Heart Of Darkness

by Maggie Shayne

  “Okay.” David pocketed the phone, and lifted his head. “Brad’s stable. His arteries were clogged, and you didn’t have anything to do with that. The timing, maybe, but this was going to happen, and soon, with or without you.”

  She nodded. “Thanks for saying that.”

  “So what do you want to do, Si…Sara?”

  She blinked slowly. “I want to find out whether I’m sane or not. Whether Pakita was real or a hallucination. That’s first. And then, if I’m not crazy, then I need to find out what it is that needs to be made right—and—and fix it, I guess.”

  He nodded. “Pakita’s real. I can take you to her, if you want.”

  She lifted her eyes to his, stunned beyond words. “What?”

  “Will you come with me?” he asked.

  Sara nodded hard. “Yes. God, yes, right now, if you can. I need to start finding some answers.”

  “And so do I,” David said, unable to take his eyes from her face. Her beautiful, beloved face.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS, SARA THOUGHT, utterly ridiculous that, with her life falling apart at the seams and her very sanity in question, she couldn’t seem to think about anything else but David. David’s hands. David’s mouth. David’s eyes.

  She’d only just met the man, but it felt to her very core as if she would die if he didn’t touch her. Kiss her. Soon.

  She stood beside him at the headstone of Pakita Kasir, chilled to the marrow to realize the woman she’d seen and spoken to was not a hallucination. She had been real, once. And she had been related to Sierra Terrence, who was buried right beside her. It almost would have been easier to believe she’d imagined the woman than to believe she had seen a ghost.

  “She was real,” she whispered. “But I couldn’t have seen her. I couldn’t have talked to her.”

  “How else would you have known where she lived twenty-some years ago? In the only yellow house on the street?” David asked. “Or even that she was Sierra’s aunt?”

  “I don’t know.” Sara had turned her eyes away from the grave of Pakita, and was staring now at the headstone beside it. Sierra’s grave.

  “It must be hard for you to be here,” David said softly.

  She lifted her eyes quickly. “Why would it be? It’s not my grave. I’m not her.” The wind blew. She shivered and hugged her arms around her.

  “I know, I know. I just…You’re connected to her somehow. I mean, you must be.”

  “Apparently.”

  “But how?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “No, really.” David touched her shoulder, turning her so that she faced him instead of the cold gray stone. And she wanted nothing more in that moment than to be folded up in his arms, held against his broad chest. She felt as if she’d been waiting forever for him to find her, and now that he was here, she didn’t have the guts to tell him so. “Really,” he went on. “You must have some gut feeling about all of this. What is it?”

  She lowered her head. “Did you love her?” she asked.

  “Nice way to change the subject.” David sighed. “You’re freezing. Let’s get you inside.” He took her arm and started to lead her back to his car. Hers was still parked along the roadside in The Heights.

  But after only three steps, she planted her feet in the snow, and he was forced to stop. He frowned at her, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

  “I want you to tell me. Did you love her?”

  His lips thinned, he blinked slowly. “I was sixteen.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I know. I know it’s not. To be honest, Sara, I’ve been asking myself the same thing for the past twenty-two years. At the time, I thought I loved her, but I thought I loved the three girls who’d captured my attention before her, too. The thing is…I never stopped thinking about Sierra. I never stopped aching, hurting, regretting, wishing it had been different. I’ve never thought about any of the other girls I dated the way I keep thinking about her.”

  “But you didn’t set a fire that killed any of them, either,” she said.

  Her words hurt him. Hurt him badly, she saw that in his face. “No,” he said softly. “No, I didn’t.”

  “So maybe that’s why you’ve been obsessed with her.”

  “Maybe. But over the past couple of weeks, it’s been—”

  “It’s been what?”

  He blinked, searching for words. “Worse, I guess. I’ve been dreaming about her—or you—I’m not even sure which.”

  “What happens in the dreams?” she asked.

  He parted his lips, then closed them again, and shook his head. “Let’s get in the car where it’s warm.”

  “Because I’ve been dreaming about you, too,” Sara said, still not budging. “I’ve been dreaming about making love to you.” She blurted it quickly, forcing the words out before she lost her nerve. “Is that what happens in your dreams, too?”

  He held her steady gaze, his eyes showing surprise, and then gradually softening into something else. “Yeah. That’s what happens.”

  “Did you ever—make love with her, in real life?”

  “I never even kissed her.”

  “If you kissed me, right now, do you think you’d be kissing her, in your mind?”

  He lifted a hand to her face, his fingertips gently pushing the hair off her cheek, and sliding slowly down it. She let her eyes fall closed, and felt his breath on her lips as he moved closer. And then, suddenly, only cold.

  “I’m not going to kiss you, Sara.”

  Her eyes flew open, and then burned, though it was ridiculous to feel this much disappointment over a man she’d just met. Even if it did feel as if they’d been together for lifetimes.

  “Why not?” she whispered.

  “Because—because you’re sixteen years younger than me.”

