Love Lies Bleeding

by Jess McConkey

  “What are you doing out of bed? Your ankle. You shouldn’t be putting any weigh—”

  “Shh.” Sam silenced her while she leaned heavily against the arm of the couch. “She’s back.”

  “Who?”

  “The woman,” Sam answered in a voice tight with fear.

  “What woman?”

  “There’s a woman, dressed in a nightgown, standing at the end of the dock.”

  “Impossible,” Anne said, throwing off the light blanket covering her. She swung her legs off the couch and, with quick strides, crossed the room to the patio door. Flinging the curtains open, she peered into the darkness. Nothing. She opened the door and stepped out onto the deck.

  Across the lake, lights from Fritz’s cabin flickered, and she heard the light notes of a saxophone drifting on the breeze. Walking along the edge of the deck, she looked over the side. Again, nothing. Rolling her eyes, she went back inside.

  Turning, she locked the door to the deck and flicked on a light. Sam sat on the couch, her face white and her eyes huge. Anne shook her head. “There’s no one out there.”

  “Didn’t you hear the whispers?”

  “No,” Anne answered slowly. “Did you?”

  “Yes.” Sam lowered her head and stared at her lap. “Just like before. I heard whispers and smelled cigarette smoke.” She lifted her head. “You don’t smoke, do you?”

  “No.” Anne watched her carefully. Sam was truly afraid. “This has happened before?”

  “Yes. The first night I was here alone.” She drew a shuddering breath. “First the whispers, followed by the smell of cigarette smoke.” Her eyes darted to the now-closed drapes. “Then I saw a woman, in a lavender nightgown, standing at the end of the dock.”

  “Did you see what she looked like?”

  “Not her face, but she had long red hair.”

  It could have been a nightmare, but Sam seemed so convinced that she had seen someone. Anne searched her mind for an explanation. Long red hair, huh? She wasn’t aware of any redheads living at the lake this summer. Next time she ran into Fritz Thorpe, she’d try to ask him about red-haired strangers without raising his suspicions.

  Her lips tightened in a frown. Caleb had told her that the rumors about Sam’s nervousness had been flying. What if someone who had nothing better to do than to prey on others thought it would be funny to play a sick joke on her? Someone like Teddy Brighton.

  Chapter Ten

  I stop playing and stand. Spanning my fingers wide, I admire their competence. So strong, so sure, I really do have beautiful hands. Curling and uncurling each digit, I watch the tendons expand and contract and am satisfied every muscle, every nerve is working as it should. I drop them to my side and stroll to the kitchen. Immediately my attention is caught by the window above the sink.

  I’d forgotten to lower the blinds.

  Frowning, I cross the room. My hand pauses on the cord as I move to lower them. Outside, I see the hulking shadows of the pine trees ringing my property. Once I roamed those woods and the hills behind them. No longer. They contain secrets, secrets dark as a cave. A small smile flits across my face at my cleverness. Dark as a cave, I like that. But then my breath quickens as I remember just how dark that is. A cold, damp dark that seeps into every pore as you lie huddled and alone, crying for your mother . . .

  No. I yank the cord and send the blinds crashing down. My breath slows. I’m an adult, and the darkness holds no power over me now. Stepping over to the liquor cabinet, I open it and take down a glass and a bottle of Scotch. Not my beloved Glenlivet, but under the circumstances it will have to do. I dislike the way my hand shakes as I pour three fingers. Knocking it back, I let the amber liquid chase away the cold memories.

  Better now, I pour another before I go back to the living room. I search for my special tape, one that I made years ago when cassettes were all the rage. Finding it, I fumble in my haste and pop it into the tape deck. Soon the melody fills the room. Closing my eyes, I sway back and forth to the music and some of the Scotch sloshes onto my hand. Normally, wasting precious drops of the amber liquor would bother me, but not now. All I want is for the music to carry me away.

  He handles that particular section of the piece with such mastery that it almost brings me to tears. In a wordless salute, I lift my glass to him then down it in one gulp.

