A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT: THREE STORIES OF VIRTUE FALLS

by Dodd, Christina

  Vivian moved with the broken movements of a robot, reluctant and unwieldy. “Why … why the children?”

  Unexpected emotion caught him by the throat. A noose tightened. Rage blotted out his eyesight. In a second, he recovered, quickly enough to step in front of Vivian and stop her flight. He caught her arms, both of them, faced her straight on, and stared into her eyes. “The first time, I left a witness. The child saw me. She knows me. She doesn’t remember … yet … but she knows me. Never again will I leave a witness. You have to see … that even now, so many years later, I live in fear, and all because Elizabeth Banner still lives.”

  Vivian lifted her chin. “Get your hands off me, you fool.”

  Scarlett O’Hara never played the part better.

  But Vivian was merely acting brave.

  He wasn’t acting cruel. He was vicious. He was a killer. Softly he asked, “Did you notice the painting in the corner? Did you see it? My masterpiece?”

  “I glanced.”

  “You were riveted.”

  She took quick, shallow breaths. “It’s very good.”

  His fingers tightened, hard enough to bruise. “It’s magnificent.”

  “Yes.” Her little eyes narrowed. “I could sell it for a lot of money.”

  Not even the threat of death and mutilation could lessen her greed.

  “You never change. You have a good eye. You’re a brilliant publicist. You’re my rock.” He glanced at the painting in the corner. “I hate to lose you like this.”

  She’d hit him so many times before. He saw the blow coming. He let her swing, and while her fist was up, he slapped her across the face hard enough to snap her head around.

  She stumbled backward, cradled her cheek, stared at him in shock. “You hit me.”

  “We always knew I would pay you back for the time you punched me. Or at least … I knew. After that night in Portland, when you left me for your friends and your lover and your drugs, I knew we were coming to an end.”

  She straightened, and being Vivian, asked for the facts. “How did you get here to attack that nurse?”

  “Some men build things, Vivian. I met a man in Portland who came to one of my art shows. He bragged to me about the small, unlicensed helicopter he built for himself. He bragged how he could fly it low, under the radar, and he never got caught. He told me that for one of my paintings, I could rent it. So I did. I rented it, and him, and flew here. The stupid thing leaked fuel all the way here, and all the way back.” Bradley wrinkled his nose as he remembered the stench. “We almost didn’t make it. That would have been a disaster.”

  “The pilot knows about you?” She sounded almost hopeful.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He knew too much, and I had to kill him. So in a way, it was a disaster … for him.”

  More and more, Vivian seemed to be comprehending the length and breadth and grandeur of his performance.

  “Do you remember the legend of Blackbeard’s wives? He married so many, and one by one they disappeared. Finally he married a young woman. He gave her the household keys, and told her she could go into any room in his mansion, except one. She couldn’t resist. She unlocked that door, and found the heads of all his other wives hanging there, their faces frozen forever in the death grimace.” He pulled out his knife, the one he used to cut canvases. He gripped the handle and walked toward her, sliding his thumb up and down the blade. “I bring it up only because this so reminds me of the story.”

  “Her family rescued her,” Vivian said.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t look for rescue. Your family doesn’t like you, your friends are afraid of you, and no one knows where you are. But don’t worry.” He smiled kindly. “This won’t take long. I know what I’m doing.”

  As he expected, she attacked.

  But he hadn’t lied. He knew exactly what he was doing.

  After he had subdued her, when he knelt on top of her, his knife poised over her face, she gasped, “Will you paint me?”

  Cruelly he said, “No. You’re not pretty, you’re not young, and most of all — you’re not blonde.”

  This was the final chapter in VIRTUE FALLS to feature everyone's favorite waitress, Rainbow Breezewing, and it takes place after all the action is over. She is, um, exercising her God-given right to be a free spirit.

