Love Lies Bleeding

by Jess McConkey

  When she’d stopped by earlier and read Sam’s note giving her the morning off, both Dr. Van Horn and Sam had been gone. Maybe they’d gone for a drive. Or maybe they were engaged in something else, she thought with a little smirk. They’d been pretty chummy when she walked in on them yesterday. It had taken her aback. She’d never witnessed any kind of affection between them, but now it looked like the situation was changing. She hesitated. Should she make a racket when she walked in the door? Should she knock first? No, Dr. Van Horn’s car was still gone, so the danger of interrupting them was slim.

  Anne walked the rest of the way to the cabin and opened the door. Nope, no Dr. Van Horn—just Sam standing in front of the easel with one brush in her mouth and another in her hand. She watched as Sam made a few quick strokes with the one in her hand. Amazed, she saw a pine tree appear in the painting. Switching brushes, Sam made a few more strokes and the rough outline of the shore appeared.

  Anne cleared her throat.

  Sam jumped at the sound, the brush falling from her hand as she pressed it to her heart. “You startled me!” she exclaimed.

  “Sorry.” Anne stepped inside and motioned over her shoulder. “Is Dr. Van Horn at the sheriff’s?”

  Sam gave her a puzzled look. “Sheriff’s?”

  Quickly Anne explained Deputy Parker’s visit and Caleb’s confession.

  When she’d finished, Sam frowned. “I’m sorry Jackson accused Caleb.”

  “It’s understandable. Teddy was wearing his sweatshirt, and maybe now Caleb will finally stay away from him.” Anne looked around the room. “So where is Dr. Van Horn?”

  “He left last night,” Sam replied, rinsing out her brushes.

  “Short visit.”

  Sam picked up a towel and began drying the brushes. “Last visit.”

  “What?” Anne exclaimed.

  Placing the brushes back in the tray, Sam crossed to the couch and, after sitting down, related last night’s events. Dumbfounded by Sam’s story, Anne joined her on the couch.

  “Don’t you think you might be overreacting?” Anne hesitated. “The wind could’ve blown the door open. It was quite a storm.”

  Sam’s lips tightened and she shook her head. “No, I distinctly remember locking it.” She picked at a cushion next to her while she stared off into space. “Ever since I stopped taking those damn pills, my memory’s been sharper.” She turned toward Anne and her eyes narrowed. “I almost wonder if they weren’t slowing my recovery.”

  When Anne didn’t answer, Sam slapped her thighs and rose. “Moot point now.” Looking down at the other woman, she smiled. “What do you have planned for me today? I’ve already taken a walk.”

  Anne looked toward the sun streaming in the French doors. “Let’s try something new. It’s a beautiful day. How do you feel about going for a swim?”

  Sam’s nose wrinkled as her attention drifted down to her left leg. “I’d have to wear a bathing suit.”

  Standing, Anne laughed. “You can’t very well swim in sweatpants.”

  Sam’s hand drifted down to her left thigh. “My leg,” she began with reluctance in her voice.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Anne said, waving away her fears. “You can wear your sweats over your suit then take them off right before you get in the water. No one will see your leg.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Trust me. It will be okay.”

  With that, Sam went back to her bedroom to change while Anne slipped into her suit in the guest room. Together they carefully made their way down the steps to the dock. Once there, Sam took off her pants and quickly waded into the lake. She stopped when the water lapped around her waist. Looking up at Anne, she cocked her head.

  “You know you look great in a bathing suit.”

  Blushing, Anne smiled. “Thanks.” She waded in to join Sam, handing her one of the “noodles” she’d hauled down to the lake.

  “Have you ever thought about modeling?” Sam asked suddenly. “With your figure and height—”

  Anne launched herself into the water, cutting Sam off. She swam briskly to the end of the dock. Straightening until her feet hit the bottom, she wiped the water out of her eyes. Sam, wearing a perplexed look on her face, still stood where Anne had left her.

  “Use the noodle and swim out to meet me.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Her eyes downcast, Anne moved her arms through the water. “I know.”