  “That’s not a reason, and I think you know it.” Her eyes were wide now, and focused on his.

  He nodded. “Maybe not. Then let’s go with this one. I don’t know the answer to the question you asked me. I don’t know if I’d be kissing you, Sara, or if I’d be kissing a memory that has built up in my mind until it’s more than it ever was, or probably ever would have been. And that wouldn’t be fair to you.” He turned then, started walking. “I’m going to the car.”

  She stood where she was. “Pakita said you were my soul mate. Do you feel that’s true?”

  He stopped walking, but said nothing.

  “She spoke to me as if I was Sierra. She kept saying that I had come back, to make things right. I think…I think she was talking about reincarnation, David.”

  Turning slowly, he faced her.

  “I’m very scared right now. Because the next thing I need to do is talk to Frank Terrence, and for some reason I’m petrified of doing that. If you leave me now, I don’t think I can do it. And I feel like I have to. I need you, David.”

  His face seemed so incredibly sad. “This is tearing me apart, you know that, right? To go back over all of this, to open it all up again—it’s killing me.”

  Sara lowered her head, closed her eyes and felt tears burning to escape. And she didn’t look up, not even when she heard his footsteps coming closer, hurrying through the snow. And then he was clasping her face between his palms, tilting her head back and lowering his mouth to hers. The instant his lips touched hers, she twisted her arms around his neck, and the sound emanating from her chest was one of mingled longing and relief. She opened to him, pressed tighter, kissed more deeply. He hugged her waist and bent over her, and it was as if they were sucked into the spinning spiral rotation of a whirlpool, where nothing else existed beyond this. This point of contact. This kiss. It was everything in that moment. It was everything.

  When he lifted his head away at last, his eyes were tumultuous. There was desire there, yes, but there was also confusion. And above all else, this overwhelming sense of relief. It was an exact mirror of what she was feeling.

  “That didn’t feel like a first kis
s,” she whispered.

  He nodded in agreement. “Maybe it would be better not to…try to analyze it right now.”

  “I don’t know that I could if I tried.”

  “No. No, neither do I,” David said. “So let’s leave it for now. I’ll go with you to see Frank Terrence. But if we don’t want the man to keel over dead, maybe we should do something about your…appearance?”

  “How? You have a suitcase full of disguises in your Jeep?”

  He shrugged. “No, but I have a baseball cap and sunglasses.”

  “Not very creative, but I suppose it’ll do.”

  He took her hand and started toward the Jeep. She went a few steps, but then stopped him and when he turned, she leaned up and kissed him again.

  He stared down at her. “I don’t know what this is, Sara.”

  “Don’t you want to find out?”

  His eyes were pained, but sincere, too. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know if I can handle it.”

  She felt her brows push against each other, but then nodded as she tried to understand. Every time he looked at her, he must be reminded of his crime—the mistake that had resulted in a young woman’s death. Horrible death, at that.

  And that might very well be too much for anyone to bear.

  “I guess I get that,” she told him. “Try to hang in with me, though, would you? Just until I figure out what the hell I’m supposed to be doing here?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  “I’d never try to push you into—”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” He hooked an arm around her waist, pulled her closer, held her in a tight, warm embrace, and his face was in her hair, and she knew he was feeling, smelling, relishing her, just the way she was relishing him. “I meant, I don’t think I could stay away from you if I tried. At least, not now. Not yet.”

  “But maybe…later?”

  “Sara,” he whispered, dropping his forehead against hers. “We just met. Why don’t we try to take it moment by moment here? Just for now? Think you can do that?”

  “I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to find you,” she whispered. “I feel like we’ve always been together. And I don’t know anything about you. And that makes no sense whatsoever, David, but that’s what it feels like.”

  “I know.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. As long as you know.”

  “I do.” With a deep sigh that sounded like one of regret, he looked at his watch. “It’s after nine. He might be in bed if we wait much longer.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  SARA WASN’T SURPRISED that David knew which trailer lot belonged to Sierra’s father, Frank Terrence. Even though the trailer, he said, had changed. She stood slightly behind him, hunching into her jacket, wearing a Red Sox cap with her long hair pulled through the opening in the back, ponytail style, and a pair of sporty sunglasses, both borrowed from his car.

  And yet when the man opened the door, she recoiled, and wasn’t sure why. She’d expected—well, not this. He was tall and lean, wearing a pair of olive-green work pants and a matching shirt with his name on the pocket patch. There were pens and a tire pressure gauge in that pocket. His hair was neat, and short, and shock white, but thick. And his face was clean-shaven.

  “Yes?” He looked at David, almost glanced at Sara, but then refocused on David again. “You…you’re the kid who killed my daughter.”

  “I’m hardly a kid anymore, Mr. Terrence.”

  He narrowed his eyes in anger. “That doesn’t change history, does it? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I…wanted to ask you…a couple of questions about Sierra. If you’re willing.”

  “Well, I’m not. And what the hell good do you think it’s going to do you anyway? After all this time?”

  “Please, Mr. Terrence,” Sara said, and finally, for the first time, the man focused on her. Really focused.

