She set the painting in progress to the side and put a fresh canvas on the easel. Could she capture where Phaedra was? She pulled the chair in front of the easel and oriented herself. She dipped her finger into the gray paint and swirled it across the canvas. It was easy to imagine that much of it, but hard to imagine a more final product. If only she could see amber again, or ochre…or Moss Green.
Don’t think about what he looks like. What does it matter anyway?
She’d long ago given up trying to imagine what people looked like. She’d never get it right anyway. So why did she want to “see” Max?
She pushed Max from her thoughts and concentrated on the painting. Working with concrete ideas was harder than creating abstract art. She had no idea if she was keeping the lines straight or connecting them. The more she worked, the more she was convinced she was doing nothing more than messing up a canvas. She’d been working for an hour when she rubbed the paint off her fingers and stretched. “Time for a break. Let’s go for a walk, Stasia.”
Stasia whined happily at the prospect, though Olivia was less overjoyed at leaving the apartment. On the way out, she paused by the door of the apartment across from hers and listened for any sound. It was silent tonight. Maybe it was nothing, and maybe Judy didn’t know anything about who owned the place. But she couldn’t ignore the feeling she had about that apartment.
CHAPTER 11
Two hours later, the notes on Olivia’s case were coming across the fax, pulled up by a clerk in archives. Max tried to ignore the crushing sensation in his chest while he waited. Once all the pages had come through, he headed to one of the conference rooms and shut himself in. His shaking hands made the papers unreadable. He set them on the table and tried not to let his gaze skip ahead. He read every word, just to make sure; but he didn’t need to make sure. Something deep inside him had known from that first meeting. That’s why he’d felt drawn to her.
Olivia had been kidnapped sixteen years ago, December twentieth. Taken from Boyd’s Toys. Without a trace. By Bobby Callahan—Max’s father.
Max had tried hard to push that part of his life into the farthest corner of his soul. Now it reared up in his face. Only brief notations alluded to Max’s childhood: mother deceased, moved around with father a lot. Cold facts that said nothing of his life and what he’d gone through.
For as long as he could remember, it had been only him and his father. They moved to wherever Bobby could get work, usually living way out in the boonies where he could fiddle with truck engines.
His father was a disciplinarian. Whatever he said, whether it made sense or not, was the law. If Max disobeyed, he paid for it. Not that Bobby hit him. His punishments didn’t leave marks. Max shivered, feeling colder by the minute. They were like Olivia had described: psychological in nature. Being locked in his closet all night for talking back; going without food for a day if he didn’t finish every crumb on his plate. And then there were the tests.
Sometimes Bobby wanted to use Max to get revenge. He forced Max to release the neighbor’s goats because they had asked him to keep the noise down as he tinkered with his truck. When one of the neighbor girls had snubbed Bobby, he tried to get Max to cut off her long braid. Other times, Max didn’t know the reasoning—if there was any. Eating live worms from the backyard, for instance. Letting a roach crawl on him.
Do it! Come on, you little coward!
Sometimes he passed the test, and sometimes he failed, refusing altogether. Either way, he felt like a coward. Even pretending he was Superman didn’t help. His father was his kryptonite.
Bobby found a job as a truck driver when Max was eight. For two years that job was a godsend, both financially and emotionally. It meant his father was away for two to three days at a time. Though Max always had a list of chores to accomplish before his father’s return, he treasured those days of peace. If Bobby was going to be gone over a weekend, he either took Max with him or left him with his sister, Odette. Though Max liked riding in the rig, he preferred the timid Aunt Odette, who let him do what he wanted.
Leading up to the day that changed his life, Bobby had started acting more agitated than usual. Moodier. Darker. Max hid his flu symptoms, not wanting to do anything to incite his father. They usually spent Christmas Eve and day with Odette at her farm. Max was doubly glad to hear his father announce a five-day run that would take him until Christmas night. The plan was to leave Max with Odette. She was visiting with a friend the three days before Christmas, and her friend had four children. She couldn’t take Max with her when she realized he had the flu, so Max had gone with his father.
