That morning, as she sat at her desk and skimmed through the hundreds of e-mails demanding her attention, the phone rang. It had been some high-priced lawyer, spouting off a list of legal jargon that she didn’t understand regarding Dr. Cho. Apparently her assumptions about his other clients had been wrong. Someone had filed suit and he was under investigation for overprescribing. In an effort to gather more evidence, the lawyer had requested her cooperation. When she declined, he broke out into a chorus of how irresponsible she was and that it was her duty as an American to help put those who broke the law behind bars—how she would become an accessory if she didn’t testify because she had known all along how he practiced medicine and had never reported him.
When she’d hung up the phone and after her tears had dried, she’d gotten into her car and drove. She didn’t go to her condo, didn’t pack a bag, or even bother to tell anyone that she was leaving. Her only stop was the corner Chevron where she’d filled her tank and grabbed a raspberry iced tea to drink on the way.
Six hours later, she found herself parked in the circular driveway, car idling, bladder screaming in pain from her need to pee, staring up at the house Charlie had meant to give her as a wedding gift.
The sun had just descended behind the mountain range and the world around her had entered into the enchanting stage of twilight. It gave the house an eerie sense as it loomed above her, silhouetted by the darkening sky. There was no movement, no noise, and the only invitation of entry came from a dimly lit porch light.
She might have turned around and continued on into town if it hadn’t been for her intense need to use the restroom.
With steeled resolve, she turned off the car and proceeded to the front door, habitually clicking on the car alarm although she was miles away from whatever crime spree she feared might end in the theft of her precious Beamer.
Heels clicking in the air around her, Echo proceeded up the paved walkway and the chilled night had a subtle breeze that brushed across her skin, causing goose bumps to travel up her arms. She did not come prepared for the cold nights that the high desert was known for and she made a mental note to run into town to pick up more appropriate attire in the morning.
More foreboding than welcoming, the arched entryway reminded her of the castles in dark lore with minimal lighting, aged brick and mortar, and a black wrought-iron gate that stood between her and the front door. Using one of the many keys on the ring designated for the house, she fumbled through until she found the one that clicked the lock and released the gate. For a moment she wondered if she had somehow stumbled into a slasher movie. The gate squeaked as she pushed it open, the sound echoing around her, and off in the distance behind her she was sure she’d heard rustling in the bushes. Having seen as many of the popular fright fests as she had, Echo knew better than to call out to whoever might be hiding within the foliage. It was always the dumb bitch in the movie who hears a noise and steps outside in nothing but her panties and a tank, sans bra of course to make sure that the audience is fully aware of the fact that wherever she’s from, it’s damn cold. She calls out, “Hello? Is someone there?” and before she can beg whoever it is to spare her life, her bloodied body is tagged as the first victim.
Fiction or not, she wasn’t about to star in an eighties teen slasher because of stupidity. Besides, it was probably a deer and worst-case scenario it would scare the shit, well pee, out of her. No thank you.
She quickly shut the gate behind her and proceeded the few steps to the front door.
The large oak door had a rounded top, a small window, and a large curved wrought iron knob. Definitely scary movie shit.
Once she fumbled her way through finding the main house key, Echo pushed the door with all of her weight behind it, expecting it to be heavy. To her humiliation and embarrassment she fell into the house and landed down on one knee, thankful that she was alone.
As she knelt down, her knee now throbbing from the impact, tears welled in her eyes. By far, the last two weeks had kicked her ass. Just when she had thought she’d had it all figured out, as everything had fallen into place and she was able to truly put life on auto-pilot, a giant-ass speed bump leapt out in front of her and jostled everything out of order. Flopping her butt down onto the floor, she embraced the tears and let each one fall that she had kept locked away for the last five years.
She wasn’t sure how it had gotten so bad, how she’d let it go so far, but as Echo sat there and allowed her soul to break down, she was suddenly aware of the sweet scent of cinnamon apple that filled the air. Wiping away snot and tears and pulling herself up from the floor, she smoothed out the jacket of her black pants suit, adjusted her pants back to their barely comfortable position, and closed the door behind her.
