by Webb, Debra
Banishing the memories, Claire poured her favorite scented oil into the tub and inhaled deeply as the luxuriant lavender essence infused the rising steam.
She stepped into the tub and slowly lowered herself into the welcoming embrace of the hot water. After turning off the tap, she leaned back and let the neck-deep water do its work.
It felt so good. The heat penetrated her muscles and urged them to relax. The steam filled the room, creating a cozy cloud of thick, damp silence.
She didn’t need any music or candles. Just this glorious heat and the blessed silence.
The phone rang, the muffled sound reached beyond the barrier of the door, cut through her cozy cloud, but she refused to open her eyes. She was way too exhausted to care who might be calling.
Probably some of the other teachers checking up on her. The teachers were her family now. They had accepted her as one of their own. She received an invitation to every birthday, every wedding and funeral just as if she had always been here.
This was home.
The past was over and done with. No going back.
No looking back.
That was the hardest part. When things happened to provoke an old memory…like being forced to shoot that man today…she couldn’t help wondering. But going back was detrimental to her well-being. She could not think about the past and continue to be happy in her present.
End of story.
And just like that, the images of the terrorist she’d killed flashed one after the other in her head. His harsh words. His unflinching brutality. He would have killed little Peter Reimes with no compunction at all. How was that possible? How could anyone feel their cause so strongly that they would take the life of a child to further their own agenda?
It was insane. Beyond insane.
She forced the thoughts from her mind. This bath was supposed to be about relaxing. She didn’t want to think anymore. She wanted to relax and just lie here in the water and soak up the incredible heat.
Eventually she drained some of the water and used the hand-held spray attachment to wash her hair. When she’d rinsed and conditioned and felt clean and relaxed, she climbed out of the tub, drained and rinsed it, then dried her skin. She took her time and completed all the usual grooming rituals, including clipping her nails and slathering her skin with lotion. Mostly she wanted to make sure her whole body was free of any hint of the evil she’d encountered this day.
By the time she wrapped herself in her ancient terry-cloth robe and emerged from the bathroom, she felt like a new woman. She gathered her dirty clothes, opted not to try and salvage them and tossed the whole lot into the garbage. She never wanted to see those clothes again, much less wear them.
In the kitchen she considered scrounging around for something to eat, but she didn’t really have an appetite. Her stomach still felt a little queasy from all the stress. Instead she poured herself a brimming stemmed glass of wine.
A couple of glasses of wine and she would feel totally relaxed. She padded into the living room and checked her machine. The red light on the message machine was flashing. Might as well see who had called. As the machine prepared to play the one message, she shuffled over to the sofa and dropped into the corner spot where she always sat.
“Miss Grant,” the male voice recorded on the machine said, “this is Paul Reimes.” A moment of silence passed. “I just wanted to thank you for saving my son’s life. I wanted to say this in person…” His voice quavered. “But the authorities felt I should stay with my family just now, and letting you know how much I am in your debt simply wouldn’t wait. Thank you. It’s not nearly enough…but it’s all I know to say.”
Claire grabbed a tissue and swiped at her eyes. And she’d thought she was going to be able to relax. She pulled the throw up around her and grabbed the remote. Time to vegetate with a program that had nothing to do with guns or killers. She skimmed through the channels, avoiding the stations where news would be showing. She wasn’t ready for that yet.
A game show captured her attention and she watched mindlessly for a while. She didn’t want to think—not about anything right now.
After watching three game shows in a row her stomach started to protest the lack of attention. She kicked off the throw and moseyed into the kitchen. Another glass of wine was first on the menu. She sipped the second glass as she surveyed the contents of her fridge.
A heat-and-serve frozen dinner just wasn’t going to do it tonight. She needed real sustenance. After prowling through all her usual hiding places, she found a chocolate bar and munched on it until she made a decision.
Her decision was that there simply wasn’t anything in the house that spoke to her taste buds. There was only one thing to do. Call for takeout.
That was one of the things she loved about urban living. Practically every restaurant in the area would deliver. Tonight, she had Italian on her mind. A nice salad, pasta and marinara along with garlic bread. Heaven on earth.
While she waited for the food to arrive, she finished drying her tangled hair and spent what felt like forever straightening it. Her arms felt weak after so long holding up the straightening iron.
She glanced at the clock. Thirty-five minutes had passed since she’d ordered. The food should have arrived by now. Nobody got lost in Fremont. If the driver offered that excuse she might just have to skip his tip.
She scrounged in her purse for the money, then peeked out the window. There were three cars at the curb in front of her house. One, the one in the center, was marked with the name of the restaurant she’d called. The other two were generic looking sedans.
The guy in the delivery car had gotten out and stood with his hands braced on top of his car. A man behind him started to pat him down.
“What in the world?”
There were four men in all, all dressed in suits, swarming around the delivery guy.
Before her brain had time to override her reaction, she’d stalked to her front door and jerked it open. She stormed out onto the porch and yelled, “What’s going on? That’s my dinner he’s delivering!”
