Behind Closed Doors

by Carla Cassidy

  As if thinking with one brain, they positioned themselves on either side of the doorway that led to the bedroom. With the synchronization of longtime partners, together they swept into the room in shooter stance.

  Empty. The curtains billowed and blood dripped down the wall below the opened window, pointing to Michael Johnson’s means of escape.

  Clay cursed. Holstering his gun, he went to the window and looked out. A dense wall of woods stood just beyond the motel building, creating hiding places for evil.

  “We’d better call for more men.” Raymond slapped Clay on the back. “We’ll find him. He’s obviously hurt. He won’t get far. At least Ann is all right.”

  Ann. Her name screamed in Clay’s head. He raced out of the motel room just in time to see his patrol car pulling out of the parking lot.

  It’s over. It’s finally over. Ann lay in the back seat of the car. She didn’t move or open her eyes when she heard the door open and the engine start. Exhaustion kept her immobile and the back of her head ached with nauseating intensity. But beneath the overwhelming tiredness and the pain in her head, relief flooded through her. No more fear, no more danger. It was over.

  “Is he dead?” she finally asked. No answer. She realized the patrol car was going fast. As it squealed around a corner, alarms went off in her brain. “Clay?”

  She sat up and looked at the driver, shock riveting through her as she saw Michael at the wheel.

  “Hello, Ann.” His gaze met hers in the rearview mirror, his radiating a madness mixed with rage and pain.

  “No.” A sob welled up in her chest, pressing tight against her ribs and for a moment she couldn’t catch her breath.

  It couldn’t be him. She’d shot him. His blood still covered the front of her dress. This must be a dream. A nightmare produced by the blow to her head. But it wasn’t a nightmare, it was far too real to be merely a dream.

  She could smell him, the scent of blood and sweat. The sound of his harsh breathing filled the car. His gaze met hers once again. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not dead.”

  As if with a life of their own, her gaze still focused on him, her hands scrambled to find the door handle. She realized her only hope was to get out of the car, throw herself to the curb before he could carry her someplace where nobody would ever find her when he finished killing her.

  Where was the damned door handle? She finally looked at the door. The sob that pressed against her ribs released itself as she discovered there were no door handles in the back seat. Trapped. She was trapped in the car with evil.

  The gun. She grabbed her purse, but the gun was no longer there. She’d dropped it on the bed after she’d shot him.

  Helpless. She was once again helpless, one more time a victim. And the greatest irony of all was that she was an innocent victim. She knew with a certainty she was not the woman Michael sought. She’d never seen him in the park, had never testified against him at a trial. It was the ultimate betrayal by fate that she would die at the hands of a man who believed she’d done something she hadn’t.

  She would never again feel a man’s arms holding her with love, never experience the joy of giving birth. Never again would she see the beauty of a sunrise, or smell the sweetness of the earth after a gentle rain. She would never see Clay again.

  “No.” The denial fell as a whisper from her lips. “No.” This time she said it more firmly, feeling it in her heart. She wasn’t going to let Michael just drive her away, take her to her own grave. If she was going to die, she’d do it with dignity, fighting for her life.

  Escape wasn’t possible, and she had no weapon. All she had was the purse over her shoulder. She fingered the leather strap and looked at Michael. He was concentrating on driving as fast as possible down the suburban streets. She knew instinctively he was heading for the interstate, where he could elevate his speed.

  Once we get on the freeway, it will be too late, she thought as she drew the purse strap over her head. On the interstate he’d be going too fast, the odds were too great.

  Do it now, a voice screamed in her head. It’s your only hope...your only chance. Ignoring the sharp pain that felt as if it were trying to split the back of her skull, she focused only on the back of Michael’s head.

  Without giving herself a chance to consider the possible outcome, in one fluid motion she slid the purse strap around his neck and pulled tight.

  “You stupid bitch.” His words were garbled, ending in a guttural cough as she tightened her grip. She hung her weight on the strap, praying the leather held, sobbing as his choked rage filled the car. His hands left the steering wheel and scratched and clawed at the strap that cut off his airway.

