Text tio-4

by Cambria Hebert

  But all that was before Honor.

  Now I understood why some men married, why some men got out early, and why some men actually wanted to go home and not work late.

  “My Jeep’s sitting up on the mountain with two busted tires. I need to swing by the house, get an extra spare, and then go out there and change them so I can drive it home.”

  Patton nodded. “No problem.”

  That was the good thing about being a Marine. Even miles and miles away from home, I still had family that would be there when I needed something.

  “So,” Patton began, sliding me a glance. “You gonna tell me why your Jeep’s jacked up, why you look like hell, and why you called me about Lex last night?”

  “It all started with a girl,” I said.

  Patton grinned. “Hell yeah, all the best trouble starts with a girl.”

  I laughed. “Actually, it started with a text…”

  It took the entire drive to my house and to the Wrangler for me to tell him everything. Then while we changed the tires, he asked me about a million questions. I answered them all, rattling off the information almost on autopilot as my thoughts drifted to Honor. By now she would be home. Alone.

  Unless of course her mother—that woman was a piece of work—managed to strong-arm her to come home with her. I doubted that though… Honor didn’t seem like the type to be strong armed into doing anything.

  “Reed,” Patton said from above.

  I glanced up. He was standing there looking at me with a weird expression on his face. “What?”

  “Dude, you got it bad.”

  “Got what?” I said as I finished tightening the last of the lug nuts.

  “She must be hot,” he said with a smirk.

  I didn’t really like him talking about her. At all. “She’s not one of your one-night stands,” I said, giving the nuts one last tightening.

  He chuckled. “She gonna be one of yours?”

  I dropped the lug wrench on the ground and stood. “Since some sicko that we played poker with tried to jam his cock down her throat, I would say trying to get in her pants would be a little shitty. Even for me,” I spat.

  Patton swore. “He in jail?”

  “Stupid cops can’t find him.”

  “We need to do a little recon on our own?”

  “It’s definitely an option.”

  “I’m up for it. Hell, half the guys in the unit would be all over this. We’d get him in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  We gathered up the tools and threw the ruined tires in the bed of Patton’s truck as thunder began to rumble overhead. It reminded me of just last night, how I was running through this very wood, trying to get Honor the hell out of there.

  It also reminded me of gunfire.

  “Hey,” Patton said as I dug my keys out of pocket.

  “Yeah?”

  “You know I didn’t mean nothing earlier. I was just kidding. I might have a lot of one-night stands, but I respect women. I would never—”

  “Yeah, man. I know.” I clapped him on the back. “I’m just pissed off.”

  “You got a right to be.”

  “Thanks for giving me a hand. Beer’s on me next time.”

  Patton nodded. “You know you saved her life, right?”

  After that we parted ways.

  As I drove home, I wondered if saving her life made up for the one I wasn’t able to save.

  23

  Honor

  I liked the quiet. But today it was too silent.

  Usually, the characters that lived in my head, the unseen worlds where I seemed to exist kept me occupied the entire day.

  Today, those characters were inaudible. The worlds were hushed. It was almost as if they stayed away because they knew I wouldn’t be able to deal with them and reality. I needed a break from reality. I wanted the voices back.

  I smiled to myself as I wandered down the hallway and into my bedroom. I should call the doctor and ask him where the voices went. In my room, I drifted over to one of the windows that overlooked the trail. Burnished orange leaves fell from the trees and floated down onto the gravel walkway.

  I felt the familiar tug I always did to go out there and walk, to breathe in deeply of the crisp air. I turned away from the sight. It might be beautiful, it might be peaceful out there… but sometimes looks were deceiving. The last time I was out there I was taken. Violated. Hurt.

  I padded across the light-colored carpet and tugged open the white closet doors on the other side of the room. My clothes hung neatly and sat in folded stacks. I selected my favorite pair of black leggings and an oversized gray shirt with dolman sleeves. My father always said this shirt made me look like I had wings.

  If I had wings today, I might fly away.

  Even though I showered at the hospital, I took off the jeans and sweater my mother brought me and tossed them across the foot of my queen-sized bed. It was still neatly made from yesterday. The white comforter remained tucked tidily around the mattress and the earth-colored pillows were strategically placed the way I liked them.

  I went into the bathroom, wincing at the coldness of the tile floor against my bare feet. I thought about showering again, I wanted to, but I didn’t want the hassle of trying to keep my stitches dry. Instead, I used a fluffy white cloth to wash my face (one handed) at the sink and then I applied a really yummy smelling, rich lotion to my poor battered skin.

  It was the first time I really looked at myself since being kidnapped. Yeah, there was a mirror in the bathroom at the hospital, but I avoided it. I wasn’t ready to see. But being home made me feel a little stronger.

  The swelling around my eye wasn’t as bad as I knew it was before. My vision was a lot less impaired now. It was still puffy and sore looking. The bruise was a deep purple shade that no makeup was going to cover. It circled around my entire eye, making me look like a raccoon. My lower lip was partially swelled as well. It was also bruised, but it was small and already yellowing. There were various scrapes across my cheeks, likely from all the times I fell and hit my face against the ground.

