The Stolen Breath

by L. G. Davis

  “We’re on our way,” the officer says and we end the call.

  From where I’m sitting, I can still see the shape of Clayton’s frame under my comforter. I gag as I try to hold back my vomit. He’s really dead. There’s a corpse in my bed.

  The need to flee injects adrenaline into my veins. The next thing I know, I’m running out of the room toward the elevators, distancing myself from the corpse of the man who was obsessed with me.

  By the time the elevator reaches the ground floor, it’s reeking with sweat and vomit that still drips from my chin.

  I’m about to run to Ray’s office when I spot him at reception. Everything about me alerts him that something is wrong. He rushes to my side.

  Without a word, he puts an arm around my shoulders and ushers me to his office. I want to apologize for throwing up in the elevator, but it seems like such an insignificant problem compared to what I’m going through right now.

  “What’s wrong, Delia? Does it have to do with Lea?” Ray asks when I’m sitting and he has poured me a glass of water that I have no intention of touching.

  “He’s dead.” I sob uncontrollably.

  “What do you mean? Who’s dead?” he asks, his eyes narrowed. After everything that happened, I won’t be surprised if he thinks I’m finally losing my mind.

  “Clayton is dead.” I point a finger to the ceiling. “I found...I found him in my bed.”

  Ray’s eyes widen. A few heartbeats pass before he recovers from the shock of hearing what I told him. “Stay here,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” He runs to the door and disappears through it.

  I remain inside his office until he returns. He walks in looking like he has seen a ghost. I guess a dead body comes close enough. “I need to call the police.” He grabs the phone from his desk.

  “I called Officer Randall. I think he’s on his way.”

  Ray dials 911 anyway. He tells them about the dead body in one of the rooms. An image of Clayton’s dead eyes flashes through my mind.

  Officer Randall and another police officer arrive only five minutes before the paramedics. After asking me a few questions, they follow the paramedics to my room. I want to stay away from the room, but I remember something that I’d barely been able to take in earlier. There was a folded paper on the bed next to Clayton. A note maybe? I need to know what’s written on it.

  Inside the elevator, my vomit has been cleaned up, but I still catch a whiff of it.

  When I step out, I find the hallway filled with people, both employees and guests. I guess the news has already spread.

  Like everyone else, I’m not allowed in the room. Officer Randall tells me it’s for the best. I tell him about the note and he promises to bring it out with him.

  Ray comes to join me in the hallway only moments before Clayton’s body is wheeled out in a bag. He holds me as I weep. I’m grieving for the boy I used to know in school, the boy who saved my life. I’m also crying from the overwhelming relief I feel. I no longer have to be afraid of him.

  When Officer Randall comes out, he wipes the sweat from his brow and approaches me. “It looks like suicide,” he says before I can ask.

  I nod and fold my arms over my chest.

  “I know you’re still in shock, but can you answer a few questions?”

  “Yes.” I allow him to lead me to one of the couches in the spacious hallway.

  Ray tries to talk me out of answering questions so soon, but Officer Randall tells him that it’s always best to question someone right after the event, before they forget the details.

  Ray leaves us alone and Officer Randall pulls out his notebook.

  My answers don’t help much. I don’t really know more than the fact that I found Clayton lifeless in my bed.

  “Are you sure you didn’t speak to him at all?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him since I left Oakney. I didn’t even know he was in town.” I wipe my cheek. “I guess, I don’t know more than you.”

  When Officer Randall stands up to leave, I can see on his face that he’s disappointed that I don’t have any more information. Then his expression lightens up again. “You were right. There was a note next to the body.” He gestures for his partner to join us. Sure enough, the other man has a note in a plastic evidence bag.

  I stand close to Officer Randall as he reads it.

  Delia, your baby is alive and I know who took her, but I can’t tell you because dead men don’t speak. It’s a shame you never gave us a chance. Goodbye.

  Clay

  SINCE MY OLD ROOM HAS been cordoned off by the police, Ray has given me a suite to stay in. Hours have passed and I’m sitting on the couch in my new room, still in a daze.

  Clayton’s last words keep repeating over and over in my head. By dangling the carrot in front of me, he was punishing me for rejecting him.

  Officer Randall calls in the evening to tell me they found a car that belongs to Clayton parked a few blocks from the hotel. Apparently, the trunk was littered with torn photos of me. They also found a wooden box with different kinds of knives inside.

  “Oh, God,” I whisper to myself. I’m so glad I didn’t find him alive. I just know he was planning to kidnap me and cut out my kidney as he had warned. Maybe he got tired of waiting and decided to end his own life instead.

  “Did you find out how he died?” I ask.

  “Not yet. But it does look like he ingested something. We will only know for sure what that is once the toxicology report is ready.” He scratches the back of his ear. “I know what you went through today is hard, but you can find comfort in one thing. The note he left behind says your baby is alive. Hold on to that while we search for her. I only wish he had given us the name of the kidnapper.”

  “Yes, me too,” I say, then I remember something I had forgotten to mention to Officer Randall. “I was at my house today. My neighbor, Tamara Hodges, told me about a woman who had been lurking around our street a few days before Lea was taken.”