  In horror, she saw the traffic light ahead of them change to red, saw the semi truck pulling out in front of them. She recognized Michael no longer had control of the car. With a scream, she dropped behind to the floor. She had a split second to pray before the impact. Then nothing.

  Clay rearranged the yellow roses a final time in the vase on the table, then stepped back and eyed them critically.

  Perfect.

  He checked his watch. Almost time to get Ann from the hospital. He’d get her settled in here, stop by and say his goodbyes to his mother, then catch his seven o’clock flight to Hawaii.

  “Hello? Anyone home?” Raymond’s voice called from the front door.

  “In the kitchen,” Clay yelled back. “You just caught me, I was just about to leave to get Ann,” he said as Raymond entered the room.

  “Yeah, I heard she was being released today.” Raymond sank into a chair at the table and scratched his belly thoughtfully. “I gotta say, she’s one hell of a woman. Not many would have had the presence of mind or the guts to do what she did.”

  For a moment Clay was thrust backward in time, back to the moment when he and Raymond had approached the smoldering wreckage of his patrol car. Michael Johnson had died on impact. In an ironic twist of fate, Ann’s life had probably been spared by Michael. The crash had thrown her up and over the front seat, but she’d been saved, cushioned by Michael’s body. She’d sustained cuts and lacerations, a broken rib, and a severe concussion that had kept her hospitalized for the past nineteen days.

  As they’d waited for the ambulance, Clay had held her hand and she’d flashed him a triumphant smile. “He was a stubborn cuss, but we finally got him, didn’t we?”

  He shoved the image out of his mind, not wanting to dwell on the love he’d felt for her at that moment. Love he was consciously turning his back on now. “I’ve got to get going,” he said to Raymond as he checked his watch once again. “I want to make sure Ann is settled in here before I catch my plane.”

  Raymond stood up. “You know, I thought when push came to shove, you’d stay. But, you’re really going, aren’t you?”

  Clay nodded. “I’ve spent the last ten years working toward this. What good are dreams if you don’t actively pursue them?”

  “Guess you’re right, although by the time I get home from work, play with the kids and bond with Ginger, I’m usually too contented to dream.” Raymond walked to the front door, Clay behind him. “In any case, I’m going to miss you, partner.” They shook hands and Clay once again shoved away an edge of regret.

  When Raymond had left, Clay got into his car and headed for the hospital. As he drove he realized he’d not only miss Raymond, he’d miss all the other fellow officers in the department. He’d miss the bad coffee, the terrible jokes, the sense of camaraderie. Finally, he’d miss the thrill of the hunt, the positive feeling he got when he was instrumental in taking a criminal off the streets.

  He focused on the imaginary vision of a sandy white beach, blue waves crashing to the shore, the hot sun tempered by balmy breezes. By this time tomorrow he’d be stretched out on the beach. “It’s what I want,” he murmured as he parked in front of the hospital.

  As he walked in to get Ann, he steeled himself against any weakness he might feel while looking at her. He prepared himself and summoned th
e strength necessary to tell her goodbye.

  She was waiting for him, looking pale and weak, yet oddly radiant. With a minimum of fuss and a multitude of paperwork, her release was secured and within an hour they were in the car heading back to Clay’s apartment.

  “How are you feeling?” Clay asked once they were settled in the car.

  “Surprisingly well.” She flashed him a beautiful smile that caused muscles to clench like a fist in his chest. In the past five days as he had visited her in the hospital, they hadn’t spoken of Michael Johnson, or the accident that had killed him.

  She leaned her head against the seat and smiled again, the tranquil gesture of a woman at peace. “It’s strange, but I’ve never felt so cleansed, so emptied of pain. It’s as if in saving myself from Michael, I saved a piece of the little girl I used to be.”

  She looked at him, her eyes as blue as the brilliant summer sky overhead. “I wasn’t the Ann Carson he was after.”

