Secrets Rising

by Sally Berneathy

  "She's precious," Mary said.

  "But durable." Paula set her half-full cup of coffee on the wooden porch and leaned forward intently. "What's wrong, Mary? Besides losing Ben, I mean. Oh, I know that's enough. But there's something you're not telling me. We've been friends since we were Cindy's age, and this is the first time you've kept secrets from me. What are you scared of?"

  Mary shook her head, looking away from Paula's probing gaze and biting her lip. Tears, always close to the surface, threatened to spill over if she tried to talk. Not that she would talk anyway. The last person she'd confided in was dead. Ben had been murdered because she'd talked.

  She ought to be safe twenty miles outside the small town of Cottonwood which was another twenty miles away from Edgewater...away from Charles.

  But she'd thought she was safe with Ben looking out for her and the baby. Nobody was ever really safe, and she wasn't going to endanger her friend or her friend's baby any more than she already had by coming to them for shelter.

  "I've tried not to ask questions," Paula continued. "But I can tell something's wrong, and I'm worried about you."

  "Everything's fine." It was the first lie she'd ever told her best friend.

  "Yeah, right. Two weeks ago you call us to come get you at a bar outside of Edgewater. We do, no questions asked. You have nothing with you but the clothes on your back, not even your purse, you beg us not to tell anybody you're here, and now you say everything's fine. I don't think so."

  Mary's head jerked up. "You haven't told anyone, have you?"

  "Of course we haven't. And we won't. You know you can trust me completely and you know you're welcome to stay with Nick and me for as long as you want. Forever. No explanations required. But it's breaking my heart to see you this way. You jump at every noise, every time the phone rings, every time Nick drives up in the evening. You worry about Cindy constantly. Your eyes have a haunted look, like you're being pursued by the devil himself. And you never cry even though I know your heart's broken, that you're aching inside. I want so much to help you, but I don't know what to do."

  Mary nodded, drawing one finger around the rim of her cup, avoiding Paula's gaze. "I know. I'm sorry."

  Her friend waited as if expecting her to continue, but Mary had nothing else she dared say. Finally Paula sighed resignedly. "I understand how much you loved Ben and how distressed you are over his death. But I don't understand why his being killed by some druggie who's long gone would make you so afraid. You're not worried the man who did it is going to find you and kill you, are you?"

  Mary didn't answer. She turned away, studying the trees in the yard, the rosebushes now bereft of blooms, the faint tire tracks left by Nick's car earlier that morning. Down the road the wind stirred up a cloud of dust.

  Or a car was coming.

  "Why would he do that?" Paula continued. "He's a stranger. He shot Ben because he didn't want to go to jail. You're no threat to him."

  But Ben's murderer thought she was. Charles thought her baby was a threat to him, and she knew she could never convince him otherwise. She squinted against the morning sun, telling herself the dust was only that, not a car, not Charles. He could never find her here.

  "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

  Mary gasped and turned back to Paula.

  "I know the signs. I've been there." She rose from her chair and knelt in front of Mary, Cindy between them. The baby turned to her mother and lifted her arms to be held. Paula wrapped one arm around her daughter and took Mary's hand with the other. "That's another thing I don't understand. You should be thrilled. I know you've always wanted babies. You adore Cindy. And this means you still have a little bit of Ben, his child."

  Tears pooled in Mary's eyes. She and Paula had always been closer than sisters. They'd shared every part of growing up from their favorite dolls through their first bras and crushes on boys. Paula cared about her and wanted to help, and Mary wanted to tell her everything, share this latest secret and depend on Paula's friendship to help her get through it.

  A sound intruded on the still morning, the distant sound of an engine.

  She looked up. The cloud was moving closer, and she could discern the shape of a car.

  Nick wouldn't be home for hours. The road ended at Paula's house. No one else would be coming down that road.

  Her heartbeat accelerated. The tears dried or turned to stone.

  She couldn't tell Paula anything. By her very presence, she'd put her friend in danger. Somehow she had to protect Paula and Cindy as well as her own baby.

  She yanked her hand away from Paula's grasp. "Take Cindy and go in the house." The voice that came from her mouth sounded strange and coarse to her own ears.

  "What?"

  "Please! Take Cindy, go in the house and lock the door."

  Paula rose, holding her baby close as if frightened that Mary had suddenly gone insane. Maybe she had.

  A police car pulled up to the house.

  "That's strange," Paula said. "What's an Edgewater policeman doing here?"

  Charles got out of the car, and Mary rose even though a few minutes ago she'd have sworn she wouldn't be able to, that her legs would never support her, that she'd faint from the sheer terror and hopelessness of it all.

  Charles came to the edge of the porch, and she went to meet him. "How you ladies doing this beautiful morning?"

  "Paula," she said stiffly, knowing what she had to do to protect her friend, "this is Charles Morton, Ben's partner. He moved to Edgewater after you left. I'll be going back with him." She had to lure him away from Paula and Cindy. After that, she'd figure out how to save her own baby. Somehow.

  "Pleased to meet you, Charles. Didn't you serve with Ben in the Army?"

  Charles pulled off his cap and smiled. "Yes, ma'am. I did indeed."