From outside there had been no hint that there was a light on in the house, but as her eyes adjusted to her new surroundings she could see that the chandelier in the foyer cast a dim glow and off to her right, past a wall, another light beckoned to her. Curiosity got the best of her and without taking the time to get a feel for the layout of the house she headed toward the light and the sweet, spicy aroma. Around the corner and past the wall Echo found herself staring into an open kitchen. Oak cabinets and earth-toned granite countertops in a horseshoe design created a homey oasis that made Echo feel instantly safe. In the center of the kitchen sat an island that doubled as a breakfast bar with four tall pub stools surrounding it. On the island, appearing to be fresh out of the oven, sat an apple pie with lattice crust and a note with feminine handwriting. On the face of the envelope it simply read “Echo.”
She’d recognize Paige’s flourished script anywhere and tore open the small note.
Jules called in a panic, said you’d up and disappeared. (She sounds like shit by the way—you might want to call her and tell her you’re okay.) Enjoy the pie. There’s dinner in the fridge. You’re not too rich to enjoy leftovers, are you? When you’re full, take a dip in the hot tub. I’ve got it boiling for you, and there’s a suit in the bedroom. It’s up the stairs. You can’t miss it. Love you, sugar! Call me tomorrow and we’ll get you some proper Central Oregon attire.
Echo could feel the smile spread across her face and the tension of life lift from her shoulders. Even after all this time, Paige knew exactly what she needed.
Once she fumbled around and found a restroom, giving her bladder its much-needed relief, Echo found her way back to the kitchen, reheated a plate of Paige’s homemade lasagna, and settled onto one of the pub stools. As she filled her belly and savored the home-style flavor of Paige’s cooking, her eyes trailed around the details of the kitchen.
The neutral palate of color was soothing and gave off the feel that this was someone’s home, not a house that had been built then abandoned. It was not stark and cold like her condo, but in fact she could see a family living here—kids gobbling pancakes at the very spot she occupied, as Mom and Dad kissed each other good morning near the coffee pot. It was a beautiful image and she finally understood why she had not been able to sell the house. The pictures in her mind, the family that should have grown up in this house had been a promise made to her—a promise that had been broken. Selling meant she had moved on and accepted that that part of her life had been destroyed.
With a full belly, a glass of Willamette Valley Chardonnay, and the perfect black bikini Paige had laid out for her, Echo committed herself to a night of complete relaxation. There would be time tomorrow to figure out her next step, to allow herself to really see the house for the first time. Tonight was a night of stress detox where she could pretend that everything was fine and she was simply on sabbatical. The wine would help and so would a stint in the hot tub.
Out on the back deck, Echo entered a world of magical beauty. The clear Oregon sky was a deep shade of midnight blue and speckled across it like a billion diamonds were bright, sparkling stars. It had been too long since she had seen what a true night sky was supposed to look like and she found herself mesmerized. Out on the horizon above the
line of mature juniper trees, she could see the faint silhouette of the Three Sisters mountain range, and as she sank into the bubbling heat of the hot tub, she could feel all of her worries melt away. Charlie truly had built for her a sanctuary—a place far separated from city life, nestled in the heart of her beloved Oregon.
She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the curved wall of the hot tub, and as she drank in the oaky flavor of the Chardonnay, Echo realized that for the first time in days, her head didn’t hurt. The virtual ice pick had been plucked from her skull and the pounding had come to a complete stop. This was about as close to Nirvana as she would ever get.
“Ms. Abbott?” The voice, low and with a hint of uncertainty, completely and utterly scared the shit out of her.
She let out a screech that echoed out into the open night sky, dropped her wine glass that shattered into countless slivers, and slipped within the hot tub as she tried to climb free and run, hitting her head in the process. In the midst of the hazed fog brought on by the fresh knot on her forehead, she managed to pull herself free from the tub and as she did, she fell out onto the deck, landing in the puddle of glass that lay beside her.