Two seconds after she’d bellowed the words, she realized that only a “large” girl would go nuts when her food delivery was threatened. She rolled her eyes and wanted to kick herself. But, hey, she’d been through literal hell today. She deserved a decent meal.
Two of the men strode up the sidewalk toward her. For the first time since she’d barreled out onto her porch an inkling of uneasiness trickled through her. Maybe rushing out here hadn’t been such a good idea.
“Ma’am.” The first guy to reach her steps flashed a badge. “I’m going to have to ask you to step back inside the house.”
She looked from him to his companion who displayed his badge as well.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ll explain everything, ma’am,” the first guy said as he escorted her back to the door, “just as soon as you’re inside.”
Inside, Claire threw up her hands stop-sign fashion as the two older men came in and closed the door. “Just a minute. Why are you two here? Why are you shaking down my delivery guy?”
“Calm down, ma’am,” the second guy said. “We have orders to ensure your safety.”
“My safety?” She looked from one to the other. “What are you talking about?” The idea that somehow, something about today wasn’t over yet nagged at her, but she refused to consider the notion. Three of the terrorists were dead. One was in custody. Everything was okay now. It had to be. She was too tired to deal with anything else.
“Ma’am, the prisoner, Bashir Rafsanjani, taken from the scene today, killed two police officers and escaped during transport. We’re not exactly sure what happened. We feel you may be his next target.”
“He escaped?”
You are dead!
The words echoed inside her head.
The man who had uttered them so vehemently had escaped from the police. Her brain finally wrapped around the words echoing inside her head.
He would want his revenge…on her.
Chapter 4
Tuesday morning Claire peeked beyond the blinds to see if the unmarked sedan was still parked in front of her house.
It was.
The police had stayed close by all night.
She cradled her coffee mug in hopes of warming her cold hands and did the thing she’d put off for hours now. She pressed the remote and watched as the television blinked to life.
After selecting a round-the-clock news channel, she sat back and sipped her coffee. A reporter, with Claire’s school in the background, recapped the horrifying events of the day before. The escaped prisoner was still at large. Pictures of the four terrorists appeared on the screen. She peered at the image of the man she had killed. He was surely of Middle Eastern descent, yet his name was as American as her own. Thomas Odem.
Thomas Odem had been twenty-one years of age and an engineering student at Washington University. An honor student.
The warm coffee couldn’t keep the iciness from sliding through her veins. If she hadn’t been in the room to hear the way Odem had orchestrated the despicable act that had been carried out at her school, she would find it hard to believe he was the one. But she had been there. She’d heard him order the murder of a child. The man had been ruthless, inhuman.
And still she couldn’t help feeling remorse at what fate had forced her to do.
Her mind raced back six years…to that night. Her sister had been screaming and crying, begging Claire to stop him before he hurt the baby. He’d broken in through the back door, forcing Claire and her sister to hide in the bedroom. There was no place left to run. The police had been called but they would never get there in time. One of the downfalls to country living.
Tad Farmer, her no-good brother-in-law, had pounded and kicked until he’d succeeded in knocking in the bedroom door. The handgun he’d waved at her sister had terrified Claire. She had known this time would be different from all the others. He had beaten her sister numerous times, but this time he planned to kill her because she refused to go back to him.
When he’d rushed her sister, Claire had stepped into his path. They had struggled…somehow the weapon had gone off. Maybe he’d been trying to shoot her or maybe it had been an accident. The bullet had entered his torso at an upward angle just below his rib cage, glanced off a rib and torn straight through his heart. He’d died within two or three minutes. Claire had still been on her knees, attempting CPR on the jerk when the police stormed the house.
Her sister had gone into premature labor and had had to be rushed to the hospital.
The world changed for Claire at that moment. She’d lost everything that mattered to her.
And now she had killed again.
She pushed the memories away.
Looking back like this was a mistake. She never allowed herself to do that, she shouldn’t now. It was too painful.
Sitting here watching the news was only going to encourage wallowing in self-pity. The police were outside keeping guard. She needn’t worry about her safety. The best thing she could do was occupy herself with something constructive.
Claire got up and surveyed her living room. She usually waited until Saturday to clean house. Last weekend she’d planted flowers instead. Might as well get it done today. She was home. Who knew what she’d be doing on Saturday? Though she assumed Mr. Allen’s memorial service would be held before then, she couldn’t be sure.
After putting her cup away and shutting off the coffee machine, she pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a Seattle Seahawks T-shirt. She bunched her hair into a ponytail and gathered her cleaning supplies.
It wasn’t even nine, she had the whole day ahead of her. The fact that heavy-duty housework burned some serious calories was not lost on her. Five more pounds and she would be able to get back into her favorite size-twelve regular-fit jeans without holding her breath.
Fully motivated now, she quickly laid out a strategy, then launched her attack.
