Stranger in the Mirror [Shades of Heaven] (Soul Change Novel)

by Tina Wainscott

  Donna’s eyes widened, and she wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Yeah. I’d pushed that memory away, but yes. He had hair on his chest. I didn’t see it, but when I tried to push him away, I felt it.” She looked at her hands in disgust.

  Chest hair. Marti vaguely remembered feeling something when she’d pushed away the man in her bedroom. She’d thought it was his shirt, but no…it was a mat of hair.

  She tried to remember if she’d seen Paul shirtless. Finally she asked, “Do you know if Paul has chest hair?”

  “Some, I guess.”

  Marti walked over to the desk where her sketch still sat on top of other papers and cards. “Is this what the scratch on your chest looked like?” Donna nodded without even looking. “Then it was the same man,” she said on a breath.

  Donna stared at the place where the ceiling met the two walls in the corner. “Paul tried to get fresh on our date, right there in his car outside his house. That’s all he wanted, you know.”

  She swallowed hard, and hesitated, making Marti think she would go silent again. “I stomped home, through the patch of woods between our houses. I was almost home. He came out of nowhere. I figured it was Paul chasing after me, but I couldn’t see his face in the dark. He shoved me to the ground, knocking the breath out of me. Then he dropped down on top of me…” Donna choked on her words.

  Marti put her arms around the woman’s shaking shoulders. “I know it’s hard, but you need to talk about it. Let it out.”

  Donna nodded. “Maybe if I tell you, the nightmares will go away.” She took a deep breath, staring at the corner again. “He was wearing a robe of some kind, and he threw it off. There was… nothing underneath. He pinned me down and...and….”

  She started crying again, and Marti soothed her.

  “I didn’t do anything. I mean, I tried to push him away, to scream. But once he’d pinned me, I stopped fighting. I didn’t want to die. I feel like I should have done more, but I was so scared.”

  Marti thought of the woman whose place she’d taken. She had probably fought her attacker, and now she was dead. “That was the smartest thing you could have done.”

  “There’s something else I need to tell you. He only said one thing to me, and his voice was weird, low, and dreamy sounding. He called me a different name. He said, ‘Marti, the blood of my heart.’ He called me ‘Marti.’”

  Those last words squeezed Marti’s heart into a tiny ball of fear. It was definitely him.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Donna said through her tears. “I thought you should know. I wanted to tell you before, but I couldn’t. Why would he call me your name? And say those other words?”

  “Maybe he was thinking about his attack on me.” Marti’s words seemed hollow as they left her mouth. The first Marti had seen her attacker as he stopped to help with her car problem. He probably worried that she would remember him. But why would he call her the blood of his heart? She shivered.

  Then anger surged. “I don’t want to keep living in fear of this animal. We need to either rule out Paul or find out whether he was the one. I can’t stand this not knowing.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Marti stood. “I don’t know.”

  But she did. She had to get hold of Paul’s necklace and try to recreate the mark on her chest. Running to her car was physically out of the question, but she moved faster than she thought she could. As she passed Carl’s house a few minutes later, she realized how easy it would be to get inside and find the necklace. Then she’d have her answer.

  Still, she tried to find Jesse first. He wasn’t at the house, Helen’s, or at the garage, nor did he answer his phone. She didn’t know where Abbie lived or even where else to check for him. Going to the sheriff was obviously out of the question, and she didn’t want to drag Helen or Caty into this.

  The sight of Carl’s car parked at the station gave her the adrenaline to drive directly to his house. She would find the proof. Even though Jesse would yell at her, he’d be happy to at least have an answer. Besides, Helen would do the same.

  It was barely light when she drove past Carl’s house, with the sunset’s rays casting an eerie glow over everything. She pulled onto an empty lot on the other side of the street, parking behind a large fig tree. Carl’s colonial home sat on two lots, giving it room on either side. She walked casually up to the house, keeping herself hidden by the shadows of trees.