  Sam swam over to Anne. “I’m serious—I worked with plenty of models at the ad agency, and half of them don’t have your presence. I know you’re not in your twenties, but there is a niche for older women. You should give it a try.”

  “Like I haven’t heard that one before.” She gave a furious shake of her head. “No.”

  “Why? What’s the deal?”

  Anne grabbed the edge of the dock and let her legs float upward. “What’s the expression? ‘Been there, done that.’ ”

  “You modeled?”

  Anne gave a sharp snort. “I tried it—all the folks around here told me I was perfect—but the modeling agencies in New York thought differently.”

  “When did all this happen?”

  “A long time ago. I was young and stupid.” Anne let her fingers trail through the crystal-clear lake water. “I took every dime my parents had saved for my college education and wasted it on trying to break into the business.” She dropped her chin. “I came home with my tail tucked between my legs. The only good thing to come out of the experience was Caleb.”

  Sam laid a hand on her wet shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  Anne brushed her away. “Don’t be. I got over it. Now the only thing that’s important is that Caleb doesn’t make the same mistake I did by chasing after some foolish dream. He’s going to get an education.”

  “But is that what Caleb wants?”

  “No. He thinks he can make a living working as a musician.” Anne scoffed. “But I’m not going to allow it.”

  Sam moved to the end of the dock and grasped the edge. “Kind of like my father didn’t allow me to see if I could make it as an artist?”

  Anne felt her temper rise. “No, it’s not like that at all,” she declared hotly. “You’ve always had money. We haven’t. You can afford to fail. Caleb can’t. He needs an education to be successful.”

  “There are more ways to fail than just financially. I know people who have lots of money, but I wouldn’t say they have successful lives.”

  Anne kicked away from the dock and swam into deeper water. “Yeah, try living from paycheck to paycheck and see how successful you feel.”

  Using the noodle for buoyancy, Sam paddled toward her. “If my paintings don’t sell, I might—”

  The sudden roar of a Jet Ski cut off her words. A teenager, with the sun turning his red hair orange, rode high in the seat as he headed straight toward them. At the last minute he cranked the steering hard toward the left, creating a big wave. As the wave rolled toward them, Anne made a grab for Sam, but the girl’s wet arm slipped from her grasp. She watched helplessly as the force of the water yanked the noodle out Sam’s hands and carried her back toward the end of the dock.

  With a dull thump, Sam’s head met the dock’s metal pylon. Her eyes closed while her body slumped back in the water. In two long strokes, Anne had reached her and, supporting her shoulders, lifted her face clear of the water.

  Sam’s eyelids fluttered open, and with a groan, she raised a hand to her head.

  “What happened?”

  “Are you okay?” Anne asked as she took a firm grip on Sam’s upper arm.

  “Yeah,” she said, allowing Anne to pull her back into shallow water. When her feet touched the bottom, she rubbed the side of her skull.

  Anne looked beyond Sam to the Jet Ski disappearing in the distance. “The force of the wave carried you into the side of the dock. Can you make it up the hill to the cabin?”

  Sam dropped her hand and nodded. “I’m fine. I was stunned for
a moment, that’s all.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Who was on the Jet Ski?”

  “Do you really have to ask?” Anne’s face flushed in anger. “Teddy Brighton.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  When they reached the cabin, Anne helped Sam into one of the kitchen chairs and called Dr. Douglas. After taking the phone, Sam sat patiently and answered the doctor’s ridiculous questions.

  “Are you nauseated?”

  “No.”

  “What day is it?”

  Sam grimaced. “Monday.”

  “Do you have any ringing in your ears?”

  “No.”

  “On a scale of one to ten, rate your pain.”

  “Five.”

  “Okay,” Dr. Douglas said. “May I speak with Anne, please?”

  Anne accepted the phone and listened intently. “You’re positive you don’t want to see her?” she asked in a voice weighted with skepticism.

  Sam shook her head vigorously at Anne’s question and mouthed the word no.

  With a frown, Anne turned her back on Sam and continued listening to the doctor’s instructions. “Sure, I’ll spend the night,” she replied. “Okay, thanks, Doctor.”

