Dark Mountains

by Amanda Meredith

  I kissed her face and her neck then down to her breasts. I sucked on her hard nipple as the water sluiced over us. My lips trailed down her stomach and I lifted her leg over my shoulder as I buried my face in the apex of her legs. She cried out and nearly collapsed but I held her hip in place against the shower wall. She grabbed my hair and the grafted skin on my scalp tingled painfully. The sensation only turned me on and I stood, water pouring over us, as I plundered her mouth again. I sunk my finger inside of her and she moaned beneath my lips.

  She was tight and wet and I felt her muscles clenching, straining for more. She sagged when I pulled my hand away but I lifted her arms above her head, pinning her wrists against the tiles with one hand. Using my other hand, I hitched her leg up to my hip and when I thrust into her, she was ready. She came quickly and the intensity of it had me nearly following her. But I took her breast in my mouth again, nipping gently at the rosy peak and she was already climbing again. This time, when she flew, I let myself explode inside her.

  She leaned against the shower wall, completely sated. She moaned when I slid out of her and leaned heavily against the wall. I chuckled, and reached for the soap. I washed her body gently, very carefully cleaning the tender area between her legs before washing again myself. She wrapped her arms around my neck as the water rinsed the soap away. She sighed as I shut the water off and reached out to grab a towel. I wrapped one around my waist before grabbing two more towels. I wrapped one around her body and helped her use the other to wrap her hair. Her eyelids were drooping so I gently picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

  I lay her on the sheets and covered her before she chilled. Removing my own towel, I lay down beside her and pulled the blanket up around us. She curled into my chest, her body fitting there perfectly.

  “I love you, Cole,” she murmured before exhaustion overtook her.

  “And I love you, Libby,” I whispered as I watched her sleep. The first rays of sun were trickling through the balcony doors as I felt my own eyes grow heavy. As the sun began to rise above the mountain, I happily sank into a dreamless sleep.

  ***

  Carol Ann called the house a week later.

  “Momma, where are you? I called the police and filed a missing person’s report!” Libby was near hysterical as she cried into the phone.

  “I’m okay, honey,” Carol Ann tried to assure her.

  “Where are you?” Libby repeated, more forcefully.

  “I can’t tell you, sweetie,” she answered. Libby snorted but her momma continued. “I’m safe and I’m with a friend but I can’t tell you anything more, Libby. I can’t risk him finding out.”

  “Momma, we can go to the Sheriff. We’ll have him locked up where he can never hurt us again.”

  “I’ve talked to the Sheriff already, Libby. Unfortunately, he can’t do anything unless they have proof of abuse. I’d never filed a report on him before so they didn’t have any records to go off of.” She sighed, letting the silence hang for a moment. “I filed a restraining order and started the process for divorce. But honey a piece of paper won’t keep him away from me. So my friend thought I should leave town, go into hiding. There are a few women’s shelters I can stay at.”

  “Momma, come stay with me and Cole,” Libby mumbled, trying to hold back her tears. “We’ll keep you safe.”

  “No, Libby,” Carol Ann murmured. “I’ve put you in danger from the minute you were born and never could do anything to stop it. I won’t do that again.”

  “Momma, how will I know you’re alright?”

  “I’m with a friend,” she answered, her voice stronger. “He knows how to protect me.”

  “He?”

  “Dammit, Libby. I wasn’t supposed to say that. Just, trust me honey. It’s a long story. Maybe someday I can tell you everything.” She sighed again. “There’s so much you don’t know, sweetheart. So many things I wish I could tell you.”

  “I don’t care, Momma,” Libby mumbled through tears. “I just want you happy and safe.”

  “I will be sweetie. I have to go now, but I’ll call you Monday night.”

  “Momma, please let me come get you,” Libby whispered.

  “No honey. I’ll call you Monday, I promise.”

  “I love you, Momma.”