  People in small towns were not given to locking their doors, unless there was a ruthless rapist in the vicinity. The sheriff wouldn’t be afraid of such a thing. The front door was locked, but the back one was not. She slipped inside.

  The rooms were dim and musty. The television played in some distant room, making her wonder if Carl was indeed at the station. She had to believe he was since his car wasn’t out front but she remained on alert and quiet just in case. With so many rooms to choose from, she realized she had no idea where to start.

  She doubted Paul had been buried with his necklace, which meant Carl would have it somewhere, like in his bedroom or in Paul’s room.

  A quick check of the main level revealed no master bedroom, so she walked up the stairs and continued down the hallway. The second bedroom looked cluttered and dirty. Nothing like the rest of the house, which was immaculate in its appearance. Paul’s room?

  She found the chain and eagle pendant on top of a tall chest of drawers. Tugging her collar down, she pressed the wings into her upper arm until it hurt. When she pulled it away, her body went cold. It was the same mark. Pocketing the necklace, she turned to leave.

  Photos on the wall caught her eye. Old, framed photos of Carl in his uniform, Carl in what looked like a graduating class of police officers, Carl and Paul on a fishing boat. This had to be Carl’s room, then.

  Behind one of the photos, she saw the corner of another one tucked away. Even from the small piece, she could tell it was older. Pulling the frame down, she bent the prongs and removed the backing. The small photo behind it was of a younger Helen, obviously cut from a family photo.

  Huh?

  She started looking at some of the other photos, taking one down and peeling off the back. Another picture of Helen hid behind the boat photo, this one of her sprawled sexily on a couch. Behind that another one yet, this one taken without Helen’s knowledge more recently.

  The featured photo drifted to the floor. She needed to get out of here. Even though she’d only been in the house for about thirty minutes, it felt like hours had passed. She reached for it, but her gaze riveted on Carl and Paul: both men wore pendants. She put her nose to the photograph, trying to make out the shapes: eagles. Both had the same necklace. Her hand went to her throat. Paul’s chest was lightly covered in hair, and Carl’s…covered with curly fuzz.

  “Oh, my God.”

  The realization squeezed her heart, making it pound hard and tight in her chest. Carl. It had been Carl all along. She had to find Jesse and tell him the shocking truth.

  A glint of light outside the window caught her eye. The sheriff’s car sat out front. She blinked, hoping it was a mirage. No, not her imagination. How long had Carl been home? Where could she hide? In the closet of one of the unused rooms until he left again.

  “Find what you were looking for?”

  A cold fear blanketed her before she even looked up to see Carl standing in the doorway. Blocking her escape. Smiling.

  CHAPTER 18

  Carl’s hair was disheveled. “Or did you… come to see me?”

  Marti’s heart pounded so hard it actually throbbed in her vision. Which way to go? Some reason for being there. To see him? To find something?

  “I—I wanted some answers.”

  He should be angry to find her snooping in his house, trying to convict Paul even after his death. That would have been normal. Justified. But no, his eyes had a glassy sheen, as though he’d been doing drugs.

  Carl moved closer. Without looking back, she tried to remember what was behind her. No esc
ape, that she knew.

  “Why don’t you just ask me, Marti?” he said softly, enunciating each word carefully. “I would be glad to clarify anything for you.”

  “P—Paul. I wanted to know what happened.” That seemed safest.

  “You thought you could come here and prove somehow that I killed him? That I shoved him through the attic entrance and broke his neck?”

  Ice shot through her veins, paralyzing her body. “You killed him?” she stammered, wishing he had not confessed.

  He took another step closer. “It looks like you already figured that out.”

  “No! I mean, I didn’t know. I never thought you would k-kill your own son.”

  “It wasn’t easy. He put up a fight, but he’s a wimp, down to the core. His mother made him that way, coddled him and fussed until she left.”

  The crucial link between emotion and sanity was gone. She could see it in his eyes. The picture of Paul’s broken body lying in the grass flashed in her mind, followed by the realization that the man standing before her had been in her room not long ago. He had tried to kill her.