  Rainbow stretched, naked, on the bed, and watched as Andrew Marrero pulled on his clothes as quickly and with as much ire as he could. He cast hard glares, too, but although he huffed, he didn’t say a word.

  He could be trained.

  It wasn’t until he was completely dressed and had the outer door open that he spoke. “You won’t see me back here again!”

  “I would hope not. If there’s one thing I don’t need, it’s a man hanging around.” She grinned at the way his mouth worked as he tried to come up with a retort. “When I want you,” she added, “I’ll come and get you … just when you least expect it.”

  Finally, he said, “I was always thought you were a flaming lesbian, anyway.”

  She was on her feet in a second.

  He went sprinting out the door and down the stairs. As soon as he got to the sidewalk, he slowed, sure she wouldn’t follow him and trying to keep his dignity.

  For a man with a high IQ, he wasn’t very smart.

  Rainbow ran to the door, put her hands on the sill, and leaned out. She was pleased to see the sight of her nude body could still halt traffic. “I am a lesbian,” she yelled at Andrew.

  He stopped and gawked.

  “Next time I tie you up, I’ll have a friend in — and you can watch us.”

  He turned and hurried the other direction.

  Just to make sure everyone knew exactly who he was, she shouted, “Think about that, Andrew Marrero!” Then she stepped outside, did a little stripper-type dip, and waved at her next door neighbors, who were working on their window box flowers, and at the elderly tourists from Wisconsin, who she’d waited on last night and who had told her they were retired dairy farmers. Turning her back, she walked back inside, and shut the door.

  That completes our journey through the VIRTUE FALLS deleted scenes.

  Buy it now in paperback, in audio and for your Kindle.

  Now let's take a look at the alternative ending of OBSESSION FALLS.

  Alternate Ending for OBSESSION FALLS

  When I was writing OBSESSION FALLS, the second Virtue Falls full-length thriller, I knew I had created a problem for myself with Jimmy Brachler. He was smart, mean, warped; a highly intelligent and devious sociopath, the kind who is one step ahead of everyone and who always has a well-developed Plan B. How do you kill a villain like that?

  When I sent the book to my editor, one of her comments was, "I don't like the ending." I said, "I didn't know if you would. I can write an alternate ending." I did, and when I turned it and the revisions back in, I was forced to confess, "This ending feels flat to me." She agreed, and we went with my original ending.

  Readers were either thrilled and excited, or angry and displeased. Will you read the alternate ending? It probably depends on which group you were in.

  Here's the backcopy:

  In the wrong place at the wrong time …

  Taylor Summers witnesses the death threat to a young boy, and does the only thing she can do — she sacrifices herself to distract the killers. Her reward is a life in ruins, on the run in the wilderness, barely surviving a bitter winter and the even more bitter knowledge she has lost everything: her career, her reputation, her identity. She finds refuge in Virtue Falls, and there comes face to face with the knowledge that, to live her life again, she must enlist the help of the man who does not trust her to defeat the man who would destroy her.

  OBSESSION FALLS's Alternate Ending:

  Twelve and a half weeks later, in the wee hours of the morning, Summer sat dozing in a chair by Kennedy's hospital bed.

  Just that morning, the bandages from the latest surgery had come off his face, and he
had been judged improved enough to move from University of Washington Medical Center to a private convalescent hospital. It was quieter here; less beeping, fewer patients, staff that seemed less frantically busy, medical checks done with less frequency.

  The move had exhausted him, but he had settled in well, going right to sleep.

  Summer had settled in with him, reading a book and keeping an eye on him until she drifted off.

  Now she felt the brush of someone's gaze across her face.

  She sat bolt up and looked toward Kennedy.

  For the first time in twelve and a half weeks, he was looking back.

  Since the battle at Parnham's house, when he had been so badly beaten, Summer had spent hours, days, weeks waiting for him to acknowledge her by glance or word.

  Yet never had he looked at nor spoken to Summer.

  At first she hadn't noticed.

  He was unconscious.