  I look at my hands again. I’m good, but he was better. Such flair, such styling. He could’ve been one of the greats if she hadn’t come along.

  I try and turn my thoughts. I will not sully his work by thinking of her while his music dances around me. Angry now, I stop the tape.

  She should’ve recognized his talent and left him alone. But no, she played with him like he was a shiny new toy. That is, until the shininess wore off. Then she cast him away, ruined and broken, and moved on to the next one.

  My eyes are drawn back to the kitchen window. She deserved it, she really did. My finger taps at the empty glass. So what if it trapped me in a life I never wanted? Vengeance does have its price, and not only for its victim, but also for its avenger.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sam rolled over on her back and stretched her arms high above her head. Carefully, she moved her right ankle side to side. Nope; nothing, not even a twinge. She smiled to herself. She’d been right—Anne and Greg Clemons had made a fuss over nothing. Her face sobered. She’d been lucky. The fall could’ve been serious and she’d need to be more cautious. Not let herself get swept up in her emotions so easily.

  Turning on her side, she tucked her hands under her pillow. She’d been so humiliated by her outburst that all she could think about was getting away from Greg as quickly as possible. She’d always been in control of her feelings, but now they constantly simmered right below the surface, ready to burst forth at the smallest thing. Wonder what Dr. Weissinger would say about that? Wonder what he’d say about the mysterious woman haunting her dock at night?

  Was there a woman? She burrowed deeper under the covers. Anne didn’t see her, but, she argued with herself, that didn’t mean the woman hadn’t been there. Did Anne believe her? Probably not, because no one ever believed her. It’s true that after the coma she’d had a hard time differentiating between her dreams and reality, but she thought she was better. Panic threatened to claim her. What if everyone did have reason to doubt her? What if she was again losing her grasp? No, she wouldn’t allow it.

  Throwing off the covers, she sat up, but dizziness hit her and she fell back against the pillows. Her gaze fastened on the pills sitting on the nightstand. She hadn’t been able to slide on her meds last night. Anne had insisted that she take every single one, including the ones Jackson said would help her sleep. She gave a soft snort. Well, they weren’t working, were they? She’d actually slept better on the nights she’d been too tired to take them.

  A sharp rap at the door broke through her thoughts. The door swung open and Anne’s head appeared in the doorway.

  “Breakfast is ready,” she said, stepping into the room. “How’s the ankle?”

  “Better,” Sam replied.

  “Let’s see.” Anne crossed the room and, kneeling, removed the bandage around Sam’s ankle. “Hmm,” she said, gently pressing the muscle. “The swelling’s gone. Does it hurt?”

  “No,” Sam answered truthfully.

  “Good.” Anne rose to her feet and looked down at her with a twinkle in her eye. “I know this is going to break your heart, but I think we’ll pass on the walk today. We’ll concentrate on strengthening exercises here at the cabin.”

  “Inside?” Sam couldn’t keep the hopeful note out of her voice.

  Anne crossed her arms over her chest and studied her for a moment. “Why don’t you like going outside?”

  “I just don’t,” Sam mumbled.

  Anne wasn’t going to give up. “And the reason is?”

  Sam tugged on her bottom lip, and her gaze traveled to the window and the closed blinds. “It’s hard to explain—” She halted. “It . . .
I . . . I feel exposed.”

  “Exposed?”

  “Yeah, as if someone is watching me.” Returning her attention to Anne, she held up her hand when Anne started to speak. “Okay, I know no one is really watching me, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling.”

  “Have you talked to your therapist about it?”

  “Of course,” Sam replied, her lips in a grim line. “He said those feelings would lessen in time, then he gave me another prescription.”

  “But they’re not?”

  “No, and to be honest, it’s worse up here than it was in the Cities.”

  Anne frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. I would think those feelings would be more severe in a crowded city than in the open spaces here.”

  “Look, I didn’t say it made sense.” Sam swung her legs off the bed and made a move to stand, but the dizziness hit her again and she plopped back onto the bed.

  Anne was at her side in an instant. “What’s wrong? Is it your ankle?”

