he kisses her forehead one more time, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. He spots Myra’s gun on the floor where she dropped it and kicks it towards the hallway, the opposite direction of Rhonda. Leaning over Porter, he starts to check his pulse but doesn’t need to when he sees his chest heaving up and down with his heavy breathing.
As he turns back to Myra, he hears the blare of approaching sirens. But his breathing stops completely, his stomach dropping to his feet, when his eyes light upon several cans of gasoline on the floor. What the fuck was this woman going to do? Burn down the fucking house with Myra...? He can’t finish that thought or he might lose the contents of his stomach. His fists clench painfully, his jaw tightening as he glares at the crazy bitch. He has to take in a deep breath to control the rage that builds in him because he wants to grab Myra’s gun and finish the job she started.
He gently tugs Myra back into his arms as he hears a lot of commotion that sounds like many vehicles pulling up outside. Myra leans into him, resting her head against his chest. Closing his eyes, he kisses the top of her head, breathing her familiar scent deep into his lungs. Leaning his cheek against her hair, he rubs her back softly.
When he opens his eyes, he feels a jolt as if someone just punched him in the stomach as Sabrina’s blue eyes bore into his through the mesh of the screen door. In hi
s haste to get to Myra, he’d completely forgotten about her. How could he forget about her when the woman was fucking shot, for Christ’s sake? What kind of person does that shit? But then he frowns as he stares at her face. Through her tears, the corner of her mouth lifts slightly, her eyes soft, as she gives him the slightest of nods. She knows. Sabrina fucking knows.
CHAPTER 14
AZURE, CLARITY
Myra glances around seeing flashing lights everywhere, blindingly bright. Every single police car in the small town of Nyssa has to be either in her driveway or parked somewhere in her yard. There were three ambulances as well. The first to leave was the one holding Rhonda. She had to be handcuffed to the gurney and screamed up until the moment they shut the door.
The second with Porter in it just took off a few moment’s ago. The paramedics informed her that once they get him to the hospital and draw some blood work, they’ll know what type of sedatives he was given. But they reassured her and Dylan that he should recover just fine and that more than likely, he’d just sleep it off and eventually wake up with a headache.
Dylan’s arm tightens around her waist, pulling her closer to him as they walk alongside the last gurney; the one carrying Sabrina. Myra still can’t believe that Sabrina was shot. Her stomach twists when she thinks about how close Dylan was to being on the other end of Rhonda’s bullet.
Dylan clears his throat. “We’ll see you at the hospital, okay?” he says to Sabrina.
Sabrina slowly turns her head and gives him a small nod, her beautiful face scary pale. They both silently watch as the paramedics put her in the ambulance and close the door.
Myra turns towards Dylan and feels his arms wrapping around her. She stares up into his soft eyes as they stare down at her, just enjoying the moment. Relishing the fact that he’s safe and holding her. He reaches his hand up and rubs his thumb against her cheek. Sagging with relief, she closes her eyes and leans into his touch.
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