  Anne placed the phone on the counter and crossed over to Sam. After helping her to her feet, she guided her toward the hallway. “Dr. Douglas said to rest and take ibuprofen. Do you need help getting out of your swimsuit?”

  Sam pulled her arm away. “Don’t treat me like an invalid. I took a little bump on the head. I’m fine.”

  “Okay, but I’m staying. I’ll call Caleb, make sure he did talk to the deputy sheriff, and let him know that I’m spending the night.”

  Before Sam could answer her, a knock interrupted them, followed by Fritz appearing in the doorway.

  “I don’t mean to intrude,” he said self-consciously, “but I have a gift for you, Samantha—a CD of my compositions. I thought you might enjoy listening to it.”

  She made a half turn and moved toward him, but Anne stepped forward and blocked her.

  “This really isn’t a good time, Fritz,” she said, not hiding the irritation in her voice.

  He looked flustered as his attention shifted to Anne.

  “Sam’s had an accident,” she continued.

  “Oh, my dear,” he cried, stepping over the threshold. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No,” Anne answered for Sam. “I’ve called the doctor and he said the best thing for her is rest, so I’m staying the night.”

  “But, Anne, aren’t you concerned about Caleb?”

  “Um—not at the moment.”

  “Oh,” he said, not hiding his surprise. “I’d heard Duane Parker paid you a visit.”

  “I’m sure that the matter has been straightened out by now,” she replied gruffly. “I want to get Sam to bed, so if you’ll excuse us . . .”

  Fritz reached around Anne and shoved the CD case toward Sam. “Here, my dear, you can listen to this while you’re resting.”

  Sam glanced at the case and shook her head. “Not now. I think I’d better do as Anne says.” She waved toward the counter. “If you’d put it over there, I’ll listen later.”

  Fritz glanced down at his hand. “Yes—yes,” he muttered. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Placing the case on the counter, he left.

  “I think we hurt his feelings.” Sam sighed after the door had softly closed. “It was sweet of him to make me a CD of his music.”

  “You can thank him later,” Anne replied. “My job is to make sure you follow the doctor’s instructions, not worry about Fritz’s feelings.”

  Muttering under her breath about Anne’s bossiness, Sam deliberately shut the bathroom door in her face and quickly changed. Such a fuss about nothing. Okay, so a feeling of panic had flashed in the instant her head made contact with the pylon, but it had happened so fast that she didn’t have time to react. The thought of another head injury nagged at her, but she had no intention of wearing a helmet for the rest of her life, so what was the alternative? She thought back to her walk earlier that day. She’d decided fear would no longer be in her vocabulary. This was a perfect time to put her new resolution in practice. She’d follow the doctor’s orders and all would be well by morning. Satisfied, she went to the bedroom and curled up on the bed. A moment later a rap sounded and Anne entered with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. She shook a couple out and handed them, along with the water, to Sam. Sitting up, Sam popped the pills while Anne crossed to the window and adjusted the blinds, sending the room into semidarkness.

  At the door, Anne paused. “Rest, and if you need anything, holler.”

  Yawning, Sam nodded. She was tired, she thought, scooting down in the bed. She shut her eyes and waited for sleep to claim her, but every sound seemed magnified. She could hear Anne rustling around in the kitchen, a boat speeding by down on the lake—even her bedside clock seemed to click away the seconds. Giving up, she sat up in bed. Her sketch pad lay beside her, but she didn’t feel like drawing. Her eyes spied a book on the dresser. Getting out of bed, she went over and picked it up. It was the book Jackson had been reading—The Minnesota Guide to Haunted Locations. She thumbed through it as she walked back to the bed and climbed in.

  She scanned the pages, reading the usual tales of ghostly Native American princesses wandering the shores of misty lakes; lost miners still digging in abandoned mines; cabins plagued by poltergeists. It was the last entry in the book that caught her attention.

  The story told of a cabin located not far from Elk Horn Lake where for years vacationers had been tormented by the pesky ghost of a young woman. This mischievous spirit seemed especially to enjoy playing pranks on the unwary visitors by hiding objects that belonged to them and startling them out of a sound sleep.