  “I love you too, Libby.” The line went dead and Libby kept the phone to her ear a moment before setting the phone in the cradle. She started sobbing and fell into my arms. She told me what her mother had said and I didn’t like anything that I’d heard. I didn’t trust this ‘friend’ that Carol Ann had referred to. I wanted to call John Paul and talk all this over with him but he was still out of the office.

  When Monday came, Libby paced by the phone waiting for it to ring. The sun had gone down but the phone stayed silent. Near midnight, Libby had fallen asleep on the couch near the phone. I carried her to bed and double-checked all the windows and doors again before returning to the bedroom. I looked out the balcony windows at the dark waters of the lake. There was no moon tonight and the gloomy black made me shiver. I’d always had this feeling when things were about to go wrong, this sort of tingling down the back of my neck. I knew something had happened and I dreaded going to sleep, knowing that tomorrow would only bring darkness.

  The next morning, I stood at the stove making omelets. Libby had padded into the kitchen wearing the light blue robe I’d gotten her. She came up behind me and hugged me as I flipped the eggs. I turned around and kissed her, dragging my fingers through her soft hair.

  “I love you, Libby,” I murmured, kissing her forehead.

  “I love you, too.”

  We sat at the table and ate our breakfast while we flipped through different sections of the newspaper. Libby put the dishes in the sink and filled it with soapy water. I came over and washed while she rinsed and dried. I chuckled at how easily we fell into a comfortable routine. The phone rang at nine. Libby began to put the dishes away as I went to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Cole, it’s John Paul.”

  “Hey, Sheriff. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days.”

  “Is Libby there with you?” John Paul interrupted, his voice shaky. My breath caught in my throat. Something was wrong. Libby had thrown the dishtowel on the counter and walked over to me. Her face was full of concern.

  “Well, yeah, John Paul. She is.”

  “That’s good. She’s going to need you.” I felt the blood drain from my face as John Paul took a ragged breath. “Cole, Libby’s Momma was killed last night.” His statement stopped my breathing.

  “What?” I choked out, my heart sinking into my stomach.

  “I didn’t want to have to call… I mean, I would’ve come over and told her myself but I couldn’t leave… I,” his voice cracked.

  “What the hell happened, John Paul?”

  “She was found this morning in a hotel between Lynch and Middlesboro. She appeared to have been beaten.” I could hear the tears in his voice. “Someone from another room heard the struggle and called 911. Police responded in less than ten minutes,” he stopped, taking a deep breath. “Even if we’d gotten there sooner…” his voice caught again. “Nothing could have saved her, Cole.” My mind was spinning furiously, trying to imagine what John Paul was describing. I shuddered and decided I didn’t want to know.

  “What else?” My own voice cracked.

  “We put an APB out for Jackson. He didn’t show up for his shift at the mine and the house is empty.” I couldn’t move. I glanced over at Libby. Her face was pale. She knew, just by my reactions that something was horribly wrong.

  “Cole, we need Libby to come down to the morgue and identify the body,” he whispered. I gasped at the cruelty of the request.

  “Why can’t you do it?” I asked, the question choking out of me.

  “I’ve already told the coroner that it’s her but the country requires next of kin. Libby’s the only family Carol Ann had left.” John Paul explained.

  “We’l
l be there,” I whispered before hanging up the phone. The tears gathering in my eyes must have been enough for Libby to guess a little of what was going on because she had slid into the chair.

  “What did he do?” she whispered, staring down at the floor.

  “Libby,” my voice cracked. I crouched down in front of her. “It’s your Momma, baby.” She looked up at me, tears filling her eyes. I hesitated, unsure of what to say. How could I tell her something so horrible when I loved her so much?

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Libby whispered. I knew by the dazed look on her face that she had known. I slowly nodded and watched her slump into the chair. “Did they find him?” I barely heard the whispered words.

  “He’s gone. They haven’t found him yet.” I answered. She stood up slowly. Her hands were shaking as she reached for a glass from the table and numbly walked to the sink. A few steps away, she stopped, her breath hitching. The glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor. I was quick to get to her as she started to collapse and caught her before she hit the glass-covered floor. I held her as she wept great, racking sobs.

