Five

by Blythe, Jane

  She looked back at him doubtfully.

  “You know, the more you can tell us about Malachi, the quicker we can find him,” he reminded her.

  “I don’t remember anything else,” she whimpered forlornly. “I keep trying to, but I can't.”

  “It’s okay.” He took her hands and held them. “Your memories will come back, but you have to be patient.”

  “I don’t want to be patient. I want him caught. I can't live like this. Knowing he’s out there.” Fresh tears were brewing in her haunted eyes.

  “The more you force the memories to try and come, the more you're stressing yourself and making it harder for you to remember.”

  “But I came here to get help,” Eliza protested.

  Laura had told him that Ryan had been correct and that Eliza had deliberately overdosed herself to force Malachi’s hand and get him to bring them here so she had a chance to get them help.

  “If I did this on purpose, then why can't I remember?” Eliza continued, becoming increasingly distressed. “I don’t understand. I did it on purpose. I must have remembered what Malachi did. But then when I woke up here, I couldn’t remember anything. When you were telling me that my name was Eliza and that I had been kidnapped, I didn’t believe you.”

  “But now you do, honey.” He tried to make his voice soothing. They needed information from Eliza, but the more she worked herself up, the harder it would be to get that information.

  “But I want to remember everything.” Her eyes pleaded with him as though he could make those memories return.

  Maybe if he got her talking about Malachi and what he’d done to her, it would help to spark her memory. Gently, he released her hand and grasped her wrist. His other hand traced a scar on her left forearm. “How did you get the burn? Did Malachi do it to you?”

  Beneath his hands, she trembled violently. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I set fire to the house to try and escape. He had the house rigged with sprinklers. They put the fire out as soon as it started. He took a candle and held my arm over it until it burned me.”

  His hatred of Malachi grew. Fighting down his rage, he kept his voice soft. “Is this the only place he burned you?”

  “No.” The word was barely a whisper.

  Forcing himself to keep going, Xavier wanted to stop pushing her, let her overburdened mind recover first. If it wasn't so imperative they find Malachi ASAP, then he would stop. “Where else did he hurt you?”

  “One of my breasts. He cut it all over, dozens of slices. He said now even if I managed to escape, no man would ever want me.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  “Is that the only time he hurt you?” Xavier knew it wasn't, but he wanted to keep her talking. It seemed she remembered things when he prompted her with direct questions. Only he didn’t know what questions to prompt her with to find out more about Malachi. Perhaps once Paige and Ryan had run a background check on him, it would provide him with information like details about Malachi’s childhood, family, wife, kids, job, which would in turn help trigger Eliza’s memory.

  “No. When I tried to dig a hole under the fence, he dug his own hole in the backyard, put me in it, and then buried me alive.” Her eyes went vacant and her voice dull. “Dirt was in my eyes and up my nose and in my mouth before he dug me back out. I was so scared. I didn’t want to die, but I couldn’t stop trying to get away even though I knew he was going to punish me.”

  He resisted the urge to coddle her. “What else did he do to you, Eliza?”

  “When I cut the electricity, he took a knife and cut my arm open. He let it bleed a lot before he stitched it up.”

  Xavier released her left arm and picked up her right. “This scar?”

  “Yes. One time I jumped out a third-story window. I was badly hurt, but he wouldn’t take me to the hospital. He didn’t punish me that time. He said my injuries were punishment enough. I kept trying to get away, but it didn’t work. Nothing ever worked.”

  Xavier wondered how she had known that this time he would bring her to the hospital.

  “After I flooded the house, he put me in that room in the basement,” she continued.

  By now, Eliza was looking so devoid of emotion that Xavier was beginning to seriously worry about her. It was time to stop pushing her. He didn’t want to cause her permanent damage. He needed Laura here. She would know how hard to safely push.

  “Okay, Eliza, you should try to get some rest.” He pressed on her shoulders to lay her back against the mattress, then he reached for the bed’s controls and pressed the buttons to lower it so it was flat.

  “I can't rest,” she murmured even as her eyes fluttered closed.

  “Yes, you can. I'm going to go and get Dr. Roma and see if she can give you something to help you sleep.”

  She caught his hand as he stood. “No. No more drugs. Malachi’s been drugging me for two years.”

  “I know he has, honey, but right now you need rest, and I don’t think you're going to get any on your own.”

  “Will you stay with me while I sleep?”

  “Of course, I will,” he assured her.

  “Will you hold my hand?”

  Annabelle had held his hand while she slept that first night she’d spent in his house. And she had looked at him the same way Eliza was looking at him now. Like he was the only thing that could keep her safe and sane. It felt odd to be here with Eliza like this, being the strength she needed, comforting her, supporting her. It felt almost like he was betraying Annabelle.

  But she was the one who had walked out on him. And while he knew nothing romantic would ever happen between him and Eliza, he had to start getting used to the idea of Annabelle not being a part of his life anymore.

  “Of course, I will.”

  * * * * *

  2:19 A.M.

  A spear of jealousy shot through her as she stood at the door listening in on the conversation going on inside the room.