Bobby hadn’t been happy about that, but he’d simply thrown Max’s suitcase back into the cab and headed out. He’d given Max only one order, and he’d repeated it every day: do not go into the trailer of the truck. If he’d listened, he wondered what would have happened to Olivia.
He hadn’t listened. They’d pulled into the back section of a rest stop for the night. They were the only truck in the lot. As usual, Bobby ordered Max to stay put and went into the trailer. He went back there several times during the day and spent hours there every night. Max was feeling dehydrated from the stomach flu he’d had for five days. Bobby had been giving him prescription cough syrup to help him sleep, but it had upset his stomach that night. He didn’t want to face the wrath of his father if he got sick in the cab. As it was, Bobby was also starting to come down with the flu, complaining of queasiness and fatigue. Max knew he would catch hell for giving it to him.
Max climbed down and inhaled the fresh, cool air. A car pulled into the rest stop. A small strip of trees separated the truck lot and the building. Even through the trees, he could see a family stumble out of the car, stretch, and head toward the building.
He felt a stab of longing. Two young boys, a mother and father. Laughter crossing the distance. A family, heading somewhere for Christmas. Max had his comic books, his superheroes. That’s all he needed.
Except for a 7-UP. He didn’t want to get sick again. Odette sometimes gave him a can to settle his stomach, but he didn’t have any change. He searched the ashtray and other crevices and came up with twenty-four cents.
That when he’d heard the sound. It was faint, like a mouse being captured by a hawk, only it sounded like it was coming from inside the trailer. Was his father okay? He walked around to the back of the trailer. Bobby’s warning rang in his head. He heard the sound again, but it was abruptly cut off.
Maybe he’d just peek through the small door in the back and make sure his father was all right. He opened the door and found a box partially blocking his view. He pushed his head into the opening so he could see around it. Two flickering candles provided the only light inside. A tub sat near the back corner with several jugs of water around it. An empty cage sat in the other back corner. Had he captured an animal?
His father was wearing a military uniform, an old one. He was kneeling over something, talking in low, ominous tones.
A shiver trilled down his spine when he heard the sound again. Whimpering. Human whimpering. Bobby was looking down at something—no, someone…and he was holding a knife. Max closed the door and sank to the pavement.
The family was returning to their car. The boys were both eating Popsicles from the vending machine. Should he get them to help? He didn’t even know what was going on.
A scraping sound sent him to his feet. The door swung open. He rounded the corner of the trailer a second before his father rushed into the woods and started throwing up. Max didn’t have to think about what he should do. He’d played Superman and Batman long enough to know. He climbed into the back of the trailer—and froze.
A girl was lying on the floor, her hands tied to the bars of the cage. She was dirty and smelled like urine. Her hair was cut in ragged lengths. She was only wearing a pair of pants, and a fine cut stretched diagonally across her small, bare chest. She was awkwardly curled up on her side choking back sobs.
“Don’t cry, Livvy,” she told hersel
f over and over, as though giving herself orders.
He didn’t give himself time to feel the horror that churned his gut and threatened to overwhelm him. He grabbed the knife Bobby had left on the floor.
She gasped when he’d placed his hand over her mouth and whispered, “Shh, be quiet, Livvy,” as he cut the ropes. “Come with me.”
He helped her to her feet and led her toward the door. Would his father come back before they could make it out? His heart was thudding in his chest, and he wondered if Superman’s heart did the same when he rescued Lois Lane. Their feet pounded across the floor. She wasn’t moving very fast, but she clung to his hand.