  “No, my ankle’s fine. The swelling’s gone and I can put weight on it,” Sam answered, passing a hand over her eyes. “It’s those damn pills Jackson insists I take at bedtime. They make me woozier than the last prescription.”

  “Dr. Van Horn prescribed them, not your psychiatrist?”

  Sam waved her away and slowly rose to her feet. “I don’t know whose name was on the scrip—I never looked—but Jackson thought they’d help.”

  Anne picked up the bottle of pills and studied them. Dr. Van Horn’s name was on the label. Without a word, she placed it back on the nightstand. “By the way, Jackson called last night after you were asleep.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “You didn’t tell him about my fall, did you?”

  “I didn’t have to,” Anne said with a grimace. “Your father had already talked to him.”

  “Great.” Sam took a few halting steps away from the bed. “I suppose he’s rushing up here?”

  “No,” Anne said, following close behind. “I convinced him it was minor, but he is calling back this morning.”

  Sam stopped her progress across the room and turned. “When he does call, please don’t say anything about the woman.”

  “If someone is prowling around the cabin, don’t you think he should know?”

  “No,” Sam replied, her words short. “He won’t believe me, so what’s the point?” She studied Anne carefully. “Do you think I saw someone?”

  Anne’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I believe that you saw something.” She hesitated. “Whether or not someone was really down there . . .” Her voice trailed away.

  “I might have been dreaming?”

  “I don’t know.” She laid a hand on Sam’s arm. “But word travels fast around here. If anyone else has spotted a woman wandering around the lake at night, someone is sure to mention it.”

  Well, at least Anne wasn’t dismissing her out of hand like her father and Jackson would’ve done. She supposed she should be grateful for that much, but maybe if there were more late-night visits, it would be best to keep her mouth shut.

  “Do you need any help getting dressed?” Anne asked.

  Sam shook her head.

  “Okay. I’ll set the table and we’ll have breakfast.”

  A few minutes later, Sam joined Anne in the kitchen. She’d pulled out the chair when a knock at the door startled her. Jerking, she made a move away from the table, heading back to the safety of her bedroom, but a look from Anne stopped her. With a sigh of resignation, she sat down.

  Anne swiftly walked to the door, opening it to reveal Greg Clemons and the black dog Sam had defended, standing on her porch.

  She stifled a groan.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” Greg said, stepping into the kitchen, “but Roxy wanted to see how you were doing.”

  Sam’s attention turned to the dog sitting at Greg’s side. Once again, their eyes met and the dog wiggled in response.

  “I think she remembers me,” Sam said in a surprised voice.

  Greg bent and scratched the dog’s ears. “Sure she does. Animals always remember when someone does them a kindness.” He smiled down at the dog. “Don’t you, Roxy?”

  Roxy’s eyes left Sam’s and she stared up at Greg, cocking her head.

  Sam gave a chuckle. “She knows you’re talking about her.”

  “She’s a smart girl,” he answered, giving Roxy’s ears another scratch. His attention turned toward Sam. “Would you like to officially meet her?”

  Sam felt a moment of panic. She’d never been around animals much. When she was a child, her parents had never wanted a dog interfering with their lifestyle, and as an adult, she’d always been too busy for pets.

  “I guess,” she replied hesitantly.

  He knelt beside Roxy. “Okay. I’m going to remove her leash, so just let her come to you when she’s ready. And don’t stare at her—dogs sometimes see that as aggression. Pretend she’s not even here.”

  Sam turned her head away from Roxy and focused on the wall. A moment later, she felt a cold nose nudge her hand resting on her thigh.

  “May I look now?” she asked.

  “You bet,” Greg said with a laugh. “She wants you to pet her. That’s a good sign.”

  She lowered her gaze to the pair of brown eyes looking up at her expectantly. With a smile, she stroked the slick black head. “You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you,” she said softly as a long pink tongue flicked out to lick her wrist.

  With a pleased look, Greg pulled out a chair and joined them. “I’m glad she’s making friends with you. She’s been afraid of strangers and we’re trying to help her get over it.”