  Thirty minutes later, we were on our way to the county morgue. Libby didn’t speak the entire way, only stared out the window. We pulled into the parking lot and saw John Paul come out of the door as I put the truck in park. His eyes were red-rimmed and his face looked twenty years older as his eyes locked on Libby.

  “Libby, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, reaching out to pat her shoulder awkwardly. She nodded stiffly and John Paul’s arm dropped. “I want you to be prepared… this will be… difficult.” He choked on the last word and Libby’s head snapped up.

  “This isn’t the first time Pa beat her beyond recognitions, Sheriff,” she spoke with bitterness as she looked at him. “And it isn’t the first time nobody did anything to stop it.” John Paul’s face paled and I flinched at Libby’s words.

  “I’m sorry, Libby,” He whispered again. “For so many things.” Tears sprang from his eyes and Libby sighed. Her features softened and she suddenly reached out to hug him.

  “I forgive you, John Paul,” Libby murmured. “For a lot of things.” She stepped back and grabbed my hand before we walked into the building.

  Chapter 17

  Four hours later, we were curled up in front of the fireplace at home. I’d given Libby a healthy dose of whiskey yet she still shivered in my arms.

  “She’s dead because of me,” Libby whispered, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames. I took a deep breath.

  “Libby. It’s not your fault,” I answered in a steady tone.

  “He killed her, Cole, because I told her to leave him and she finally listened. And he went after her.” John Paul had shown us the crime scene photos. The room had been ransacked and the words ‘whore’ and ‘bastard’ had been written on the wall in Carol Ann’s blood. We knew Jackson had done it.

  “Libby, Jackson is evil and crazy. No one knows why his mind thinks the way it does. It is not your fault.” I repeated, hugging her closer to me.

  “My whole life, I always blamed her for never leaving, never fighting back. But she was trapped. Just like I was.” She shivered. “He used to make her watch when he beat me. If she cried or begged him to stop, he would hit me harder. She finally learned to sit there, not saying a thing, not moving, until he got tired of hitting me.” I felt the bile rising in my throat. I’d had no idea.

  “When he’d sit down, instead of helping me, she’d go grab him his whiskey. I used to hate her for it.” She sucked in a harsh breath. “I would crawl to my bedroom, praying that he wouldn’t come after me again. I realize now that if she had been any different, it would’ve been a lot worse. She was scared just like me.”

  “Not anymore, Libby.” My voice was gruff, filled with sorrow for the life she'd been forced to grow up in. “You never have to be afraid again.” I sat there holding her, waiting for the tears to come but they never did. I carried her up to bed late that night, praying the darkness she was feeling wouldn’t swallow her up.

  I woke up at 3 am to an empty bed. I sat up as my eyes adjusted and noticed the light on in the bathroom.

  “Libby?” I waited a moment to answer before I got out of bed to check on her. I was just about to knock when I heard gagging sounds. I rushed in and found her hugging the toilet bowl as she heaved into it. I quickly wet a washcloth and held back her hair while I dabbed her clammy forehead. When she crumpled on the floor in exhaustion, I carried her back to bed and stood watch until the sun came up.

  The funeral took over a week just to plan. Since her death was under investigation for murder, the coroner didn’t release Carol Ann’s body right away. The autopsy had concluded that she had died from severe trauma to the brain, liver and kidneys. Jackson Michael’s fingerprints had been found all over the hotel room and Carol Ann’s body. She had apparently fought back before becoming unconscious; Jackson’s blood and skin cells were found beneath her fingernails.

  We buried her on a rainy, fall day in the cemetery outside of town. The cold drops of rain splattered on the black umbrellas as the reverend spoke of Carol Ann’s life. He reminded the small crowd of the vibrant, happy girl she had been. He spoke of how she had worked at the ice cream shop and how quiet and loving she had been. He didn’t speak much of Carol Ann’s life after she’d married Jackson Michaels. Of course, no one had seen much of Carol Ann after that. He only spoke of Libby and how much she looked like her mother.

