by Alison Stone
“What a view,” she said, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office.
The dismal gray evening had grown darker, but the harbor beyond Roman’s office was lit up and bustling with Friday nightlife.
“What you’ve built here is amazing, Roman,” Ella said, turning back toward the office and absently plucking a business card from the holder on his desk. She traced a thumb over the print, her gaze unreadable.
She seemed genuinely impressed and Roman almost asked why she’d waited so long to come see it for herself. But this meeting wasn’t about them. “I had a lot of help,” he said instead, waiting for her to explain why she’d come.
She was too skinny. Even with the bulky winter coat he could see that. Her eyes hadn’t changed, though, their soft green-gray pulling him into memories long tucked away. And better kept there, he reminded himself. He’d spent years burying those memories under a relentless workload that didn’t leave room for regret. But coming face-to-face with Ella brought it all screaming back.
“Want to have a seat?” He moved to his chair, pushing aside his closed laptop. He’d just been packing up to head home when Ella had arrived. But he wasn’t in a rush. The only thing waiting for him at home was a fridge full of leftover takeout and his niece’s lop-eared bunny he’d gotten stuck babysitting.
“Thanks.” She took the seat opposite his, tucking his business card into her purse. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Her eyes brimmed tears that she didn’t let fall.
Roman’s heart constricted. Years ago, he would have pulled her into his arms, but they didn’t know each other anymore.
“Here.” He stood and reached over to the bookcase for a box of tissues, passing them to her. “Why don’t I put on a pot of coffee? We’ll get you warmed up. Take your time.”
She shook her head, accepting the box of tissues but not pulling one out. “No, I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary.”
“We can take as long as you need.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but we both know it’s late on a Friday and you’re probably ready to get home,” Ella started. “It’s been all these years, and the first time I see you, I’m asking for help.”
“How about you tell me what’s going on and we can decide that together?”
She nodded, weariness in her expression. “I don’t really know where to start, but I think I’m being followed.”
“By who?”
“I wish I knew.” She tugged her cap more snugly over her ears. Why didn’t she take it off? She couldn’t still be cold. It was a thousand degrees in the office.
Or maybe it was just him. Roman loosened his tie.
“So, you’re here because you want me to find out?” he asked.
She smiled half-heartedly. “It’s complicated.”
Nervous. He’d never known her to be nervous.
He waited.
“My mom’s in the hospital,” she said finally. “In a coma.”
“My dad told me,” Roman said. “Terrible accident. I’m so sorry, Ella. Is there any improvement?”
Ella shook her head. “That’s why I came out here. I took a leave of absence from my clinic.”
When she’d left to pursue veterinary school in Colorado, she’d had a singular mission: to finish school and then buy her own practice in the mountains. She’d obviously accomplished her goal. Roman had never doubted she would.
“What about your sisters? Have they been able to help, too?”
“Yes, but Bethany has three kids now, so time away is hard to come by. Holly was able to get leave for a few weeks, but she’s back overseas at least until May. Even if we could all be here more often, Graceway can’t function without my mom.”
Two years after Ella’s dad had left the picture, her mother had single-handedly opened the women’s shelter. Even though she employed a substantial staff, she’d always been the one at the helm, making all the decisions.
“How long have you been out here?”
“About five weeks.” She leaned forward, eyes locked on his. “But I don’t remember all of it because three weeks ago, I wound up in the hospital with a...brain injury.”
Roman straightened, his gaze catching on her knit cap.
“I was shot. And everyone’s telling me I did it,” she said, the words rushing together.
“You did what?”
“Shot myself.”
“Tried to commit suicide?” The words didn’t fit right in his mouth. Ella, suicidal?
She nodded.
“The thing is, I really don’t think I did.”
“But others think you did?” he prodded. “Who?”
“The police. The doctors. Even my family.”
“You don’t remember the incident?”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything about it. I don’t remember much about the weeks before, either. The doctors think my memories will come back over time.”
“What did the police find?”
“From what they could figure out, I was shot—or shot myself—sitting up in bed. The trajectory was off, so the bullet only grazed the side of my head. I fell sideways and cracked my head on the edge of the nightstand before I ended up on the floor.”