  Placing a cup of coffee next to Greg, Anne watched Sam interact with the dog. “She looks like a border collie.”

  Greg nodded. “Plus some German shepherd and who knows what else thrown into the mix.”

  “What’s her story?” Anne asked.

  Greg frowned before answering. “We found her chained in the yard of a vacant house. No food, no water. The owners moved away and left her behind.”

  Sam gave a small gasp. “That’s terrible.”

  He picked up his coffee and took a long sip. Setting it down, he glanced at the dog. “You’re right. They could’ve at least found a home for her or turned her in to the shelter instead of abandoning her.” He shook his head slowly. “But some people treat animals like they’re disposable.”

  Sam leaned down and laid a cheek on Roxy’s head. “You poor thing,” she murmured, missing the speculative look on Greg’s face.

  Suddenly the dog jerked away from Sam, and with two loud yips ran to Greg.

  Startled, Sam drew back. “Did I frighten her?”

  Greg tossed a glance over his shoulder at the door. “Nope, she hears someone coming up to the porch.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when a knock at the door set Roxy barking furiously from her spot by his leg.

  “Quiet,” he said in a firm voice as he laid one hand on her head and fastened the leash with the other. Immediately, Roxy plopped at his feet, panting.

  Anne, her hand on the door, looked back at Greg. “Is it okay if I open it?”

  He nodded.

  “My goodness,” Fritz Thorpe said, standing in the doorway. “What’s all the racket?” He spotted Greg and Roxy. “Ah, Greg and one of his strays.”

  “Hi, Fritz,” Anne said, giving Sam a cautious glance while she swung the door wider. “Greg brought Roxy over to meet Sam.”

  “How nice,” Fritz said, stepping inside. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  Greg tightened his grasp on the dog’s leash as he rose to his feet. “I’d better be going,” he said, giving the leash a light tug. “Too many people make her nervous.”

  Fritz stepped out of their way as they headed for the door. “I didn’t mean to run you off,” he said, his eyes never leaving the dog. “But wait a moment—have you given any thought to joining us for the Fourth of July?”

  Greg paused in the doorway.
“The quartet?”

  “Yes, we’d love to have you join us.”

  Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Are you playing any of that longhair stuff?”

  Fritz chuckled. “No, simply a few rousing marches.”

  Greg gave the leash another tug and moved out the door. “I’ll check my schedule,” he called over his shoulder.

  Sam reluctantly watched Roxy go. It had been calming to sit and stroke the dog’s head. And in a way, she suddenly realized, she’d felt safe having Roxy at her side. Now that feeling was gone, and she looked at Fritz nervously.

  Seeing the change in Sam’s demeanor, Fritz quickly turned to Anne. “I really must go, but I wanted to drop by and beg you to let Caleb join us.”

  Anne’s mouth tightened, but before she could speak, Fritz rushed on. “The boy really does want to play, but he’s a good kid and he won’t do it without your permission. If I promise that the rehearsals won’t interfere with his schedule, would you reconsider?”

  She eyed him skeptically. “Do you also promise not to fill his head with a lot of big dreams that won’t come true?”

  “Yes.” Fritz crossed his heart. “I won’t give an ounce of advice as to what his future plans should be.”

  “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “He can play this time.”

  Fritz grasped both of her hands. “Thank you.” He looked over his shoulder at Sam. “Nice to see you again, Samantha,” he said, releasing Anne’s hands and turning toward the door.

  “Wait,” Sam suddenly called out. By his own admission, Fritz kept his eyes and ears open to all the latest around the lake. Maybe he had heard about the mystery woman.

  He stopped, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Yes?”

  Sam swallowed hard. “Um—well—I was wondering—ah—last night, I—” She hesitated and looked to Anne for help.

  With a shake of her head, Anne jumped in. “You know everything that’s going on around here,” she began reluctantly.

  He held up a hand stopping her. “Please,” he said humbly, “not everything.”

  “Have you heard anyone mention a woman, dressed in a lavender nightgown, wandering around the lake at night?”