  “I know. Samantha Whitling called the station yesterday. She remembered that Ann’s mother had mentioned relocating to Chicago after the trial. Ann lives there now with her husband and two children.”

  “I’m glad she’s safe and I hope she’s happy.”

  He cast her a sideways glance. “How did you realize you weren’t the right one? Did you remember something?”

  She nodded. “Michael told me he’d never forget the ribbons I wore in my pigtails the day of the trial. That’s when I knew it wasn’t me. My mom kept my hair short, too short to pull into pigtails. He was so sure I was the one he was after.”

  “What are your plans now?” Clay asked.

  “I intend to take a few more days off to recuperate, then go back to work. I called Dr. Bainbridge yesterday and told him I’d like to be back at work the first of next week. I also put my condo on the market. The real estate agent thinks it will sell fast so I need to decide where I want to live.”

  “You know you can stay at my place for as long as you want. The rent is paid through the end of the month and my landlord says if you want to stay longer he’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

  “What time is your flight?” she asked.

  “Seven o’clock, but I’ve got to stop by my mother’s before going on to the airport. I figured I’d get you settled in, then take off.”

  Silence fell between them, a silence that weighed heavy with unspoken words. Clay mentally grappled, trying to find words to fill the void. He could no longer deny that he loved Ann, but he refused to speak of it, refused to acknowledge it, afraid that somehow he would end up sacrificing all he’d worked for, the fulfillment of his dreams.

  The silence stretched until they got to Clay’s apartment, broken only when Ann was greeted by Twilight. “Hi baby,” she said as she scooped up the cat and held him close to her chest. “Oh, I’ve missed you.” She hugged Twilight, but her gaze sought Clay’s. “And I’m going to miss you,” she said softly.

  Again the fist balled up in Clay’s chest. “Ann, come with me.” The words exploded out of him.

  She closed her eyes and expelled a whispered sigh. He held his breath, wanting her to say yes. Her eyes opened and she placed Twilight back on the floor. When she straightened and looked at him once again, what he saw in her eyes stole his breath away. Love...pure and sweet flowed from her gaze.

  “I can’t, Clay. I can’t go with you.” She looked away from him and Clay felt as if the sun had suddenly been stolen from the sky. She sank onto the sofa, her gaze still not meeting his. “I love you, Clay. More than anyone I’ve ever loved in my life. When I was in that motel room with Michael, I lost hope, I was ready to give in to death, but it was a vision of your face that gave me back the will to survive.” She paused a moment and cleared her throat. “But I can’t forget who I am and what my needs are to go with you in the pursuit of your dreams. Your dreams don’t coincide with mine.”

  Finally she looked at him once again, and this time in her eyes he saw her love, but he also recognized resigned sadness. She stood up and approached him. Gently, she placed her palm against the heat of his cheek. “I would never ask you to sacrifice your dreams for me, but I can’t chase them with you. I need the stability and routine you’re leaving behind.”

  He nodded and stepped away from her touch, afraid that if he felt it another minute he’d do something crazy, something stupid. “Well, guess it’s time for me to head out. The refrigerator is stocked and there’s a good supply of cat food on hand.” He didn’t look at her, couldn’t look at her. Instead he stared at his suitcase by the door. “You’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m a survivor, remember?”

  He looked at her then, saw the shimmering strength that both drew him and gave him the ability to walk away. “Goodbye, Ann.” He picked up his suitcase and walked out the door without looking back.

  He hadn’t realized leaving would be so hard. He hadn’t realized regret tasted so bitter. But better taste it now than five or ten years down the road, he thought as he drove toward his mother’s apartment.

  “This is what I want,” he said aloud. This was what he’d worked so hard to achieve for the past ten years. He had a healthy nest egg and he intended to enjoy retirement while he still had youth and energy on his side.

  By the time he got to his mother’s, he’d managed to put thoughts of Ann in the back of his mind and he felt firm and resolved about his following through on his goal.

  “So, you’re really going,” his mother greeted him at her door.

  “Mom, please don’t start. I just stopped by to tell you goodbye.” He sat down in the chair that had belonged to his father.