  After the funeral, I stood with Libby beside the casket, holding an umbrella over our heads. Libby gently laid the bluebells I’d found that morning on the plain wooden casket. The petals quivered with each raindrop. John Paul walked up the pathway and laid a shaking hand on Libby’s shoulder. He leaned down to kiss the casket before he walked away, leaving us to stand in the rain.

  Libby laid her hand on the damp wood and looked up at the dark clouds that hovered down over the mountain. She turned to walk away and I handed her the umbrella as she walked back to the truck. I stood in the rain, scanning the line of trees that surrounded the cemetery. I thought I’d heard the faint echo of laughter but it must’ve been my imagination. All I could hear was the soft patter of rain on the ground. I made my way back to the truck where Libby was waiting. Neither of us looked back as we drove away.

  Chapter 18

  It was five weeks after Carol Ann’s death and Libby still hadn’t returned to work. Her producer was sympathetic and told her to take as much time as she needed. Libby was barely speaking. Though she still slept with me, we hadn’t made love since her mother’s death.

  I would still wake up early in the morning and find Libby in the bathroom heaving into the toilet. She picked at her food, barely eating anything and her once curvy body was becoming exceedingly thin. She would wrap herself in a thick quilt and sit on the balcony, staring out at the lake.

  I’d taken and passed my deputy exam but had asked John Paul to postpone my starting date. I couldn’t imagine leaving Libby alone all day when she was so lost in her grief.

  It was the beginning of October and I was out back chopping firewood. I could see Libby on the deck, starting out at the lake. I’d started chopping firewood every day while she sat there. Winter came early in the mountains and could be harsh, knocking out the power for weeks at a time. There were enough fireplaces in the house to keep warm if it came down to that and I wanted to be prepared.

  I set my axe against the shed and wiped the sweat off my forehead. I saw Libby heading back in the house and decided it was time to talk to her. I’d thought I had a pretty good understanding of grief and pain but what Libby was experiencing was beyond anything I’d seen. She was in such a dark place that no light could break in. I knew all about being trapped in the dark and Libby had been there for me. Now it was my turn.

  I found Libby in the bathroom. After holding her hair again, I carried her to bed, grimacing at how little she weighed. I lay down next to her, pulling the covers over her chilled skin.

  “Libby,
I think we need to get you to a doctor,” I whispered as she stared at the wall. “You’ve been throwing up for weeks. You won’t eat, you won’t talk to me.” She shuddered beneath the covers. “You’ve lost so much weight, baby. I’m really worried.”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

  “Libby you’ve been through too much. It’s hard to pull away from so many horrible things,” I reached over and urged her to roll towards me. Her face was pale and tears were flowing freely from her eyes. “I think your body is just confused. Everything that’s happened is too hard. Your mind doesn’t know how to handle it so it went into shock. You’re blocking everything and everyone out and living in limbo but you can’t see what you’re doing to yourself.” She curled her small body into mine, burrowing her cold skin against me. “I can even have Emma Lou take you. You can go shopping or get your nails done after. You know, girl stuff.” The corner of Libby’s lip twitched and I knew I was getting to her. “I love you so much Libby. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Alright, Cole,” she murmured sleepily. “I’ll go to the doctor.” I hugged her close, satisfied that she would actually go. I kissed her forehead, noticing she had fallen asleep. I held her until I felt my eyes begin to droop and giving in, followed her into sleep.

  The next week, Emma Lou picked Libby up for a visit to the doctor and a ‘girl’s day’ as Emma Lou described it. They were driving to the doctor in Middlesboro and were planning on doing some shopping afterwards. The past week, Libby had seemed to be slowly coming out of her shell of grief. Though I still found her getting sick most mornings, she was more animated. We’d even made love the night before.

  As they drove away, I checked my watch. They’d probably be gone until four or five. It was plenty of time to get my shopping done. I had my own plans for helping Libby get through her grief.