  At least I didn’t look incredibly pale… All the injuries were too colorful for that.

  My midsection looked the worst. The entire side of my ribs was black and blue. It also appeared lumpy and it made me recoil. From what the doctor said, it would be a while for them to heal. I was going to be stiff and sore, breathing was going to be a pain, and I was just going to have to live with it.

  I would rather live with broken ribs than be dead.

  The scrapes across my knuckles were only partially visible because gauze was wrapped around the stitches. I knew I could take off the wrapping, but I wasn’t ready for that yet. I’d rather keep the stitches covered. The skin on the back of my other hand was itchy and a little tingly.

  I soaked the tape in a little bit of warm water and then peeled it off. It hurt, but the relief of having that crappy medical tape off me was worth it. My skin was angry and red where it had been and there was a red rash covering the area. In the center was a bruise, and I wondered if the nurse had been careful at all when she jammed the IV into my hand.

  My hair was in a simple braid and I let it loose, shaking the waves around my shoulders. I liked the way it felt when the ends of my hair brushed over my bare shoulders. After I brushed my teeth, I pulled on the leggings and shirt and added a pair of slippers that looked like boots.

  I put on a pot of coffee and waited in the kitchen for it to drip enough for me to fill a mug, and I added some of my favorite cinnamon-flavored creamer. The first sip was heaven. It was like a warm blanket for my insides. Just holding the warmth of the mug between my chilled fingers was comforting.

  I let out a contented sigh and then carried my mug out into the living room where I settled with a blanket on the couch.

  I picked up my Kindle and turned it on, calling up the newest book I was reading by Jennifer Armentrout, and then sat it in my lap. Vivid image
s of Lex scattered my concentration and took away whatever peace I’d managed to find.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have let my mother go home after all. Maybe I should have asked her to stay. Maybe I should have given in and went home with her.

  I could call her. She would come. Or my father would.

  Instead, I clicked on the TV and found some old romantic comedy that always seemed to be playing. I knew I should pull up my social media. I likely had hundreds of notifications, messages, and emails to go through.

  But what was I supposed to say?

  Sorry I haven’t been around. I almost died. I was kidnapped and the man who did it is still out there.

  No computer for me today. I wasn’t ready to deal with anything. I drank my coffee and stared at the TV for a long time, but I didn’t really pay attention.

  I wondered about Mary. About what the police told her family when I gave them the locket. I wondered if they changed her case from missing person to search and recovery. I knew she was dead. I hated it. I knew that she likely suffered horribly before she died. I hated that too.

  Where was the justice for Mary? For any of his victims?

  Was there a punishment worthy of such a heinous crime?

  Death seemed too easy. Sitting in jail didn’t seem like enough either. I asked myself what a fitting penance was for a man who tortured women.

  A little while later, I forced myself to eat some toast and I drank more coffee. My eyes kept going to my laptop, but I never turned it on. My dad called to make sure I was okay, and my mother got on the line to see if I changed my mind about coming home.

  I told her I was already home.

  Then I promised I would come over the next day to visit.

  At eight o’clock, I crawled into bed, leaving on the bathroom light. I was exhausted, but it took a while to fall asleep.

  I was running on the trail, the sun filtering through the trees and the sound of water rushing through the river at my side. I wasn’t running because I wanted to, though. I was scared. My heart beat frantically and fear seized my body. As I ran, I looked over my shoulder, so afraid that he’d caught up. He was there, but I was still just out of his reach. I told myself to go faster, to get the hell away, but I felt like my feet were encased in concrete.

  “The cat always catches the mouse,” the voice behind me taunted.

  I tripped and stumbled, fell hard onto my hands and knees. He laughed and pounced on me. I fell down, lying on my belly as he covered his body with mine.

  “You like that, don’t you?”

  I screamed and whimpered. The next thing I knew I was standing in the center of the hole. It was filling up with water, the rain falling at impressive speed. He stood above me, staring down as water poured over his face and chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. As I stared, he tossed a rope ladder down to me, offering me freedom.

  “Come up and play,” he sang.

  I jerked awake, sitting up in the center of the bed, the blankets twisted around my thighs. I searched the darkness of my room, assuring myself that I was alone and I was safe.

  But I wasn’t. Not really.

  He was still out there. He could be doing the same thing to someone else. He could be looking for me.

  What would happen if he found me?

  I pushed the hair out of my face and got out of bed. No more sleeping. Not right now.

  I went into the kitchen and pulled out a wooden cutting board, a knife, and a bag of green apples. I added a blue pie pan and all the ingredients I needed to make homemade piecrust. I always used my grandmother’s recipe. I knew it by heart.

  Just before I rolled out the dough, there was a muffled knock on the front door.

  I froze and glanced at the clock. It was well after eleven p.m.

  I grabbed the little knife off the counter and went to the top of the stairs where I stared at the door and wondered if I should answer.

  24

  Nathan

  I hit the weights as soon as I got home. I literally parked the Jeep beside the house and jogged into the house in the fading light of day. I didn’t bother to change. I just stripped off my shirt as I went down the steps into the unfinished basement.