  Even though Tamara made me believe the kidnapper could be someone else, I’m not going to let go of my feeling that Anita was involved in some way.

  When I’m done repeating to the officer what I had been told, he sounds more positive that we will find Lea. We end the call, and I lie on the couch, ready to sleep away the day.

  If only it were that easy.

  Chapter 37

  After a day spent searching for Lea, I’m now standing in front of Sacred Heart Hospital at 5:00 p.m., my gaze fixed on the entrance.

  I’ve been pacing in front of the building for the past thirty minutes, unable to find the courage to enter. I shiver when the image of Clayton lying dead in my bed, three days ago, sneaks into my mind.

  I don’t even know why I want to see him at the hospital mortuary. The bigger part of me really doesn’t want to, but maybe it’s the only way for me to get closure.

  I’m about to move toward the entrance, when I spot a familiar woman emerging from the building, staring straight ahead with tears in her eyes.

  “Kelly?” I call out and she turns.

  It’s Kelly Wilkinson, the therapist.

  Our eyes meet, and to my horror, she charges toward me. I gasp when our bodies collide.

  “You killed him,” she shouts, pummeling my chest as I stumble backward, confusion wreaking havoc inside my mind.

  “Kelly, what are you doing?” I say as my back hits a parked car. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m sure you’re not stupid. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Her voice breaks as she says the words. She hits my chest with a flat palm again before the fight goes out of her and she just stands in front of me with accusations in her red eyes. “You killed my brother. He saved your life, and you took his.”

  “Your brother?” My mouth is dry now. There’s an unfinished puzzle inside my mind, and the pieces are scattered all over the place.

  From the corners of my eyes, I notice people stopping to watch. I don’t care. I need to know what she’s
getting at.

  I’m totally confused. I have not seen her in days and she does not resemble the elegant, confident woman I had come to know. She’s wearing a wrinkled khaki dress and her hair looks like it hasn’t been combed in days or even weeks.

  Her gaze is burning with such intensity it makes me shiver. “Yeah, that’s right. Clayton... He was my brother.”

  I stare at her, speechless. “Clayton was your brother?” He never mentioned having a sister. I do know that he was adopted, and that’s probably why he didn’t take rejection well, but he was never interested in talking about his birth parents or anyone related to them. He preferred to live his life pretending he was not adopted.

  “Now you know.” Her hand wipes away the tears on her cheek, causing her mascara to form a dark streak across her face.

  She had once mentioned that her brother had gone to Oakney College. She was talking about Clayton?

  Acid forms in my stomach and makes its way to the back of my throat. “Kelly, I had no idea—”

  “Who cares?” She’s close enough for her words to spray drops of spit into my face. “What matters is that you murdered my brother. Now I’ll never get to know him. One year since we found each other and all he could talk about was you.” She shrugs and blinks away tears. “I thought if I helped him get you back, he would finally focus on me, on us. But you took him away from me. I spent years searching for him and only got one year.” She takes a step back and glances behind her at the hospital building.

  When she looks back at me, I suddenly see the resemblance. She has the same eyes Clayton had and the same thick brows. “Oh, my God, Kelly, I’m so sorry for your loss. But I had nothing to do with your brother’s death.”

  “You had everything to do with it,” she shouts, attracting a bigger crowd. “They say it was suicide, but he would never have taken the cyanide if you didn’t hurt him again. Wasn’t the first time good enough for you? How could you walk out on him after only a few weeks of marriage? Was it all a game to you? You just used him for his kidney.”

  My mouth falls open. “That’s not true. We were never married. He did ask me to marry him, but I said no because we didn’t have a romantic relationship.”

  “Stop lying, Delia. He told me everything. I saw photos of your wedding. You married him, then you broke his heart. The first time I met you, I should have seen through you. I should have known that you were a terrible person. You didn’t deserve him.”

  Clayton probably showed Kelly the photos he had manipulated to make it look as if we really got married. Explaining that to her now might just set her off. But there’s one question I need to ask her.

  “You were never really a therapist, were you?” My cheeks are burning now. “You lied to me. You were both stalking me.”

  “So what?” She buries her hands into her hair, then lets them drop again. “Each time we spoke, you wouldn’t even bring yourself to say his name. I asked you about the person who gave you a kidney and you didn’t want to discuss it. Did he mean that little to you?” She starts to cry hard now as she stumbles away from me. The heel of one of her pumps is broken, so she removes both shoes and tosses them away. “Stay away from my brother. I don’t want you anywhere near him. You broke his heart, married someone else, then killed him. You’ve done enough damage.”

  “He killed my husband, didn’t he, Kelly? Did you help him?” My voice is taut with anger.

  “Go to hell.” Her sharp words stab the air between us. “I’m glad your husband is dead, and I hope you never find your baby. She’s better off without a mother like you. You deserve to be alone.”

  My eyes grow hot with rage. “You wrote those emails.” It’s not a question. It’s a fact.

  “Yeah,” she scoffs. “I wanted you to hurt because of what you did to my brother. When you insisted on ending our sessions just because you didn’t want to talk about Clayton, I felt nothing but hate for you. I begged him to forget you, to move on. I wish he had.”