“Fuck!”
Pain pierced through her as the tiny shards of glass impaled themselves into the palm of her hand and the bottom of her foot, along with various places up and down her left leg as she tried to drag herself free from the rubble.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” A large man with muscled arms and strong hands lifted her effortlessly from the glass battlefield. “I didn’t mean to scare you! Are you okay?”
Suddenly more pissed than scared, Echo wriggled and screamed in his embrace, trying with all of her might to break free from his hold. “Put me down!”
Gingerly and on command, he did, but as her foot found the deck, she pushed a large shard of glass deeper into her heel and cried out again, “Pick me up! Pick me up! Take me inside!”
The stranger quickly swooped her up back into his arms and with rapid procession, carried her into the house and set her down onto the kitchen counter. Without a word he grabbed a towel from the oven bar, soaked it in warm water, and tended to her foot, pulling out the largest shard of glass that had impaled her. She screamed and kicked at him as the pain pulsed through her and as he dropped the sharp triangle on the counter beside her, Echo could feel the familiar sensation of warm blood dripping down her foot.
With an eerie swiftness, the man backed as far away from Echo as he could without stepping back outside.
“That’s–that’s a lot of blood.”
His face was ashen and there was a quiver to his voice that oddly enough set Echo at ease. He was tall and muscular with broad shoulders and a chiseled chest, easily defined even through the fabric of his gray button-up shirt. His hair was raven black and clean cut and he had the hint of a five o’clock shadow on his face. His thick eyebrows were arched in alert and his baby-blue eyes had locked onto the droplets of blood that fell to the tiled floor. He was a beautiful mess.
“Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here?”
He did not pull his eyes from the blood when he answered.
“I’m Henry. I’m here to buy your house.”
Chapter Four
“Henry?” Rage pulsed through her. “As in Henry Knight the douche-bag stalker who refuses to take no for answer and just leave me alone? That Henry Knight?”
He finally looked up into her eyes, a hint of a smile etched along his full lips.
“Well”—he laughed—“most women don’t refer to me as a douche bag, but yes, I suppose I am that Henry.”
“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night!” She could not believe his arrogance, that he actually believed he could show up at her door and charm his way into a contract. Men!
He slowly approached her and reached down for the towel he’d dropped on the floor, swiping it quickly across the puddle of blood that had pooled under her foot before he stood directly in front of her, his large frame shadowing her petite size.
“A little birdie told me you’d come to town and that I could find you out here. I didn’t know you were here to relax. I thought you’d come out to check the property. I really didn’t mean to scare you.”
His eyes were beautiful.
Echo could feel a strange pull to him and shook her head to clear her thoughts, the new bump on her head surely the cause of the cloudy feeling that was filling her mind.
Henry lifted her foot and plucked two more slivers of glass from her heel, before working his way up the side of her leg. With each sliver he pulled from her flesh, a small bead of blood appeared and her leg began to take on an odd polka-dotted pattern. When he slid another large triangle from the meat of her thigh, Echo winced in pain.
“Are you okay?” His voice had taken on a sultry tone and Echo began to feel as though she’d had more than a partial glass of wine. Rather she felt as though she had chugged the bottle.
“You need to leave.” She fought to form the words. Her throat was dry and her voice cracked with the effort. “Mr. Knight, this is highly inappropriate.”
“You’re hurt because of me. I simply want to help.”
The sweet scent of his breath filled her nostrils and as the cloud grew thicker in her mind, there was a sudden jolt of warning. She had to get him out. Something was not right and the dreaded feeling that she was in danger coursed through her body.
“No.” With a burst of conviction she jumped down from the counter, the pain from her foot shooting up through the length of her leg. She pushed it from her mind, knowing that she shouldn’t show him any sign of weakness. “No, really, I’m fine. It was my own clumsiness that caused it.” She pushed past him and headed toward the front door, hiding her limp as much as possible and leaving a trail of partially bloody footprints along the hardwood floors, thankful she wasn’t bleeding all over the white Berber carpet in her condo.