  "Oh, you're the one who saved Ben's life. Well, it really is a pleasure to meet you! Come on in and I'll make a fresh pot of coffee."

  Thank God she hadn't told Paula anything about Charles. Her friend's words held the unmistakable ring of truth. Charles must know he had nothing to fear from Paula. If only she could get away before Paula mentioned that she knew about the pregnancy.

  "Charles doesn't have time to come in. We have to leave now, don't we?"

  "I appreciate your kind invitation, ma'am, but we'll have to make it another time. Mary and I do have some important business that can't wait."

  "You take care of her, then. She's been awfully upset since Ben's death." Balancing Cindy on one hip, Paula turned to Mary and hugged her. "Call me, okay? And you come back here any time you want to. There'll always be a place here for you and yours."

  Gratitude, love, fear, helplessness...a thousand emotions tried to sweep over Mary, but she pushed them back. She had to think, not feel. Think and plan and calculate. She couldn't allow any emotion to interfere, or both she and her child would surely die.

  "I've really enjoyed our visit. I'll call you as soon as I get everything settled." She walked off the porch toward Charles' car, her back ramrod straight as though a steel beam had been welded to her spine.

  She got into the passenger side and closed the door. Charles slid in beside her. "What did she mean, you and yours?"

  She faced him, letting him see her eyes so he'd believe her. He didn't know she'd turned to stone inside and would never betray herself by so much as a flicker of emotion. "I didn't tell her. She doesn't know anything. It's just a Texas expression."

  He nodded, apparently satisfied she was telling the truth. "So do I take it you've decided to be smart and get this little problem taken care of so we can both get on with our lives?"

  "Yes. I've decided I don't want anything to do with a child that belongs to you." It was amazing how easily she'd become a proficient liar. Not that her statement had been a complete lie. Her child didn't belong to him.

  "I don't believe you any more than I believed you when we were at Margaret's, but I'm glad you see the futility of resisting." He started the car. They pull
ed away, and Mary's mind shifted into high gear, observing everything...how far away Charles sat, how fast they were going, where the door handle was...making notes of everything so she'd be ready when the opportunity came. The opportunity would come. She couldn't accept any other outcome. Somewhere, somehow, her chance to escape would come.

  "Are we going back to that woman's house? Margaret, is it?" she asked, gathering information, storing data.

  "I had to arrest poor Margaret. Caught her doing illegal abortions. Can you believe it?"

  Guilt swarmed over Mary. Charles had punished the woman because of her, because Mary had begged for the woman's help, and she'd given it.

  But she couldn't dwell on it, had to shove it away. She couldn't do anything to help Margaret and couldn't afford to indulge in useless emotions. Her only focus was saving her baby.

  "What's going to happen to her?"

  His face hardened, and Mary allowed herself a brief surge of relief. His expression could only mean Margaret had somehow thwarted him. "The bitch jumped bail and skipped town. But I'll find her. She won't get away with that. She's a whore, no better than you. No better than any of you. I know what to do with whores."

  Ignore the threat! she ordered herself. Just because he says it doesn't mean he can do it. She wouldn't let him do it.

  "What about your mother?" she asked. Even Charles must have a mother, must have once been somebody's little boy, somebody's baby. Perhaps she could reach him through that avenue.

  "What about her?"

  "She raised you. She loves you. She's not a whore."

  "She raised you. She loves you. She's not a whore," he mimicked in a falsetto voice. "Of course she is."

  That line of questioning seemed to make Charles more agitated. Mary dropped it and was silent until they reached the highway, her mind racing in all directions at once, searching for that opportunity she knew would come.

  "How did you find me?" she finally asked.

  "I have friends everywhere."

  "Friends? Or people who owe you?"

  He laughed. "Isn't that what friends are? You tell each other your dirty little secrets and then you each hold it over the other's head, and you smile and do each other favors so neither one of you will betray the other, and that makes you friends."

  She looked outside the car, focusing on the rutted road ahead, the trees along the sides, anything to avoid letting herself be intimidated by Charles' insanity. She would get away from this madman. Somewhere, somehow.

  "Ben was your friend," she said. "He never held anything over your head."

  Charles snorted. "No? How about the Army thing?"

  "He let everybody think you were a hero."

  "Sure he did. As long as I played his games. But he never let me forget that he could take away everything he gave with just one word to the right people."

  She turned to stare at him in amazement. "That's not true! Ben wasn't like that at all!"

  "Grow up. Everybody's like that. Your precious Ben even took your word, the word of a whore, over my word. He went nosing around in things that were none of his business. He was getting ready to ruin my life. He asked me to come to that stinking little town in the first place. He got me on the police force. He gave it all to me so he thought he could take it all away whenever he wanted. Well, he was wrong."

  The coldness in Charles' voice told her she was dealing with a man who was completely insane. He wasn't even angry. He merely hated...Ben, her, his mother, everyone, probably even himself. Charles was the most dangerous person she could ever have imagined. If he'd been angry, she could have hoped that anger would eventually dissipate, that he'd be distracted by something else or that logic would prevail.