He pushed the door open and breathed in relief when he didn’t see his father. In fact, he heard him dry heaving in the bushes. She stumbled on the bumper of the truck, and he caught her around the waist. She was probably a couple years younger than he was. Her light brown eyes were wide with terror, and her cheeks were shiny from tears. The cut was oozing a thin line of blood. He grabbed hold of her hand again and yanked her across the parking lot. He’d just reached the small strip of trees when he heard his father’s voice.
“What the…” A moment later, “Max!”
He ran even harder through the woods and out to the pavement again, but she stumbled and skidded. Bloody dots covered her knees.
“Max! Come back here!” It was a bellow that carried the threat of death.
Out of instinct—or maybe he was a coward after all—he stopped.
His father kept advancing. “Max, do what I tell you. Bring her back.”
Kryptonite, he thought. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The girl was breathing hard, nearly gasping. He looked at the car. The two boys were throwing away their wrappers; their parents were already in the car. She tightened her grip on his hand as Bobby neared them. Coward! Not his father’s voice, but his own. Max made a decision. He jerked the girl to her feet and headed across the immense lot.
He could hardly breathe, but he called out, “Hey! Don’t leave!”
The older boy got into the car and slammed the door shut. The younger boy reached for the handle.
“Help!” Max shouted.
He didn’t dare look behind him. He imagined not his father but one of the many all-powerful villains in his comic books. Tentacles reached out to pull them back. Death rays shot past them.
“Help!” he shouted again as the boy started to get into the car.
He paused, catching sight of them tearing across the lot toward them. His eyes widened in alarm, then focused somewhere behind them. Apparently he said something, because everyone else got out of the car. The father rushed toward them, followed by the mother.
Chills of relief crossed his skin as they neared each other. He stopped and in heaving breaths said, “You’ll be okay now. Stay right here.” He had to go back to his father.
His father had retreated to the shadows of the woods. Max’s fear was overridden by his shock and disgust at what he’d been doing to that girl. Oh, he knew he’d be punished. Badly.
“Max, get over here now!”
He barely had the energy to push himself faster, but that voice spurred him on. He only spared one backward glance. The family was surrounding the girl now. She was safe. That’s all that mattered.
Bobby grabbed his arm and pulled him through the woods. He didn’t say another word as he grabbed the knife, slammed the doors shut on the trailer and hauled him into the cab. Max didn’t put up a fight. He’d disobeyed and he’d be punished. That was how it worked. He’d take it like a man.
They were on the highway within minutes. His father’s breathing was heavy, too, and his arms were tensed as he gripped the wheel. The knife sat on his thigh. Max knew he should wait until his father spoke, but he couldn’t.
“What were you doing to that girl, father?” Bobby insisted Max call him father “Why were you hurting her?”
“You think you were being a big hero, don’t you?” He said hero as though it were a dirty word.
“No.” Max had hesitated at the sound of his father’s voice. That sure wasn’t being a hero.
Bobby pulled the rig onto the side of the highway and shoved the knife at Max. “Kill me!” He pointed to his chest. “Right here, just shove it in hard.”
Max had taken the knife; otherwise it would have fallen. He looked at the place where his father jabbed and shook his head.
“You might as well finish me off. Oh, sure, now you’re the little coward again.” He grabbed the knife from Max’s flaccid grip, tossed it aside, and started forward again.
A half hour later, they pulled into their small town outside Tampa. Max kept his gaze glued out the window, even envying the ragged hitchhiker thumbing for a ride. The road became two lanes, and then turned to gravel. The houses were spread out here, surrounded by scrubland and oak trees. Bobby came to a stop on the road that led to their neighborhood.
“Get out.”
Max didn’t question that command. He opened the door and jumped down. Was his punishment going to be walking the rest of the way? That wasn’t much. He walked this distance and more to get to the bus stop every day.
Dread knotted his stomach. No, this was only the beginning.
The truck continued on. The passenger door was still open, and it flapped back and forth. Max watched the truck disappear before starting to walk home. Twenty minutes later, he’d made it to the long gravel road their house was on when he heard the familiar engine. His heart started thudding hard as he turned around.