  I ball my hands into fists. “It was you. You kidnapped my baby.”

  She laughs out loud. “No, but I was overjoyed when I heard the news. Talk about karma.”

  Something inside me snaps. I’ve had it with her and everyone else who thinks they can push me around.

  Even though I’m not a violent person, for the second time in only a matter of days, I attack someone. I only notice that I have slapped Kelly across the face when I feel my palm burn. But I don’t stop there. I slap her around a few more times, then I push her to the ground, clawing at her face until she screams for me to stop.

  With a few words, Kelly has brought back all the memories from my childhood, when I was bullied and disrespected and I just took it. It’s over. I’m not that person anymore. All the anger and frustration bottled up inside me comes out with a force that terrifies even me.

  Kelly is on the ground when someone restrains me from behind and pulls me away.

  “You are sick.” The raw fire of hate blazes in Kelly’s eyes as she crawls away from me before struggling to her feet. “You belong in an institution.”

  With that, she stumbles into the building. She’ll probably guard the mortuary door to make sure I never enter.

  I shake off the person restraining me and return to my car, where I cry until I have no more tears left. I feel better and worse at the same time.

  Just as I’m about to drive away, my phone rings. The woman on the other end is sobbing, making it hard for me to hear what she’s telling me.

  “I can’t hear you. What are you saying?” I press a napkin to my eyes.

  “Your baby is here. She’s in Swansford. Come and get her.”

  In a complete daze, I listen to the woman as she gives me an address. When I ask her name, the phone dies.

  Swansford, the town where Anita went to rehab, is no more than an hour and a half away, and I’m going. I’ll notify the police once I’m there. No one will stop me from doing what I know I have to do.

  Chapter 38

  The address I was given over the phone leads me to a red brick Italian-style building with high, rusty iron gates. The building sits on a massive property with grounds that look unkempt.

  I can’t figure out whether it’s a mansion or a business.

  I wrap my hands around the metal handle and tug, but the gate is locked. The shutters at the windows are also down.

  My heart sinks as I glance at my wristwatch. Almost 7:00 p.m.

  If it’s a business, there’s no way I’ll get to talk to anyone until the morning. I hadn’t even thought of staying the night in Swansford.

  Desperate to find out if my baby is in the building, I try climbing over the fence, but it’s too high. Disappointed, I go back to my car and drive to the police station, where I come into contact with a bored and disgruntled police woman. She tells me that the building was once a bed and breakfast and has been sitting empty since its owner died three years ago. She doesn’t even bother to come and have a look to see if anyone is inside. People live in abandoned buildings all the time.

  There’s no point wasting time with her, so I drive back to the place and sit in my car, waiting to see if someone will show up, perhaps the person who called me.

  IT’S NEARING MIDNIGHT when I switch off the music in my car and eerie silence falls. I feel like I’m in a ghost town. Every few minutes a car drives by, but mostly nothing happens.

  Being in a strange town alone inside my car at night makes my stomach clench with discomfort. The rational part of me is trying to talk me into driving back to Sarton, but the other equally stubborn part urges me to stay put.

  After staring at the peach building and wrestling with my mind for another hour, my eyes grow heavy and, without my consent, sleep pulls me under.

  The slamming of a door shakes me awake. My eyes fly open in time for me to see a shiny, black sports car pull up in front of the dark building. I rub my eyes and straighten up. A woman gets out first and approaches the locked gate. Her long hair is glowing under the
shine of the street lamps. A tall, broad man emerges from the car as well and goes to stand next to her.

  It seems that the owners only choose to do business in the middle of the night when other businesses are closed. That cannot be a good thing.

  When the man turns to look in my direction, I sink lower in my seat to hide myself from view. A trickle of sweat tickles its way down the back of my neck.

  I count to twenty and take another look in time to see them stepping through the gate. I keep my eyes on them until they unlock the front door and disappear into the building. I can tell they have left the door open a fraction because a sliver of light shines through the crack.

  If I want to find out what’s going on in the building, I have to act.

  Shrugging off my cloak of fear, I step out of my car, careful not to slam the car door. I run to the other side, my head bowed and my shoulders hunched.

  The wind is cool against my skin as it sweeps across the sweat on my face.

  I run past the black Porsche and slip through the gate without being seen. Inside the building, my back pressed against the wall on one side of the front door, I stop to listen and catch my breath.

  I can hear the male and female voices coming from somewhere inside the building, but they don’t seem close enough for me to get caught.

  The two strangers could return any moment. I need to find a place to hide.

  The entrance hall is quite spacious, which makes sense. If the building was really once a bed and breakfast, it must have been the lobby.

  There’s not a single piece of furniture in sight for me to hide behind. Bare walls and dusty mahogany floors are all I see.

  The voices are getting louder now and the sound of heels slapping the wooden floor send me into a panic. They’re coming back.

  I run into the nearest room that branches off the entrance hall, clenching my teeth when the door creaks at the hinges. The voices stop and I hold my breath.

  False alarm. They start talking again. I can make out the words now. The female voice sounds familiar, but I’m too focused on not getting caught to place it.