Submerged

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  His brow arched. "You want me to?"

  "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't." Her expression grew serious. "I don't play head games, Marcus. And I'm pretty sure neither do you. I'd like to get to know you."

  "Without my cape, you mean."

  She laughed, and it sent shivers down his spine.

  "Fine. I'll come see you in Edmonton."

  Her smile radiated sheer delight, and he hoped he'd never see it disappear.

  "You started to say something," she reminded him.

  He shrugged. "I wanted to know when you were going to get out of here."

  "You make it sound like I'm in jail." She flinched.

  "Are you thinking of Wesley?"

  "I'm still having trouble wrapping my brain around everything he's done. I didn't see it coming. None of it."

  Marcus's lips thinned. "How could you? He's the father of your children. And regardless of what he'd done in the past, you never dreamed he'd be capable of murder."

  She shuddered. "I guess I'm quite the fool."

  "No you're not. You were manipulated by someone you once trusted."

  "What'll happen now?"

  "The system will take care of Wesley, and you'll get justice for you, Ella and Colton. How are they doing, by the way?"

  She smiled. "Driving Kelly insane."

  Chapter Forty -Six

  Edmonton, AB – Monday, June 17, 2013 – 2:19 PM

  Rebecca unlocked the front door, then turned to Marcus. "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for us."

  "I'm glad I could help."

  "Help?" She let out a sad laugh. "You did more than that. My children and I will never be able to repay you."

  "I'm not looking for repayment."

  She stepped inside her home. It felt like she'd been gone for months instead of days. "Want to come in? I could fix us some dinner."

  "I should probably be going."

  She cocked her head to one side. "You drove me home, Marcus. Dinner is the least I could do."

  "Fine," he said, moving inside and closing the door. "But you need to rest still. I'll do the cooking, providing you've got food in the house."

  She grinned. "I can't promise a stocked pantry. I didn't bothering buying much before we left. But there might be something in the fridge or freezer."

  Marcus helped her ease off her jacket. She sucked in a breath when pain flared around her chest.

  "See?" Marcus said. "What did I tell you? You need to rest."

  She sank down on the sofa, grateful to take his advice, and there was an awkward moment of silence as he propped her feet up on the sofa, then sat in the chair across from her.

  "At least I won't have to worry about Colton and Ella tonight," she said.

  He nodded. "It was nice that your sister decided to keep them overnight and give you an evening to yourself."

  "Kelly's good that way. She always seems to know what I need."

  "My brother, Paul, was a bit like that, although he was caught up in his army career. He made a good soldier."

  "That must have been really hard on you when he died."

  "Yeah. It was hard on everyone. Paul's death left a huge hole in our family. Seems I have a lot of holes."

  She gazed into his eyes and saw bitter grief there. "Jane and Ryan?"

  He nodded. "You have any tea?"

  "I think so. Herbal or regular?"

  "Green tea, if you have it. And don't move. I'll get it. You just tell me where everything is." He was about to walk away, but stopped. "I quit drinking when I quit drugs, even though I never had any problem with alcohol. I thought you should know."

  Admiring his honesty, she watched as he puttered around in the kitchen, gave him directions to the tea and teapot, then agreed to ordering in some salads from Boston Pizza, since Marcus couldn't find anything salvageable in the fridge.

  "So tell me more about this sleep phobia you have," she said when he handed her a mug.

  "Somniphobia. It sucks. I'd give anything to be able to climb into bed and sleep more than two hours at a stretch."

  "What happens when you try to sleep?"

  "My heart begins to pound. My palms sweat. I feel like I'm gasping for breath. As soon as I drift off, I jerk awake. Sometimes I see things that aren't there."

  "What kind of things?"

  He shook his head and stared at the fireplace. "Ghosts mostly. I know, crazy. I'm sleep deprived. But sometimes…" He shrugged.

  "What?"

  "They seem so real."

  "Your wife and son?"

  "Yes."

  "Paul?"

  "I used to see him, but it's been a long time since he visited me."

  "Maybe he's at peace now."

  He raised his eyes and stared at her. "You know, most women would simply laugh at an admission like this. They'd think I was nuts."

  "Are you?"

  He chuckled. "There are days when I wonder."

  "Like recently?"

  "Yeah. The past few days have been high on my list of weird."

  "Gee, thanks."

  He laughed. "I didn't mean you."

  "It has been beyond strange." Her smile faded. "It's not every day that I have to fight for my life because my husband and his lover want me out of the picture." She still couldn't wrap her head around the fact that Wesley had planned everything.

  "I'm really sorry, Rebecca. I can't imagine what you're going through."

  "It's probably my fault the police didn't consider her."

  "What do you mean?"

  "When Detective Zur asked me about Tracey, I said we were civil to each other, that there were no hard feelings."

  "You thought that was true. She didn't give you any reason to think otherwise."

  "They did look into her," she said, trying to recall what Zur had stated about Tracey right before she'd left Hinton. "She's not living with Wesley, and no one knew they were engaged. That happy event happened a few days ago, according to Tracey. She's never been arrested and had such nice things to tell the police about me. And since her bank records didn't show anything unusual, the police didn't consider her a suspect."