The truck rounded the corner with its tires squealing and took out the stop sign. Still Bobby didn’t slow down. A cloud of dust rose up behind the truck as it, in fact, gained speed. Max was fairly certain his father wouldn’t run him down, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He ducked into Lynn Wells’ yard and hid behind a bush. The door was closed now as the truck barreled past him and veered to the right—aimed toward their house.
It was like a movie, not real at all. The impact sent him to his knees, and the ensuing fireball took his breath away. Flames tore up into the night air like fiery fingers from hell. When the gas tank exploded, windows everywhere rattled. People were already running out of their homes. It was Bill Wells who found Max on the ground with his watery gaze pinned to the flames and billows of smoke.
Lynn said, “Oh my God, I hope Max wasn’t home! Or in that truck!”
“Max is here!” he hollered to Lynn and their kids. “He’s all right.”
Max wouldn’t be all right for a long time.
The remains they’d found in the cab of the truck had been identified as Bobby’s, and Max had been sent to live with Odette. Though he’d been grateful that she’d taken him in, she wouldn’t answer his questions about his father and why he’d done such a terrible thing. Max wasn’t allowed to talk about it to anyone. All she would tell him was that the girl was all right.
Livvy. Her face had haunted him for years.
According to the police report, Olivia claimed Bobby had done something to her eyes, though there wasn’t any physical evidence to support that. Max made note of the doctor who examined her.
Had she been blind then? That explained her stumbling. He’d figured it was due to her fear; his own legs had barely held him up. Had his father done something to her eyes? The thought made his stomach lurch. Thank God he hadn’t molested her. Max wasn’t sure he could have handled that.
He rubbed his forehead, hoping to get rid of the tension that was building into a headache. Obviously, and understandably, Olivia’s experience had marred her life. She was delusional, reliving her kidnapping because of Phaedra’s. That had to be the explanation, because his father was dead, had been for sixteen years. He couldn’t begin to contemplate his father being alive. The thought paralyzed him, just as his father’s voice had paralyzed him all those years ago.
He couldn’t tell Sam or the lieutenant about his past connection with Olivia. He’d be yanked off the case. As much as he hadn’t wanted this case, no way co
uld he let that happen now. He’d limit what he told Sam until he had a better handle on Olivia.
His gaze went to the word angel on the report. She had thought an angel had rescued her.
He glanced at his watch. It was after midnight. He wasn’t going to get to sleep anytime soon. He doubted Olivia would either. He grabbed up the notes and headed out.
CHAPTER 12
Fatigue wore Max down as he approached Olivia’s building. The past tangled with the present, tearing him in two. He was that boy again, wearing the cape and believing that good always triumphed over evil. He was that cynical adult, too, who didn’t believe in much anymore. He thought he’d buried the boy long ago, but like a ghost, he kept haunting the adult Max.
He spotted Olivia and Stasia walking toward the building. Livvy. Now he knew why he’d been struck by that odd sense of deja vu every time he saw her.
Her hair was still tied back, but even more wavy tendrils had escaped.
As he neared her, he said, “Olivia, it’s me, Max Callahan.”
For an instant her body tensed, but she smiled with relief. “Hello, detective.”
“Call me Max. This is an unofficial visit.”
He knelt down to pet Stasia, who licked his hands in greeting, her whole rear end wagging.
“Sounds like she likes you,” Olivia said. “She doesn’t greet many people like that.”
“Guess I’m special.” He was looking at Olivia as he straightened. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
They walked in silence to her apartment. He had to keep the words from jumping out of his mouth as she unlocked the door and walked inside. Joan Jett and the Blackhearts greeted them with a song about their bad reputation. The apartment was dark but for the dancing lights on her stereo equalizer. The colored lights played off her face and gave her an otherworldly look.
Blindsight [Now You See Me] (Romantic Suspense) Page 14