  Hiding objects? Isn’t that what happened to her brush and the photo Jackson had given her as a gift?

  She snorted softly. In a way, it would be comforting to believe that it was some restless spirit that was haunting her, instead of her own mind not functioning as it should. With a grimace, she tossed the book to the side and eased down in the bed. She placed her forearm over her face and shut her eyes.

  The dream that was unfolding was like watching a movie. She was present, but removed from the scene, like a spectator. The green light from the dashboard was casting eerie shadows on the faces of a man and woman as their car sped down a lonely gravel road. Warm humid air rushed into the open window of the passenger side, where the woman sat. With her red hair tumbling around her face, she extended her arm out the window as if she were trying to catch the wind. In front of her, the headlights lit the dark strip of country road. Turning with a laugh, the woman scooted closer to her companion and threw an arm around his neck.

  The man’s profile revealed a strong chin, high cheekbones, and a straight nose, but the color of his hair and eyes were hidden in shadow.

  “What’s my surprise?” the woman cooed.

  The man’s lips moved in a faint smile. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

  She inched closer and nuzzled his earlobe. “Please?”

  “Behave,” he said, shifting his body away from her.

  Lifting her head, she sat back. “But you like it better when I don’t.” Her hand stole up his arm and across his chest, her fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt.

  “Knock it off—not while I’m driving,” he said as he brushed her hand away.

  Flopping back in her seat, she crossed her arms over her chest while her lips formed a pout. “Aren’t we about there?”

  “Almost.”

  “I don’t have all night, you know,” she said in a querulous voice. “I need to be home before he gets back.”

  The man didn’t speak for a moment. “Why don’t you leave him? You’re miserable.” One hand left the steering wheel to grasp hers. “I could make you happy.”

  She jerked away. “How?” she scoffed. “Living upstairs in a two-bedroom apartment?” She tossed h
er long hair. “I’ve got bigger plans than that.”

  Both the man’s hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. “He’s not going to change his life for you.”

  “Yes, he will,” she answered with a firm nod.

  “I’d treat you better,” he argued back.

  “Oh, baby,” she crooned, leaning in until her full breasts were pressed tightly against his side. “You know this is just for kicks and giggles.”

  He shifted his upper body to the side, creating a gap between them. “Right. Until something better comes along,” he replied in a bitter voice.

  The woman slid closer, and the car filled with the scent of lavender. “Don’t be this way,” she said, moving her hand to his lap and letting her fingers wander up and down the zipper of his jeans.

  He gasped.

  She lifted her chin and pressed her lips to the tender spot below his ear and his gasp turned into a groan. His lower body arched, pressing into her open palm. The headlights wove an erratic pattern across the road. Laughing, the woman licked the side of his neck and his eyelids drifted shut for a moment.

  Suddenly his body slammed into hers, throwing her against the passenger door. The car careened wildly into the ditch while clouds of dust poured in the open window. Bouncing over the rough ground, they were tossed like a couple of rag dolls. Finally the car came to a stop with its headlights pointing into the night sky at a crazy angle.

  The woman tried sitting up, but the man’s heavy body was sprawled across her. She pushed him away and her hand found the door handle, which she wrenched open. Half crawling, half tumbling, she slithered to the ground. Getting to her feet, she staggered back while she drew a hand across her mouth. It came away wet and sticky. She held it in front of her face. Bleeding, she was bleeding. Still staring at her bloody hand, she jumped when a voice called out.

  “Hey, are you hurt?”

  The words were followed by the sound of heavy boots crashing through the weeds.

  Without a backward glance at the man still lying in the wrecked car, the woman crouched and slipped off into the dark before the other man could see her.

  Sam woke up curled on her side with her hands fisted into her pillow. What a dream—had it been triggered by Fritz telling her of Edward’s accident? Fritz had said Edward was alone that night, but in her dream, he hadn’t been. Blanche? Why had her subconscious inserted Blanche? Sliding over, she felt a body pressed up against her back. Thank goodness for Roxy, she thought, smiling as she rolled over. The dog was always there to comfort her. Still smiling, she turned her head to pet the dog.