By noon her little bungalow shone, from the glossy hardwood floors to the sleek tile countertops. She had to admit that the hard word had done the trick. As exhausted as she was, she felt comfortably relaxed. A quick shower and change, and she was ready to move on to papers that needed to be graded.
First, however, she needed to have lunch. She’d skipped breakfast, not on purpose but because for once she actually had no appetite. But after her rigorous cleaning frenzy she was ready to refuel.
The telephone rang as she made her way to the kitchen. She grabbed it en route. “Hello.”
“Are you okay?” Darlene said, her voice frantic. “I saw the news this morning. Are the police watching your house? Oh, my God, this is terrible, Claire. I’m coming over.”
In spite of the whole mess Claire had to smile. It was nice to be loved. “Yes, I’m okay. I saw the news, too, and the police are watching my house. Come over and we’ll have lunch.” She surveyed the offerings in her fridge. “I was about to prepare a chef salad. You know you love my salads.”
Her salads included pretty much everything but the kitchen sink: pineapple and walnuts to boot.
“Sounds great,” Darlene enthused, “but I’ll bring my own salad dressing.”
Claire harrumphed. “Fat-free doesn’t mean taste-free.”
“Oh, yes it does,” Darlene argued. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“Be sure to identify yourself to my bodyguards otherwise you might find yourself arrested.” Claire recalled the poor delivery guy last night having to endure a humiliating pat down.
“Wait, are these cops cute?”
Claire placed a bag of mixed greens on the counter. “The ones I met last night were cute, but I haven’t seen the guys out there this morning up close. There was a shift change about eight.”
She couldn’t believe she’d had an actual shift change in police surveillance right outside her house. This kind of stuff only happened in books and movies. The whole situation felt surreal…except for the memory of yesterday’s gun blast echoing in her ears. She shuddered, banished the vivid recollection.
“Okay, so make it thirty minutes,” Darlene amended. “I’ll need to change.”
Her friend’s vanity parted the dark clouds and made Claire smile again. “See you then.”
She pressed the off button and left the phone on the counter as she pillaged for additional ingredients for a masterpiece salad. Darlene was thirty-five and divorced. She lamented all too often how she didn’t want to be single forever. She wanted a relationship, one that would last, with a guy who appreciated her for who she was. Her determination to attain that goal was relentless.
And still Darlene was certain it wasn’t going to happen in time—before she got too old to care. Claire tried to reassure her, sometimes it even worked.
Ham, cheese, tomatoes and cucumbers in her arms, she carried her bounty to the sink. She had turned thirty this year. Some part of her had acknowledged the milestone with a vague sense of failure on some fronts. She had never been married, had absolutely no prospects of a date, much less a marriage. Should she be feeling that same desperation her friend felt?
If so, she was in trouble because she didn’t feel that way at all. Far from it. The idea of intimate involvement made her want to run for the hills. She hadn’t had a steady boyfriend since leaving Alabama.
Pictures of her brother-in-law lying there on her bedroom floor bleeding out internally began to darken her new good mood. She switched the mental channel, refused to look. Maybe her inability to get close to anyone did spring from the events of that long-ago night. If that was the case then she was doomed because she couldn’t change what she had done. And if she was honest with herself she would have to say that she would do the same thing again. In fact, she just had.
Her sister’s life had been in danger. Just as Peter Reimes’s life had been yesterday. She had done the only thing she could in each situation.
But somehow, deep down, that reality didn’t really help.
/>
It didn’t change the fact that she had now killed two men.
Claire turned her hands palms up and stared at them.
Did that make her a different person than she had been before? She’d wondered that the first time, but the events that followed that night had evolved so quickly with such devastating results that nothing else really mattered.
She’d left her hometown after that with no idea where she would land. Months later she had been substituting at a school in Tennessee when a new friend had recommended a school from her hometown, Whitesburg Middle all the way out in one of Seattle’s many suburbs. At first Claire had been reluctant to go so far, but there had been no change in her circumstances with her sister so she’d taken the leap.
That felt like a lifetime ago.
And yet, as she stared at her hands, she remembered every detail of that night she’d killed Tad as if it had only been last night.
Somehow that was where she’d failed. She’d lost her family; maybe she’d given up too easily. But she would never know now.
With monumental effort, she turned her attention to preparing the salad. Darlene would be here soon.
She washed, sliced and diced until the presentation was perfect. Lots of lovely color and texture above a bed of vibrant greens. Water or diet cola would have to do since Darlene had not yet acquired a taste for Claire’s artificially sweetened iced tea.
Claire readied the table, using her best stoneware. Her only stoneware actually. She’d been hooked on the fruit motif from the moment she’d laid eyes on it. Her whole kitchen was designed around those same colors.
She checked the clock just as the doorbell rang.
“Now that’s perfect timing.”
Having company, especially Darlene, would help to ward off memories from the past. She had enough new trouble in the present without borrowing from the past she’d worked so hard to put behind her.