  "You don't have to worry about her now."

  She nodded. "I know."

  The image of Tracey's body falling to the floor, taking her down with her, kept replaying in her mind. The police had pulled Tracey off her, and all Rebecca had seen was the blood.

  She cringed at the memory. "Wesley has her blood on his hands."

  "He almost had yours and the kids' too."

  She blinked back tears. "Wesley told your detective friend that he'd mentioned the kids' inheritance to her. He still claims he had nothing to do with this. He's a good liar." She couldn't keep the resentment from her voice.

  "And now he's locked up. You won't have to worry about him for a long time."

  Her gaze swept over the living room. There was so much here that reminded her of Wesley. Too much. "I think I'm going to sell the house and move."

  "Where to?"

  "I don't know. Someplace that's quiet. That doesn't remind me of this life I had with him."

  "Housing market kinda sucks right now."

  "What do you propose I do?"

  "Wait a few months. See if the market improves, and if it does, sell then."

  She smiled. "Ever think of going into real estate?"

  "No. I've been keeping my eyes open, though. There's something Jane and I had planned to do."

  "What's that?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe I'll tell you one day. Right now, you should focus on what you're going to do."

  She let out a small groan. "I haven't got a clue. How does one return to normal life when things have been anything but normal?"

  He leaned forward, and at first she thought he was going to touch her, but he clasped his hands in his lap. "One day at a time."

  "Speaking of which…" She took a deep breath. "Are you going to go to a meeting tonight?"

  "I was planning on it. Unless you want me t
o stay here."

  She shook her head. "The last thing I need is a babysitter, Marcus."

  "I don't mind staying for one night. So you're not alone."

  "The police car outside is gone because there's no threat. Tracey is dead and Wesley's in jail. There's nothing for me to be afraid of anymore. I'm safe. Besides, it's time for you to look after yourself for a change." She tilted her head at him. "I'd feel better if I knew you were at a meeting tonight."

  Marcus's brow arched. "Are you worried that I might use?"

  "If you did, I'd think it was my fault." She held her breath and waited for his reply.

  "It's never anyone else's fault," he said. "When an addict uses, it's his or her choice. Always."

  "Then go to a meeting. When it's over, come back here."

  He gave her a surprised look and she added, "You can sleep on the couch. Or watch TV."

  "Why'd you change your mind?"

  She looked away. "Even though I'm no longer in danger, the thought of staying in the house by myself is a bit unnerving. I'd feel better if someone else were here. Even if just for a night."

  "No problem."

  She caught his arm. "Before you go, can you do me a favor?"

  "Sure thing. What do you need?"

  "The doctor gave me some painkillers and something to help me sleep. They're in my purse, by the front door. Can you put them in the kitchen by the sink? I think that's as far as I'm going to make it. At least until you get back."

  He stared at her, his face serious and grim. "Are you testing me?"

  "Huh?"

  "With the drugs."

  "No!" Her eyes widened in shock. "That's the last thing I'd do. I want those pills where I can reach them easily. That's all."

  Marcus's face reddened. "Sorry. I-I'm so used to suspicion, I guess."

  She waved a hand in the air. "Forget about it. I trust you."

  He watched her, skepticism etched into his face. "You're too nice, Rebecca Kingston."

  "Nice. Oh yay. Just what every woman wants to hear."

  When he looked as though he were going to apologize again, she laughed. "I'm joking."

  She watched as he pulled on his jacket and opened the door.

  Pausing in the doorway, he said, "You probably shouldn't, you know."

  "Shouldn't what?"

  "Trust me."

  She pondered his words as the door closed behind him. Too late, Marcus.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Edmonton, AB – Monday, June 17, 2013 – 2:48 PM

  Marcus found an NA meeting about fifteen minutes from Rebecca's house. It was being held in the basement of a small Pentecostal church. As much as he missed the familiar crowd of his meetings back home, there was some comfort in being in a room with complete strangers. And no pressure to speak.

  Last thing he wanted to do was admit how badly he craved drugs—especially after the stress of recent events. The little devil on his shoulder tried to convince him that he could have just a little bit—enough to take the edge off. The rational side of his mind—he refused to call it angelic—reminded him of the downward spiral he'd quickly go into if he used.

  Listening to one man tell his story, how he'd lost everything, including his wife, kids, job and home and was now living on the streets in downtown east Edmonton, brought home the reality of drug addiction. An addict wasn't in control; the drugs were. And there was no such thing as a small slipup. Using was using, no matter the quantity or the drug of choice.

  Choices…that's what everything comes down to.

  Marcus thought about Leo. His best friend had managed to turn his life around after alcoholism and cocaine nearly ruined him. Now he was married to a great woman and had a job he enjoyed. Leo had made all the right choices.

  Every morning when Marcus woke up, the first thing he did was make a choice. "Today I'm not going to use drugs, no matter the temptation. Today I will say 'No!'"

  "Anyone else have something to share?" the guy in charge of the meeting asked.

  No one spoke up.

  "What about you, sir, in the back row? You're new here, and we welcome you with open arms. Feel free to share."

  Marcus nearly bolted from his chair. "I…uh…not tonight."