  She was terrified, afraid he would die. She had to explain what had happened at that construction site to his sister, his nephew, the FBI and Sheriff Garik Jacobsen.

  He came out of the coma.

  She had had to hire one of Seattle's best lawyers to get her death certificate revoked, then to get last year's charges of kidnapping and attempted murder dismissed, then to deal with the law and its displeasure with hers and Kennedy's decision to deal with Michael Gracie by themselves. At that point, it was a hard-fought battle to keep her out of jail.

  He had been motionless and unresponsive.

  The medical staff had warned that brain damage was a probable outcome of blows that crushed skull and nerves.

  Summer had insisted he had taken the blows, then picked a lock, shot a gun and saved her life.

  The staff had agreed his actions were hopeful, more so than if he had been immediately unconscious. Yet in reasonable tones they had explained that the pooling of blood trapped in the cavities of the skull and the continued swelling had probably done later, irreparable damage.

  He started focusing on lights, then on faces. As day followed day, he comprehended simple instructions, instructions like, "Move your fingers." At last, after two surgeries to repair the damage to the bones of his face, he spoke his first words. They were brief and slurred, but the medical team moved from careful hope to jubilation.

  Kennedy McManus had not been broken by his ordeal.

  But he seemed not to notice Summer.

  She told herself he was so surrounded by other stimuli — the medical professionals, his family, the physical therapists — he couldn't focus. The brain surgeon and the psychologist warned he probably suffered from amnesia.

  But when at last she was there alone with only him, and he still wouldn't look at her … she knew.

  He remembered.

  He remembered everything he had seen that day and heard. He remembered the kisses she had shared with Jimmy, her declaration of love for Jimmy, and that she walked out the door without a backward glance.

  Now, at last, his blue eyes were open, and fixed on her.

  This was the moment she'd been waiting for.

  This was the moment she feared.

  She stood up. She walked to the edge of the bed, picked up the cup of water, put the straw between his lips and waited while he swallowed. When he was done, she put the cup back — and he caught her hand in his.

  In a hoarse, halting voice, he said, "I … believed … you."

  She didn't pretend not to know. "I know. He believed me, too."

  "I thought … would never see you again." The effort of speaking, the strain of emotion, made him break a sweat.

  She went into the bathroom, wet a washcloth with cool water, brought it out and patted his forehead. "I only had one chance against him. One weapon I could use. I needed to be outside, where I could swing my sling without hindrance. And I had to put him off-balance, make him believe I chose him over you." She smiled slightly. "Luckily, his ego was in collusion with me."

  "He … kissed you."

  "He did." She wanted to lie, to say it was all acting on her part. But he had demanded the truth from her, and after what they had been through, he deserved nothing less. "Jimmy was passionately involved with me. Which made him a good kisser."

  "Why was he … passion … involved … with you?"

  "Because I survived, because I escaped him. He believed I was his soul mate."

  Kennedy closed his eyes.

  She feared he was slipping away from her. She put her hand to his chest, and stroked it. "Kennedy, Jimmy was crazy. I don't know if was his time in prison that took his sanity, or the beating he endured, or if he was born to madness. But he saw the world in different colors than the rest of us, and when he wished, he used those colors to daze and deceive. It was mesmerizing. He slipped the bounds of reality and still made it seem like reality."

  Kennedy's eyes opened, and he glared, affronted. "You were willing to … to … to …" Words failed him.

  "To be mesmerized?"

  He nodded.

  "So were you. In college, you were his best friend."

  She didn't know if she had permanently killed the conversation or if he was searching for words. Perhaps it was unfair, but she took advantage of his uncommunicativeness. "He was already a career criminal, yet he blinded you with his charisma."

  Kennedy grunted.

  So he was still listening. "He idolized you. Why when you discovered his corruption did you turn away from him so finally? Did you never think you might have been able to help him, to change him?"

  "No."