  “Jesse knows I’m here,” she blurted out, trying desperately to hide the fear in her eyes. Too late. He already knew she was afraid.

  “Sure, he does. Because that hothead would let his wife come into big, bad Carl’s house all by her lonesome. And he’s on his way over, right?”

  Her nod faded at his knowing smile. Instead of the adrenaline she needed, her body felt weak. She watched him as a mouse might watch a snake, weighing her options, judging its next move.

  Taking a deep breath, she relaxed her shoulders. “Well, I guess you’re going to arrest me for trespassing. I wouldn’t blame you. Let’s go down to the station.”

  She started to walk by him. If she could make it to the door, she could run. The stairs would be too dangerous in her condition, but maybe she could make it to another room, lock the door, and scream for help out the window.

  Just as she thought she was going to get by, he grabbed her wrist. With a swift movement, he pulled handcuffs from his belt and snapped one on her wrist. She wriggled, desperately trying to keep the other one away, but her strength was no match for his.

  “You’re not going to get away from me as easily as you did the last time. Pretending to die was clever, very clever. And then you got yourself released from jail before I wanted you out. But not this time, blood of my heart.”

  Those words sent chills through her body, but she kept her fear hidden. He touched her chin, and she jerked away from him. His finger remained poised in front of her, his expression hard. The cuffs were tight around her wrists, jangling every time she moved.

  Stay calm. Something isn’t right inside his head. He killed his son. He’ll kill you, too.

  Subtly, she sucked in a great big breath, and as he moved toward his dresser, she let out the beginning of a howling scream. His palm shot out and smashed her into the wall, crushing her nose. Blood started dripping down, trickling past her lips and over her chin. The sharp pain made her eyes lose focus for a second.

  Carl reached into the top drawer, but she didn’t see what he took out. The room spun as terror spun her brain in circles. Then darkness pulsed as she dropped to the floor. She tried to clutch at the walls, but her shackled wrists could hardly move.

  No, not now! Don’t faint now!

  That was the last thought she had.

  Marti woke with a start, staring into blackness. Lucidity eluded her for a few minutes as she struggled to wake from a nightmare. Her mouth felt full of cotton. Wait. It was full of cotton, or something, and no amount of pushing with her tongue would dislodge it. Because a gag tied around her head kept it in place. Afraid to move, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Patches of dim light moved around in front of her, but she thought that might be her eyes playing tricks on her.

  She turned over to touch Jesse, intent on waking him. With a screech of metal against metal, she was stopped abruptly. She jerked her hand again, but found it attached to something above her. Icy fear rushed over her, washing her with reality. She tried to kick, but shackles clamped around her legs, too. Her scream came out as a muffled noise.

  The more she jerked and twisted, the more the handcuffs bit into her skin. She was cuffed to a bed in a dark, hot place. The baby kicked three times in succession, and she started to put her hand on her belly as she usually did. But her hand stopped far short. Could the baby feel her terror?

  A creaking noise made her go still. A shaft of light shot up to the trusses several yards above her. She was in the attic. Another pinpoint of light in a dark reality. And no doubt, Carl was coming up some kind of creaky stairs or a ladder. Coming for her.

  His silhouette loomed over her, reminding her vividly of the night he’d broken in to kill her. Was he going to kill her now? She didn’t move, afraid to breathe. Sweat trickled down her sides. He stood there for several long seconds. She kept her eyes closed, wishing he’d go away so she could think.

  Carl reached up and pulled a chain, sending harsh light from a bare bulb hanging above her. The fixture swung back and forth on its chain, casting wild shadows around her. She blinked painfully. He stood there with a stupid smile on his face. He was still wearing his uniform, unbuttoned down to his hairy navel. It seemed absurd that he should be wearing a sheriff’s uniform when he was going to kill her in his attic. She wanted to tell him so but couldn’t speak.