  For the first time, Annabelle realized that she really might have lost Xavier.

  How stupid could she be?

  Why on earth would she want to push him away?

  He was perfect.

  In every way.

  And she loved him so much.

  That he hadn’t followed her earlier still hurt. That he’d told her he wouldn’t wait for her forever hurt, too. As did the fact that he thought she wasn't committed to their relationship.

  All of those things were her fault.

  Why would he think that she was invested in their relationship when she’d said no both times he proposed to her? She hadn’t wanted to. The desire to say yes had been overwhelming. But, she had said no. Twice.

  Why was she so self-destructive?

  Why couldn’t she accept her good luck in finding a wonderful, caring, thoughtful, sweet guy who loved her so much?

  Why did she want to deprive herself of happiness?

  There was something wrong with her. There had to be. Annabelle could think of no other reason why she would keep doing things she didn’t want to do, and that didn’t make her happy except that there was something wrong with her.

  Now she had to decide what to do about it.

  She could give in and make it a self-fulfilling prophecy that she remain alone, unhappy, and unloved for the rest of her life. But that seemed stupid. She had truly believed for most of her life that she was destined to never be loved by anyone. And then Xavier had come along and changed all of that.

  He had given her everything she had ever dreamed of.

  And she was throwing it back in his face like it wasn't good enough for her. Like he wasn't good enough for her.

  Well, he was good enough for her.

  Maybe her problem was that she didn’t believe she was good enough for him.

  She wasn't. She knew that. Xavier deserved so much better than a messed-up woman like her.

  He had never walked away from her, though.

  When her fears overwhelmed her, h
e was always right there by her side. Holding her, soothing her, calming her, making her feel like she did have enough strength to keep going.

  Without him, she probably would have just withered away and ended up taking her own life.

  She had thought about suicide so many times in the last five years. Even gone so far as to actually begin planning things out. But she’d never followed through. Because of Xavier.

  Annabelle didn’t want to lose him.

  Strike that. She wasn't going to lose him.

  She was going to do whatever it took to get him back, to convince him that she wanted to be with him, so they could spend the rest of their lives together.

  First thing’s first. She had to get herself some help. Until she learned why she kept sabotaging herself and then started to work on stopping it, she was never going to be able to give Xavier what he needed.

  They had done therapy together, and it seemed to have helped Xavier, but Annabelle had felt like she was just going through the motions, turning up to each session to please Xavier.

  Now, though, she wanted to get better.

  She wanted to find out what was wrong with her and do something about it.

  She wanted to find her own strength.

  She wanted to learn to stand on her own two feet.

  She wanted to learn not to fear happiness.

  She wanted everything she had ever dreamed about.

  She wanted exactly what Xavier wanted.

  She wanted to marry the man she loved, have children with him, and grow old together.

  Annabelle didn’t want to go back to the therapist she and Xavier had gone to. She didn’t really like the woman. She could always talk to Laura, but if she wanted to work on better connecting with her and Xavier’s friends, maybe it would be better to keep the relationship strictly friendship rather than mixing in therapy. Maybe she could ask Laura for the name of her counselor. Laura was a good judge of character, so whatever therapist she had been seeing was sure to be one of the best.

  “Oh, Annabelle.” The door to the hospital room suddenly opened and Xavier stood there. Obviously, he was surprised to see her. “I thought you went home.”

  She shook her head. “No, I wanted to wait, talk to you again.”

  “I'm going to be a while.”

  “I don’t mind waiting,” she told him, and she really didn’t. Now that she had decided to get help and get better, she felt so much lighter, like the weight that had been crushing her for years was suddenly lifted.

  He narrowed his eyes at her, seemingly unsure about her calm tone. “Once I'm done here, I’ll be taking Paige home.”

  “I don’t need to talk to you for long,” she assured him.

  His gaze shifted from her to the door behind him. “I have a quick minute now. What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to apologize,” Annabelle told him. “I'm sorry that I've been pushing you away.”

  “Yeah, I'm sorry about that, too, because I have never given you a reason to do it.” Xavier’s face didn’t soften at her apology as she had hoped it would.

  She forged on, despite the fact that her insides were quivering. She so hated for anyone to be angry with her, and she so hated to have any sort of confrontation. But this wasn't a confrontation. The first step in her getting better was for her to learn to stop obsessing over what other people said and did and thought about her. She couldn’t control that. All she could control was herself.

  “I love you, Xavier. And I'm sorry that I've given you reason to doubt that. I'm sorry I turned down your proposals. I'm sorry that I've kept myself closed off from you. I'm sorry that I messed things up between us. And I'm sorry that I moved out of our home. But I'm going to change all of that. I'm going to go back to therapy and I'm going to get better and I'm going to work hard to fix things between us.”

  Xavier said nothing. Just stood there and looked at her.

  “You don’t believe me.” She felt crushed as she looked at his stony face.