  "That's okay. Maybe next time."

  Next time. It was always "next time."

  Marcus knew he had a mental block that kept him from speaking up at meetings. He'd argued with Leo over it for months. When the time was right, Marcus believed he'd know it, feel it. Leo would then give him shit and tell him it was an excuse. Nothing more.

  Is it? Am I making excuses?

  He thought about Rebecca. She'd been to hell and back in the last three days. He admired her inner strength. She didn't make excuses. Not for Wesley, or herself. Not for anyone. She was the first person Marcus felt he could really talk to, about anything.

  He was attracted to her. There was no denying that. No excuses either. She was a beautiful woman. Inside and out. He was perplexed by her offer of spending the night, albeit on the couch. Had she done so because she was still afraid? Or did she feel something more?

  Jesus, Marcus. She's grateful. That's all. You rescued her and her kids. It's common for people in these situations to feel attracted to their rescuers. But it doesn’t last. It's not real.

  Then again, he wasn't a very good judge of what was real. He talked to his dead wife's ghost. How real was that? She came to him during times of intense stress. When he'd had very little sleep. Obviously she was a figment of his exhausted mind. Ghosts weren't real.

  But she led you to Rebecca.

  And she'd warned him to hurry in the hospital.

  Natural intuition. Nothing more than that.

  He listened to the final speaker, all the while rationalizing Jane's recent "appearances." He fought back a yawn as people shuffled to their feet, all promising to hold on for one more day.

  On his way to the door, he bumped into the leader of the meeting.

  "Excuse me," the guy said, "but is your name Marcus Taylor?"

  "Uh, we're supposed to maintain anonymity here."

  "I know. My apologies. But your picture was in the newspaper. You rescued that woman and her kids." The man smiled. "You're a hero. Not many of us in this room can say that."

  "I prefer to think of it as doing the right thing."

  "You're a 911 operator. Physically searching for someone is beyond your job description, isn't it? That's a hero."

  Marcus didn't know what to say.

  "You did the right thing," the man said. "You showed extreme courage."

  Marcus shrugged. "Like I said, it was right thing to do at the time."

  "Doing the right thing isn't always easy. That's why we're here in this church basement. But you're on the right track." The man patted him on the back. "Hopefully one day you'll show that same kind of courage and share your story."

  "Perhaps."

  "Good-bye, Mr. Taylor. It was an honor meeting you."

  Driving away, Marcus replayed the man's words in his head.

  A block from Rebecca's house, he slowed the car as a peculiar tingling went through his body. He glanced in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see Jane sitting behind him. But the seat was empty.

  "Jeez, Marcus. Overactive imagination much?"

  A sensation of foreboding crept over him, one he couldn't shake.

  "Get it together," he muttered beneath his breath.

  He pulled over once Rebecca's house came into view, parked and shut off the engine. There was no way in hell he was going to let Rebecca see him like this. He needed to calm down.

  He twisted in his seat. "Okay, Jane. If you're going to make an appearance, please do. I'll wait for you."

  Then he settled back and waited for his wife's ghost to appear.

  After ten minutes, Jane hadn't shown up.

  He was about to get out of the car when a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb ahead of him. He didn't pay it any mind at first, until a tall, silver
-haired man climbed out and made his way across the street. The man glanced over his shoulder in Marcus's direction. Sunlight caught the angles of his face—the bushy eyebrows and piercing stare. He strode to Rebecca's front door, knocked and then went inside.

  The man looked familiar, but Marcus couldn't quite place him. The guy wasn't one of the detectives. Their pay scale didn't supply them with Lincoln town cars.

  "The lawyer," he mumbled. That's who it must be. Carter something.

  Not wanting to interrupt them, Marcus remained in his car.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Edmonton, AB – Monday, June 17, 2013 – 4:16 PM

  Returning from the washroom, Rebecca heard the knock on her door and let out a relieved sigh. Marcus was back. The past hour and a half had ticked by so slowly, and though she knew there was no longer any threat to her life, she didn't like being alone. She'd jumped at every noise, every shadow.

  "Come on in, Marcus," she called out. "The door's unlocked."

  She moved down the hallway and heard the soft creak of the front door. Rounding the corner, she smiled. "So how did your meeting—" She blinked.

  Walter Kingston stood in her living room.

  "Hello, Rebecca," he said stiffly.

  "Walter. What are you doing here?"

  "I came to apologize. For the behavior of my son and his…well, you know."

  She nodded, thankful her racing heart was slowing. "That's very kind of you, considering the circumstances. Thank you."

  He took a few steps, then said, "You're expecting someone?"

  "Uh…yes. Marcus Taylor, the man who found us."

  "I expect you're very grateful he did."

  She frowned. "Of course. We wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him."

  "So he'll be here soon?"

  "I think so. He had a…meeting to attend."

  Walter's eyes grew shadowed. "Then I guess I'd better do what I came here to do."

  "There's no need to apologize, Walter. Wesley made some awful choices. I don't hold you responsible for your son's actions."

  Walter ambled forward and opened his arms wide. "I'm so happy to hear that." He gathered her up in his arms. "But I'm still sorry."