“The trajectory was off?” Roman asked. Possible in an attempted suicide, if she’d been waffling on her decision.
Ella shrugged. “That’s what I’ve been told. Holly had just pulled up to the house and gotten out of her car when she heard the gunshot and came running. I was on the floor, blood everywhere.”
“Even your sister thinks you were trying to kill yourself?”
Ella nodded, her lips set in a grim line. “My fingerprints were on the gun. Gunpowder on my hand.”
The evidence definitely suggested a suicide attempt, but Roman didn’t point out the obvious. “Do the police have any other suspects?”
Her gaze dropped to her lap. “No. They’ve closed the case. It happened at my mom’s house. No signs of forced entry. No signs of a struggle.” She looked up at him again. “And I supposedly typed a note and left it open on my laptop before I...” Her voice trailed off.
He considered the story for a moment. No wonder the case had been closed. “If someone had tried to kill you and make it look like a suicide, he would have had to get out of the house fast since your sister showed up right as you were shot.”
“My room is at the end of the hall near the garage. It’s possible.”
Maybe. He remembered the layout of the house, though, and it wouldn’t have taken her sister more than a minute to unlock the door and run down the hall to Ella’s room.
“Who would want to kill you, Ella?”
“I have no idea,” she responded.
“What you’re thinking happened, though...it’s not a random act. There’d have to be motive. Personal motive.”
He thought for a moment. After his sister Brooklyn’s death, Ella had gone into a deep depression. It was no secret, as her mother had reached out to friends and the church for prayers and help.
“Could it be someone from the past? Someone who knew you had struggled with depression?” he asked.
“I really don’t know, Roman,” she said, frustration deepening the lines along her forehead.
“Okay.” Roman softened his tone. “But if you don’t remember the incident, how do you know someone else did this?”
“Because I know I didn’t,” she said simply.
Roman saw conviction in her eyes. Knew she believed what she was saying. But he didn’t know what to make of it all.
“You don’t believe me.” Her words were as cold as the air outside, but she couldn’t hide the hurt that flashed in her eyes.
“I do believe you.” At least, he believed she was in trouble. If someone was after Ella, then Roman neede
d to help her. If not...if she was suffering some kind of mental illness, he still needed to help her. “Tell me more about who’s following you.”
She stood abruptly and Roman did, too. Her nose had pinkened, her eyes shining with unshed tears again. “Sorry. Just... I need to use the restroom.” She glanced around in question.
“It’s down the hall from the elevator, back the way we came.”
She nodded. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Roman sat, drummed his fingers on his desk. Uneasy. That’s how he felt. Ella was acting all wrong. He watched the clock as a full minute ticked by. Then he heard the distinct ding of the elevator.
He jumped up and ran out of his office to the reception area beyond, checking the surveillance monitors. He caught a glimpse of Ella’s coat as the elevator doors slid shut behind her.
Planting his palms on the desk, he watched the downstairs lobby on the monitor. The elevator opened and Ella ran for the exit as if she was being chased. Roman frowned as he watched her hurry along slippery stairs to the sidewalk and the waiting cab at the curb. He didn’t know what Ella was running from, but he wasn’t about to let her run alone. He’d done that years ago and he’d never forgiven himself.
* * *
Ella’s hands trembled in her lap. It had happened again. The sudden bout of confusion. One moment she was sitting across from Roman having a conversation and the next she was overcome by confusion, her mind racing with questions. Why was she with Roman? What were they even talking about?
Like she’d done at Graceway each day, she’d excused herself to the bathroom. There, she would calm the rising panic, try to ascertain reality, and then get back to whatever she’d been doing.
But on the way to the restroom tonight, panic had risen like a pot boiling over. She knew it was happening but couldn’t head it off. She wasn’t thinking about Roman or the silver car or why exactly she was running. She just ran.
Ella peered through the back window. It was too dark to differentiate car colors. If she was being followed, she’d never know it. Her mind raced in time with her heart, her head throbbing from exertion.
She pulled Roman’s business card from her purse, texting him a lame excuse and promising to call in the morning. Then she shut down the phone. He’d try to call her, and she couldn’t handle that just yet.