  His expression changed from one of anger to one that seemed curious or perplexed. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Sara Jensen. I’m an art teacher from out of town. I was visiting friends, and I…well, I was touched by the Teen Center and how it was named after your daughter, and I just…wanted to know more about her.” She shrugged, and noted that he still looked doubtful. “I want to tell my school board and community about it, see if they’d consider setting up something similar in my town. It’s just…such a great…resource. For kids.”

  After a moment’s consideration, he nodded slowly. “All right,” he said. “You can come in. But I can only give you five minutes. I have things to do.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “And thank you, Mr. Terrence. I’m so sorry about what happened to your daughter.”

  “Sure you are.” The man stepped aside and held the door open. David went in first, and Sara followed close behind.

  The trailer was nice. A high-end double-wide, with peaked ceilings, hardwood floors and gleaming countertops. You wouldn’t know, from the inside, that it wasn’t a one-story house.

  “This is nice,” David said softly. “It’s different from the one you had before—”

  “There was a significant settlement,” Frank Terrence said. “The town owned the house. It should have been locked up, so kids couldn’t get in there.”

  He shrugged. “Not that any of that brings my girl back, now, does it?”

  David lowered his head. “I’ll never, ever forgive myself for that night, Mr. Terrence. It haunts me to this day.”

  He grunted, but turned his focus to Sara. “What are your questions?”

  “Do you know why Sierra ran away?”

  “She was upset about her mother leaving,” he said. “Tammy up and moved back to India, to be with her family. Said we were incompatible.”

  “Tammy?” Sara tipped her head to one side. “The name doesn’t sound Indian.”

  “Tamara,” he said. “But I never went in for that Hindu nonsense.”

  “I see.”

  He squinted at her, tipping his head to one side.

  “Did Sierra’s mother come to her funeral? Or her Aunt Pakita?” At his surprised look, she added, “David told me about her. Your wife’s sister, right?”

  He shook his head. “Her mother left me no contact information. I couldn’t even tell her her little girl was dead. Not that she deserved that consideration. She walked out on us, after all.”

  She nodded. “Surely Pakita told her.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t have much cause to interact with Patti.”

  “Patti.” She repeated it deadpan. “You don’t have much respect for your daughter’s cultural heritage, do you, Mr. Terrence?”

  He tipped his head to one side, and quick as a cobra, he reached out and snatched the hat and glasses from her in one swift move.

  Sara jumped, and tried to smooth her hair.

  Frank Terrence stared at her, rising slowly to his feet. “Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I told you who I am. I’m Sara Jensen from New Hampshire. I’m an art teacher.” As she spoke, David rose, and planted himself squarely between her and the agitated man.

  “But you look…you look just like…” Frank Terrence pushed a hand through his thick white hair, and shook his head. Tearing his gaze from Sara, he speared David with his eyes. “What is this really about?”

  David said something, but Sara didn’t hear him. There was a loud buzzing in her ears, and her vision went black, as if she were a television set whose power cord had been yanked from the wall. She just sort of…tuned out.

  “LOOK, MAYBE SARA HERE feels more connected to Sierra because of the resemblance, but it’s really not as strong as it seems at first,” David said. He thought if he could ease the man’s mind, he might defuse his anger and mistrust.

  But the man was staring at Sara, and David found himself compelled to turn and stare at her, too.

  Only,
the woman looking back at him didn’t feel like Sara. Particularly when she began to speak. Her voice was higher pitched, and had an entirely different inflection to it. And her words were haunting.

  Staring at Frank, her eyes blazing, she said, “I want to know what you did with my mother, you son of a dog!”

  The man stood up so fast the chair in which he’d been sitting tipped over and hit the floor. He raised a trembling arm, long forefinger pointing at the door. “Get out.”

  Sara blinked, and rubbed her eyes.

  “Get the fuck out of my house, now! And don’t you dare ever darken my door again. Do you hear me? Never!”

  Sara frowned at him, then at David. “What happened?”

  “Never mind. Come on.” He took her arm, tugging her to her feet and then hustling her out the door, which slammed the minute they were through it.

  They were almost to the car when she asked him again, “David, tell me what happened?”

  “What do you remember?”

  “I don’t know. I was sitting there, and asking him questions, and then I had this moment of…I don’t know, lapse. Almost like I blacked out, only I didn’t fall over or anything.”

  He opened her door, helped her in, then went to his side and got behind the wheel. He had the Jeep underway a few seconds later, and he knew she was waiting, none too patiently, for an answer.

  Choosing his words with care, he told her, “You said, and I quote, ‘I want to know what you did with my mother, you son of a dog.’”

  He glanced her way as he drove.

  She was frowning hard. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, you did. And it wasn’t in your voice. You sounded…you sounded like Sierra.”

  “Oh, come on, David—”

  “I’m not making this up. Hell, Sara, why would I?” He sighed even harder, shaking his head. “Where are you staying?”

  “We can’t go where I’m staying. We haven’t solved anything yet.”