  "Because of your background? Because of your parents? Or because he was your friend, and you felt personally betrayed by him? He thought that he and I were alike. I think that you and he were alike. You both have such intelligence, such power. You both were dangerous."

  "No."

  "Yes," she insisted, "you are. If you were ruthless, and if you were without conscience, you would be feared as Jimmy was. But you … even in the hottest fit of temper, you would never hurt a child or kill a man. Jimmy didn't bother to get angry. He tormented with precision, for entertainment. He murdered coldly."

  "I … killed those men in the" — Kennedy's hands fluttered as he searched for the word — "helicopter."

  "Would you have done that if they hadn't been threatening me?"

  "No."

  She bent down and put her face close to his. "Jimmy threatened my life. You saved my life. Let me tell you how sexy that is."

  "You … saved mine."

  "Yes. I did. I am also filled with sexiness."

  A faint smile skimmed his lips.

  During his recovery, Kennedy had not spoken to her. That gave her time to think, and she wasn't going to back away from their issues. "I love you. I won't betray you. You need to decide if you believe me, because loving you doesn't mean I'll never look at a movie star on the screen and drool."

  "Jimmy … not on a screen."

  "No, he was real. If he had been a singer, he would have been a legend. If he was in politics, he could have been president. And if he was in the movies, he could have been a star. Mad or sane, he was the kind of man who made men trust him and women want him. I'm not going to apologize for finding him attractive." She was starting to talk too fast, to sound defensive. And she was getting to the important stuff. She took a few breaths and said, "Nor will I apologize for kissing him in front of you. It had to be done."

  "Will you apologize for anything?"

  She thought about it. "No, because I made it all work together. The physical stuff, his previous successes with women, his delusion that we were soul mates, and yes, the fact he believed no woman could ever not want him."

  "But … you did want … him."

  "Just parts of him. The rest of him was darned spooky."

  During the conversation, Kennedy had been accusing, demanding, rejecting. He had needed her to justify her actions, and she believed him justified in wanting that. Now his v
ivid blue eyes grew warm and soft. He scooted to the far edge of the bed, turned onto his side, adjusted the tubes that dripped fluid into his veins, and opened his arms. "Lie down with me?"

  "Yes. Please." She eased onto the mattress, taking care not to jolt him, yet wanting to hold him close and tight.

  He was warm, alive. Alive.

  She was alive, too, and grateful to embrace him at last. She clutched his hospital gown and looked up into his face. "Do you remember how to kiss me?"

  He enfolded her in his arms. "I don't remember … everything that happened … that day. But the memory of kissing you … has kept me alive … with hope and desire. Now … I want to do it again, with nothing and no one between us."

  "That's good, because that’s exactly what I want, too."

  THE END

  From Bookbub: Books to Read If You Love Nora Roberts. “If you’re a fan of Nora’s In Death series, you’ll delight in this tale of suspense by another master of the genre.”

  Buy OBSESSION FALLS in paperback, in audio or for your Kindle!

  Next up, excerpts for BECAUSE I'M WATCHING, out now, and THE WOMAN WHO COULDN'T SCREAM, coming 2017.

  Excerpt for BECAUSE I'M WATCHING

  While I was writing BECAUSE I'M WATCHING, my editor asked how it was going, a fair question since editors always like an idea of what they're going to get. I said, "This book is brilliant." She looked startled, to say the least. But I knew right from the beginning BECAUSE I'M WATCHING was the best book I've ever written.

  The story started out as an homage to "Gaslight," that fabulously creepy old movie starring Ingrid Bergman. It rapidly became more, a story of Madeline "Mad Maddie" Hewitson, the woman who everyone in Virtue Falls knows is a crazy killer, and Jacob Denisov, a veteran so broken by his experiences he hides in his darkened house and longs for death. They meet when Maddie, haunted by ghosts and afraid to sleep, falls asleep behind the wheel and drives into Jacob's house, breaking it wide open.