What if she was going crazy?
She’d read about things like this. One day you’re perfectly normal and the next you’re caught up in some sort of mysterious psychosis.
But, no. The confusion had been getting better, just like the doctors said it would. As soon as the taxi had pulled away from Shield, Ella had been struck with total clarity on what she’d just run from: Roman and her plea for him to help her. In the past weeks, it had often taken her a couple of hours to regain clarity over what she’d been doing before the lapse.
The taxi slowed around the corner and pulled up in front of her mom’s tired 1940s home. She’d had the Cape-Cod-style house repainted in recent years, a deep grayish blue she’d said was peaceful. Tonight, it looked dull and foreboding. Even the gentle glow of the streetlamps and porch light didn’t brighten up the home. Guilt reared up as Ella paid the driver and stepped out into the frigid night. Mom’s garden beds along the porch were untidy and the big maple needed a trim before a storm came and knocked it onto the house.
She fished out her keys and unlocked the front door, casting a quick glance behind her as the taxi pulled away. The street was dark and empty, no lurking silver Camry anywhere in sight. Still, fear clawed at the edge of her mind. Paranoia, she reminded herself. She stepped inside quickly, shut the door and locked up.
She set her purse on the console table near the front door, then unzipped her boots and hung her coat and hat in the tidy foyer closet. Turning on lights as she walked toward the living room, she leaned over the couch and patted Isaac’s soft head.
“Hey, bud,” she said to her mom’s dog, sidling past the couch to grab the television remote. Isaac looked up from the living room couch, but didn’t actually move a single limb in greeting. His peaceful quiet put Ella at ease, warmth rushing over her as the comforting sounds from the television filled the room. She hated the silence in the house, but as long as Isaac was content on the couch, she could be sure she was alone. He was a funny old guy, about the size of a basketball and almost as round. He was also perpetually silent, unless he met a stranger. She flipped on the news and set the remote on the coffee table. Her gaze passed over the book an acquaintance at church had brought her and she rolled her eyes.
The Prodigal Son Returns wasn’t Ella’s choice reading material. She figured there was a hint somewhere in the gift—a quiet reminder that Ella had been gone too long when her mom had needed her most. Shoving the guilt aside, she moved into the kitchen.
She plunked her keys down on the gray-blue Corian countertop and opened the small cabinet next to the fridge. It was packed with a hodgepodge of cooking spices, along with a stockpile of her mom’s medications. Ella grabbed a bottle of aspirin, her gaze catching on the sleep meds she’d quit cold turkey as soon as she’d been released from the hospital. She’d been taking the pills regularly for years, and she was convinced their effectiveness was one of the reasons she hadn’t woken to the intruder the night she’d been shot. She pressed the cabinet shut, frustrated. She wouldn’t get much sleep tonight. Again. But she’d rather be sleep-deprived than dead. She opened the fridge and peered inside.
She was down to the last bottle of iced tea. She’d have to hit the store tomorrow. Her hand closed around the bottle just as a swish of movement whispered behind her.
Ella gasped as an arm snaked around her middle, dragging her back from the fridge, her feet falling out from under her. She screamed, the iced tea crashing to the floor, her hands prying at the strong arm subduing her.
A sharp sting lanced her upper arm and this time her scream was soundless as she desperately tried to twist away. She registered everything in slow motion, it seemed. A syringe in her periphery, held by a black-gloved hand. Isaac whining at her feet, his tiny claws clicking on the tiled floor as he followed the scene. Futilely, she tugged at the arm dragging her across the kitchen. But her limbs felt loose, her strength ebbing.
Her heart was beating erratically, her hands tingling and numbing, dropping away involuntarily from the arm that was holding her. She tried again to scream, but nothing happened. The house was spinning. Or was she? Nausea roiled in her gut. Panic swirled in her mind. She needed to escape.
But first, she needed to sleep.
Copyright © 2018 by Sara K. Parker
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IMPRINT: M&B Love Inspired Suspense, Digital Exclusives
ISBN: 9781489263377
TITLE: PLAIN OUTSIDER
First Australian Publication 2018
Copyright © 2018 Alison Stone
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