  He glanced around with narrowed eyes, then stepped over an upturned cardboard box to pull a dusty rocking chair next to the bed. His pungent cologne and sweat mixed nauseatingly with the musty smell of the mattress beneath her. She swallowed, trying to push down the lump in her throat that felt like a tennis ball. He rocked back and forth in the chair, making the floorboards creak with every movement.

  She was not going to plead, even if he did remove the blasted, foul-tasting cloth from her mouth. Somehow she knew begging would incite him. Maybe the first Marti had found that out.

  When he reached for her, she flinched. He didn’t falter as he smoothed her damp hair back in the way a father might do for a sick child. His low, rumbling laugh shot fear through her.

  “You’re finally mine, Marti. I’ve wanted you for a long time, a long, long time. But you were always afraid of me.” He pinched her chin between his fingers, his expression fierce now. “Why?”

  She just stared behind him, wishing to God that Jesse would suddenly pop out of the opening and snare Carl in a killing throat hold. Jesse. The thought of him injected a small amount of hope in her. Carl glanced behind him as if she was really staring at someone. When he turned back to her, he held his finger threateningly near her nose, which still ached dully.

  “Don’t even think about screaming, blood of my heart.”

  That horrible endearment. He pulled at the cloth around her head until it finally came out of her mouth. She now recognized the taste as car wax. Her tongue felt like a withered prune.

  “I am not yours,” she stated simply, after moistening her mouth. “I’m Jesse’s.” Just saying his name gave her strength.

  Carl’s laughter sapped that strength as he gestured to her surroundings. “Looks like you’re mine now.” It was frightening the way his expressions changed so rapidly. His eyes grew hard again as they surveyed her body. “But now I don’t want you. You’re fat. You repulse me.”

  She flinched at the way he spit the words out. “Then why don’t you let me go?”

  That laughter again, fraught with evil. “Can’t do that. You know too much. You and Jesse just kept snooping around. You couldn’t let it rest, could you?”

  His mention of Jesse made her suddenly afraid for him. Almost as scared as she was for the baby inside her. “You tried to kill me.” He had actually killed Marti.

  “Yes, I did.” He said the words wistfully, tilting his head up. “But I didn’t. And you know why? Because you are meant to be mine.”

  “Was Helen meant to be yours, too?” she ventured.
/>   He turned to her, surprised. “Why do you say that?”

  “You asked her to marry you, but she turned you down.” Jesse had told her that after Bernie died, Carl had come around panting like a dog. Marti didn’t mention the photo she’d found.

  “Don’t talk to me about Helen.”

  “You couldn’t make her love you, could you?”

  He leaned so close she smelled the whiskey on his breath. “Are you calling me a failure?”

  She shrunk back as far as the bed would allow. “No. You succeeded in killing your son, didn’t you?”

  He leaned back, placing his ankle on his other knee. “Yes, but that wasn’t planned. He was going to squeal on his own father. He came in here accusing me of being the one who attacked you both times. Said if I didn’t confess, he had enough evidence to interest the Ft. Myers police.”

  Marti remembered Paul’s desperation that night outside Dr. Hislope’s house. He’d known. That had been his crazy revelation, that his own father was the one.

  Carl leaned forward, pointing at his chest. “He was going to turn his own father in. Can you believe the loyalty? Even before he knew I wasn’t his real father.” Marti’s eyes widened, and he seemed pleased to surprise her. “I married his mother because she told me she was pregnant with my baby. But when Paul was born, I knew—knew—he wasn’t mine. I made her tell me who she’d slept with. I forced the bitch to tell me.”

  She wanted to keep the conversation away from her and Jesse. “B-but you forgave her?”

  He smiled, showing his perfect teeth. “No. I made her life hell until she ran away one night.”

  She shivered. “You killed Paul, then tried to set Jesse up for his murder.”

  “I wanted Jesse out of the way, but he left without seeing the note. You found it instead. You always did find yourself in the most interesting predicaments.”

  “How did you get his knife?”

  “I saw it in his truck the night I arrested him for assaulting Paul.” He shook his head. “I never wanted to hurt Jesse, I really didn’t. He was just in the way.”