  He shrugged unapologetically. “I've had my blinders on with you because I love you, but you keep doing things that surprise me. I've asked you time and time again to talk to me; I've asked you time and time again not to move out; I've asked you time and time again to let me help you. You keep turning me down. I guess actions speak louder than words. You're not the only one who doesn’t want to get hurt again. I lost a lot with Julia, and I've lost a lot with you. I guess I'm hesitant to trust you again.”

  “I want to change,” she protested, hurt that Xavier wasn't being more supportive. But she had to accept that. She’d hurt him. She’d been selfish, thinking only about how she felt, about what she needed. But now she knew what she had to do. She knew that she needed to learn to help herself and not just keep letting other people do it for her. That wasn't a long term solution. It was just like slapping a Band-Aid on, the cut was still there, it didn't make it disappear, it just hid the problem. She had finally realized that she was the only who could heal herself.

  “I hope that’s true. But are you only wanting to change for me? What if it’s already too late for us? What if things between us are over, are too broken to fix? Do you still want to change for you? Because that’s the only way that it’s going to work. You have to want it for you, Annabelle, not for me.”

  “Is it too late for us, Xavier?” she asked in a whisper.

  “I honestly don’t know,” he replied.

  At least his eyes had finally gone from deliberately empty to sad. Annabelle took that as a good sign. “I know you’ve given up on me. I know you only gave up on me because of me and my behavior. But I’ll prove to you that I’m going to change. I haven’t given up on us. Or on myself.”

  He remained unconvinced. “I have to go back to Eliza.”

  As she turned and walked away, Annabelle couldn’t help but hope once more that Xavier would come after her. Declaring his love and his faith in her.

  He didn’t.

  She managed to hold her tears in until she climbed into her car. Then she let them flow. Fighting, once again, a surge of jealousy toward Eliza. The young woman was lucky to have Xavier’s care and support. She remembered what that was like. He had given it to her and she had thrown it back in his face.

  Maybe he was right.

  Maybe things between them really were too broken to fix.

  Maybe it really was too late.

  * * * * *

  2:27 A.M.

  Malachi hoped it wasn't a mistake to come back here.

  It was risky.

  Extremely risky.

  The cops were swarming all over the place. It had been difficult enough just getting in the building, let alone getting back out again.

  It probably hadn’t been the best of ideas to shoot at that cop earlier, but he hadn’t had a choice. He had needed to get away from the hospital before they tried to arrest him. But now it was coming back to bite him.

  It was only by the skin of his teeth he’d managed to get away the first time. He hadn’t realized there were two cops chasing him. He’d thought he could shoot the cop and then run in the ensuing commotion. But then, that lady cop had pulled a gun on him. If it hadn’t been for that car that tried to run her down, he wouldn’t have made it away.

  But made it away he had, and that was what was important.

  Although, he’d had to sacrifice his house.

  As soon as he’d left the hospital, he’d fled back there, managing to grab a few of the most important papers and photos and then he’d had to rig it to explode. He couldn’t risk them finding anything there to use against him.

  As he’d been driving off, he’d seen the cops pull up outside the house. He didn't know how they’d found him, but he guessed it must have been through the car that he had left behind at the hospital. Maybe they had used the GPS to track down the house.

  Malachi wondered absently whether the cops had been killed in the explosion.

  He didn’t really care one way or the other.

  He didn
’t enjoy killing, although he’d certainly done it before.

  He didn’t not enjoy it either.

  He hadn’t enjoyed or not enjoyed anything in twenty-nine years.

  The accident that had killed his father and left him in a seven-month-long coma had taken his ability to feel anything either good or bad.

  The serious head injuries he had suffered could have made him lose the ability to talk or walk or remember things. Instead, they had made him lose the ability to feel.

  Since the day of his thirteenth birthday, he hadn’t felt sad or happy or scared or apprehensive or guilty or anything at all. He was like a robot. In all those years, he hadn’t judged his actions as right or wrong. He simply did what he wanted. Killing when necessary, hurting when necessary, taking what he wanted when he wanted it.

  And what he wanted now was his girls.

  The police had no right to take them from him.

  They were his, and he intended to get them back.

  The problem was, he didn’t know if the police already had all the girls. If they didn’t, he could search the hospital, find the little ones, and disappear with them again. If, on the other hand, the police had them, then getting to them would be nearly impossible.

  He was going to have to decide how hard he wanted to work for this.

  Even if the girls had been found and returned to their families, it didn’t mean he couldn’t grab them again. He was smart. The head injuries hadn’t robbed him of his intelligence; he could figure out a plan to go after them.

  But did he want to?

  It would be risky, especially if he went for them soon. The police might have them guarded, believing he would come back for them. If he waited a while, the risk would go down. The police would become complacent, suspect he had fled the state, or perhaps even the country. They would no longer view him as a threat, thus leaving the girls vulnerable and providing him the perfect time to strike.

  But did he want to wait that long?

  After all, it wasn't like he couldn’t find more girls who fit his profile. Perhaps, that was the better solution after all. He loved a full house, and he needed to have women around to attend to his needs, both physical and sexual. It wouldn’t be hard to find some more black-haired, blue-eyed girls to take with him.