  Rosemary sat on the sofa opposite him. In her eyes, he saw no judgment, but rather confusion. “I just don’t understand, son. I don’t understand this need you seem to have in you.”

  “It’s not a need. It’s a want.” Clay struggled to put it all into words for his mother. “When Dad was so sick all he talked about was the deep-sea fishing trip he’d wanted to take. He’d wanted to be captain of a ship, spend his days on the ocean reeling in big fish. But, he had you and me...responsibilities that made his dream impossible.

  “Sea sickness, that’s what made his dream impossible,” Rosemary interrupted. Her eyes went hazy and a soft smile curved her lips. “Your dad and I went deep-sea fishing on our honeymoon. We spent four miserable hours on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Within fifteen minutes of leaving the dock, your father was green and throwing up.” She laughed and shook her head ruefully. “It was a joke between us. He was going to be a sea captain, and I was going to be a famous dancer. We both knew I don’t have a lick of rhythm, just like we knew he’d never willingly spend another hour on a ship.”

  Clay stared at his mother in surprise. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that before?”

  She shrugged, a tinge of pink staining her cheeks. “I never thought about it. It was just one of those silly things between a married couple.”

  “Yeah, well I still think Dad sacrificed a lot of his dreams because he had to work every day and support us.”

  Rosemary looked at him sadly. “Oh honey, your father thought loving and supporting us was the single most important thing he would ever do. For him, it was an honor, not a duty.” She got up and went to the bookshelves. She pulled out a photo album and held it out to him. “Here...take it with you. Thumb through it and tell me that’s a man who wasn’t happy, who felt like he’d lost out. Taking care of us was his dream.”

  Clay took the album and stood. “I’ll call you, Mom,” he said as he walked to the door. “We’ll talk at least once a week.”

  She nodded and followed him, her eyes misty with unshed tears. “What about Ann?” she asked as they reached the door. “She loves you, you know.”

  Again an arrow of regret pierced through him. He shoved it back. “Ann will be fine. She doesn’t need me.”

  “That’s probably true, but sometimes that’s the best love of all, when you don’t need somebody,
but rather want and choose to have them in your life.” Rosemary leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “You know my only concern is your happiness. And if it takes this move to Hawaii to make you happy, then you have my blessing.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” He kissed her, gave her a hug, then turned and walked back to his car, the photo album tucked beneath his arm.

  As he headed for the airport, he concentrated on pulling forth the vision of sandy beaches, balmy breezes, no work, no commitments. Instead, his mind filled with Ann’s image.

  Funny, he’d never realized before how her eyes were the color of the Hawaiian skies, how the flavor of her lips would rival any sweet drink he might ever taste. She smelled as exotic, as fragrant as any flower blossoming anywhere in the world.

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Stop it, he demanded himself. She’d be fine without him. Eventually she’d find a nice man who shared her dreams and she’d live a happy life.

  He breathed a sigh of relief as the airport came into view. And in a mere matter of hours, he’d be living his dreams.

  If memories could be packed into a suitcase and carried away, Ann would have begged Clay to take hers with him. Perhaps then his absence wouldn’t hurt so much.

  He’d left behind a vase full of yellow roses, memories of love and her. When he’d gone, she sank down on the sofa with Twilight in her arms. Tears burned at her eyes and her heart was as heavy as stone.

  The most difficult thing she’d ever done was tell him she wouldn’t go with him. Although he hadn’t told her he loved her, hadn’t said the actual words, at least he’d ask her to go with him and share his dreams. And she’d told him no.

  She stood, fighting back tears, and went into the kitchen where the roses filled the air with their pungent scent. She placed a finger on one of the fragile velvety petals, wishing things could be different, that she could be different. But she couldn’t. She’d lived a childhood of uncertainty and now she needed stability. She’d survived Michael Johnson but knew that if she chased after Clay and tried to live the life-style he wanted, they’d eventually grow to hate each other. She’d rather have memories of his love, than try to be something she could never be.