When she reached the front door, she stepped out into the entry and released the gate that led to the walkway, making sure that she made it clear that she expected him to leave without a fuss. As he walked past her she noticed he still wore a smile on his face and he had an unsettling twinkle in his blue eyes.
“When can I see you next?”
“I’m sorry?” She suddenly felt exposed, remembering that she wore a small barely there black bikini. The scar on her stomach red and angry from the heat of the hot tub, she self-consciously wrapped her arms around herself..
“To discuss the house?”
“Oh, umm—I’ll check my schedule and give you a call.”
“I look forward to hearing from you.” He turned his back to leave and before he climbed into his rental car, he called over to her, “Make sure the next time we meet, you’re fully clothed. The bikini is—distracting.”
Dumbfounded, Echo stared after him as he sped out of her driveway, watching until the brake lights had fully vanished from her view. What the hell was that? She closed the wrought iron gate, clicked the lock, and stepped back into the house. When she closed the door, she made sure the bolt was thrown and for extra measure, slid the chain lock into place. The cloud in her mind began to lift and she took in the mess on the floor—an odd trail of blood leading into the kitchen, her footprints looking more like crescent moons than an actual foot. She followed it back into the kitchen and stood there, lost in thought.
Why had he come to see her? She had been very clear that she was not interested in selling him the house. Maybe she should just take it off the market? It was a beautiful home—the perfect sanctuary for a retreat.
The picture of Henry’s baby-blue eyes, intense stare, and sweet smile played over and over in her mind as she cleaned up the mess. He was certainly an odd one, albeit fucking gorgeous. She shook her head. He was also an entitled ass who obviously had never been told no before. Whatever. Tomorrow she would pull the house from the market and shoot him an e-mail, declining his offer for easily the tenth time.
Out
on the deck she swept up the remains of the shattered wine glass. It was surprising how big of a mess it had made. Not to mention deadly. Fuck, glass hurt, even the small shards. It was at that moment that she realized she was no longer bleeding and there was no more pain in her heel. She walked back into the kitchen, emptied the dust pan full of glass into the garbage, and then sat down on one of the pub stools to examine the damage. When she lifted her foot, the only evidence of an injury was the dried blood that surrounded an angry red line on the heel. There was no gash, no need for a Band-Aid, and no pain.
“What the fuck?” She grabbed the other towel hanging on the oven handle, got it wet, then dragged it down the length of her leg, wiping off the specks of dried blood. Beneath the polka-dotted pattern she found pale pink spots where the glass had stabbed her flesh. Her skin was smooth, no sign of physical damage and zero pain.
Her hands began to tremble. Something was terribly wrong. She had been cut and impaled by glass yet she was fine. She’d bled all over her kitchen, causing Henry to back away and look as though he might puke. Actually, no that wasn’t right. He didn’t look ill at all. He looked scared, almost like a recovering meth addict being offered a hit fresh out of rehab. Who the hell was he?
Before she could give Henry any more thought, pain seared at the base of her skull and spread out through her head. She felt like the room was spinning and when she clasped her palm over the spot, her skin felt hot—like how someone feels when they have a fever. She rushed over to the side half bath that was just off of the kitchen and frantically searched for a hand mirror. She found one in the middle drawer, pulled it out, and turned her back to bathroom mirror. Fear gripping her at what she might find, she lifted the hand mirror, pulled her hair up from her neck, and felt panic seize her when she saw it.
At the base of her neck, right at the hairline, she could see a faint red mark. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if had been one of those strawberry birthmarks like Paige had, but it was an actual shape—circle to be exact, with intricate swirls looking like small tendrils bleeding out from the center. It resembled a doodled sunburst, but its intricate details told her it was something completely different.
Echo in the Night [Echo's Song] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 3