  But black, unreasoning, unemotional hatred was something she had no defense against.

  So she'd have to go around it.

  Somewhere, somehow.

  "Where are we headed if Margaret is no longer available?"

  "Don't worry. I have another friend who's willing to help us. A doctor. You might even get drugs this time."

  "I'd appreciate that." Drugs! She wouldn't be able to think or talk or run. She'd be helpless. She had to get away before they reached their destination.

  They were approaching the outskirts of Edgewater already. Ahead she could see a gas station and a Dairy Queen on either side of the highway.

  "Could you stop at that station for just a minute? I think I'm going to be sick."

  "And let you go to the bathroom again like you did at Margaret's house?" He laughed without humor. "How stupid do you think I am?"

  "No," she said quickly. "Not the bathroom. I just want to get some crackers for my nausea. I've always gotten car sick, and now that I'm pregnant, it's much worse. I threw up in Nick and Paula's truck, and I'm about to throw up in your patrol car." So many lies, and Mary had a horrible feeling they were only beginning.

  "Aren't you lucky you're not going to have this problem much longer?" Charles asked, but he slowed and pulled into the service station.

  This was it. Somehow she'd have to get away now. It wouldn't be easy. She couldn't count on anyone to help her. The attendant was more likely to believe a police officer than a woman without any identification. She reached for the door handle, but Charles grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him.

  He slapped handcuffs around one wrist, through the steering wheel and around the other.

  "I'll be right back with those crackers."

  He got out of the car, closed the door behind him, and blind, unreasoning panic threatened to overwhelm her. She yanked futilely on the cuffs, knowing she had no chance to escape.

  Stop it! she ordered herself. Be calm and think!

  Her baby's life was at stake. She had no room for the self-indulgence of panic.

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax, to stop focusing on the problem and look for the solution.

  Somehow she had to figure out a way to bring a third party into the picture.

  Think!

  If only the car would refuse to start when he came out. Then he'd have to call a tow truck. That would get them out of the patrol car and into the truck with the driver. That would give her a chance.

  But she couldn't count on a miracle to save her. She had to make her own miracles. She had to disable the car.

  How could she do that? The only thing she could reach was the steering wheel, and she'd already tried unsuccessfully to break that.

  No, that wasn't all. She could reach the pedals with her feet. She could reach the turn indicator, the gear shift, the ignition. For a split second, hope surged, that she could steal the key. But he'd taken it with him. A cop. He knew all the tricks.

  If he couldn't put the key back in that hole...

  As a teenager, she'd lost the key to her diary and had tried to pick the lock with a bobby pin. The plastic tip had come off inside and even when she'd found the key, she'd been unable to open it, had resorted to cutting the plastic tab.

  She lowered her head to the steering wheel so she could reach her hair with both her hands then found three pins. If only Charles didn't come back too soon!

  With her teeth, she loosened one plastic tip then shoved it in the hole, wiggled it and withdrew the pin leaving the tip inside. She did the same with the other end of that pin then repeated the procedure with the second pin.

  Before she could use the third one, Charles came out the door of the station. She lowered her head so fast it hit the steering wheel. If there was pain, she refused to acknowledge it as she frantically shoved all the pins back into her hair, the sharp edges of two of them scraping her scalp.

  Looking up, she erased all expression from her face. Her heart was pounding so hard she feared it would leap from her chest. She couldn't seem to make it slow, but she could keep Charles from knowing.

  He slid into the car, unlocked her cuffs and handed her a box of saltine crackers. "Don't get crumbs in my car."

  Forcing herself to look away from him as he tried to st
art the car, she opened the box, took out a cracker and nibbled though her mouth was so dry she knew she'd never be able to swallow it.

  Several seconds went by and the engine did not roar to life. She dared to hope.

  Charles cursed, and her hopes rose.

  "You God damn bitch, what did you do to the ignition?"

  She lifted her head and looked at him. "Why would I do anything? I told you, I don't want your child. Anyway, you had me handcuffed. What could I do?"

  He glared at her, then jiggled the gear shift and tried the key again.

  After several minutes, he was perspiring. "I know you did something, but it's not going to help you. You've slowed things down. That's all. Put off the inevitable. All I have to do is radio in and have them send out a tow truck. We'll ride back with in the cab, you in handcuffs as my prisoner. Then we'll get the tow truck operator to drop us off at Sam Wilcox's office."

  "Dr. Wilcox?" she blurted in shock. "He's my doctor! He delivered me. He did my pregnancy test! Why would he—" She shook her head, unable to complete the horrible thought.

  "The good doctor got greedy. He saw a chance to make a little extra money what with everybody wanting drugs and him having access to them. Fortunately for him, I was the one who caught him, and I'm a reasonable man. I did him a favor, now he does favors for me. You could say we're friends."

  If Charles had a man like Sam Wilcox under his thumb, how far did his power reach? How far would she have to go to get away from him?

  She wouldn't despair, Mary told herself resolutely. She couldn't.

  But it was getting harder and harder to hope.

  ***

  Twenty long minutes later a city-owned tow truck pulled up. Charles cuffed her with her hands in her lap and got out to talk to the driver.