  It was cold down here, and the thud of my boots rang out over the concrete floor. My weight bench was set up in the center of the room. It was a welcome sight. I hadn’t always enjoyed working out as much as I did now, but I found it was a good way to keep stress in check. It was a good way to blow off steam without getting drunk and spending half my life in some alcohol-induced stupor.

  Besides, it seemed like a better idea to channel all my energy into something positive than drowning myself in a bottle.

  Before I got started, I docked my iPhone on the speakers and cranked up some Aerosmith. I warmed up with a run on the treadmill. The pace started out casual but then worked up to a flat-out sprint. I liked the way my muscles exerted themselves. I was able to focus in on my body and my breath. Everything else fell away for a little while.

  Once I was good and warm, I wiped my brow with the back of my arm and hit the weights. Usually I alternated muscle groups. Tonight I worked a little bit of everything. I went on autopilot doing bench presses, curls, and squats. After those were completed, I moved into push-ups and pull-ups. In the Corps, we were required to be able to do twenty pull-ups. I did forty.

  I worked out for at least an hour, putting my body through its paces, and then I finished off by hanging from my pull-up bar upside down and holding a twenty pound disk to my chest while I did sit-ups.

  When I was done, I stripped down naked and tossed all my clothes in the washing machine. As I walked upstairs, I checked my phone. And I wondered about Honor.

  I took a quick shower and threw on a pair of dark-grey Nike sweatpants and a long-sleeved white T-shirt. Then I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat down in front of the flat-screen.

  I turned on the news, hoping to see some breaking story about the arrest of Lex.

  But I didn’t see that.

  “Local police are still searching for the man they believe responsible for the disappearance of Mary Alderson several weeks ago. They now believe the suspect, a Mr. Lex Sullman, is responsible for many of the kidnappings in the area over the last year. The police department issued an arrest warrant for Sullman early this morning when another young woman, who happens to be best-selling author Honor Calhoun, was brought into the Allentown ER for treatment to several injuries that she claims she received at the hands of Mr. Sullman. Ms. Calhoun claims that Sullman abducted her early yesterday morning and held her hostage near the town of Slatington. Ms. Calhoun’s injuries have been treated and sources tell us she has been released from the hospital and is now resting at home.

  “The search for Mr. Sullman continues. If you have any information about this man, please contact your local police department immediately.”

  I stared at the pictures that flashed on the screen as the anchor blabbed to all the damn world. When she said Honor’s name, my blood ran cold, and then she flashed a picture of her, one that showed her face completely unmarked.

  I was right.

  She was even more gorgeous without bruises.

  Then a photo of Lex popped up on the screen. He looked like a regular guy. He was someone that no one would suspect of something like this.

  He was still out there.

  And if he was anywhere with a TV, he now knew Honor’s full name. And that meant her address wouldn’t be hard to find.

  I got up from the couch, leaving the beer on the coffee table. I grabbed my keys, another jacket, and jammed my feet into a pair of sneakers. I left the TV and the lights on and locked the door behind me.

  When I got behind the wheel, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I could just call her. Ask her how she was.

  I shook my head and started the engine.

  A phone call wasn’t good enough.

  I had to see, see with my own eyes that she was okay. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave her
alone the entire night while her kidnapper was pissed off and still out there.

  I swore. Thanks to the f-ing news, not only was Lex pissed off, but now he was very well informed.

  I called up her address in my memory and drove there in record time. Across the street from her house was a small pull-off shoulder on the road. I pulled off there and parked, checking out the surroundings, looking for anything that seemed out of place.

  Her house was dark, and I wondered if it was because she wasn’t home or if it was because she was asleep.

  I settled back in the seat, thinking I was acting like a crazy stalker and how my mother would kick my ass if she saw me now. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just sit around at home and wonder if she was okay, not after watching the news.

  Her house was pretty nice looking. Not real big, but still a decent size. It was newer looking with vinyl siding and white trim around the windows. The driveway was gravel and led to a two-car garage. A set of concrete steps led up to a covered front entryway and a large porch light hung just above. It was on, which made me think she might be home. The front door was painted yellow, a welcoming sunny color.

  Off to the right of the house was a wooded area. The perfect place for some crazy ass to hide. I was pretty sure that behind her house ran the Slate Heritage trail. The trail ran for thirty miles and was built on an old railroad. It was also the trail she was attacked on. It would lead Lex right to her door.

  I knew then that I would be spending the night. I would rather feel like a stalker than hear about her murder on the news in the morning.

  Besides, I was a lot of things. A stalker wasn’t one of them.

  Outside, the wind beat against the ragtop of the Jeep, rattling the vinyl windows, but I didn’t mind the sound. It helped keep me awake. I was tired. I was operating on a couple hours of sleep, and the thorough workout I did mellowed out my body.

  A little while later, a light clicked on in one of the windows of Honor’s house. I sat up a little straighter. Now I knew she was home. I watched the house, wondering what she was doing, waiting for the light to click off or another to click on. Neither happened.