“You know, I just changed my mind,” Braden said, finally acknowledging the pool of dread he felt at the thought of being alone. “Could you drop me off at the church instead?”
“The church?”
He nodded. “Yeah, as much as I need to talk to my therapist, maybe I need to talk to a pastor more.”
“Okay then. I’ll drop you off at the church. Jack’s a good one to talk to.”
“And I appreciate your friends offering to stay with me this evening. Maybe we’ll finally get some answers.” Or maybe Braden would finally be forced to face the truth.
“I hope we will get some answers.”
Lisa had said “we.” She was in this with him, wasn’t she?
Braden wasn’t sure if he felt delight or dismay at the thought.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lisa tried to push her troubled thoughts aside as she stepped into her empty, quiet restaurant. In the summer, the place was brimming with vivacity. Right now, it felt like a coffin—absent of life.
She paused by the back entry, by the door where Braden had fixed the window pane. In front of her, she could see the bullet mark on the wall.
So much had happened this week. Too much, maybe.
Yet, in another way, she felt as if she’d never be the same.
The last thing she wanted was to stay by herself with only her thoughts to contend with. Even the idea of experimenting with some new recipes didn’t appeal to her at the moment. No, right now, she wanted answers. She wanted to put her questions to rest.
But she couldn’t.
She had nowhere else to look for answers. And, as hard as she tried to come up with a new idea or theory, she couldn’t. Life wasn’t a lab where she could test the variables until something worked. No, she was out of variables.
Or was she?
As she wandered into the restaurant kitchen, she pulled out her phone and made a call. Cassidy answered on the second ring.
“Lisa! How are you?” Her friend’s warm voice filled Lisa with instant comfort. “You coming up with any new recipes I’m going to have to try?”
“I’ve been working on a few things that you can try out at Thanksgiving.” Lisa smiled as she thought about the feast she was planning for her friends. It would have her signature recipes all over it.
“I can’t wait.”
She paused by her sink, looking at all the pots and pans she’d dirtied this morning in her quest to make food and keep her mind occupied. If she kept doing that, she was going to gain all forty pounds back. “I’m sorry to interrupt you while you’re away.”
“Oh, there’s no interrupting right now. Ty and his father went hunting. His mom is sleeping. And I’m just sitting here reading a book.”
“I need your advice.” Lisa turned on the water and added some soap to the sink. At least she could begin cleaning as she talked.
“I’ve got advice by the barrelful. You didn’t say if it was supposed to be good advice or not, though.” Cassidy was smiling—Lisa could hear it in her voice. “What’s going on, my mad scientist friend?”
“It’s about this guy staying at your place,” Lisa started, still watching the water rise.
“Braden? Yeah, what about him? I don’t know the man, but Ty has told me some stuff, including about that first night you met him. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, I’ve gotten to know him since then, and he seems like a pretty good guy—despite our rough start.”
“After you got past the initial chokehold he put on you? If Ty didn’t vouch for this guy’s character, I would think the guy was a total hotheaded jerk.”
“I get that. The thing is, John Linksi was beat up last night.” Lisa felt her lips tugging down in a frown as she said the words.
“John—the town drunk?” Cassidy’s voice lilted with surprise.
“He’s the one.” Lisa filled her in on the rest of the story.
“So, what you’re saying is that everyone thinks Braden did it?”
“By all appearances, he does seem guilty. His hands . . . they’re bruised.”
“Oh.” Cassidy’s voice dropped. “That could definitely implicate him in the crime.”
Lisa turned the water off, but instead of beginning to wash the dishes, she leaned against the oversized sink in contemplation instead. “I know. But I really don’t think he did this, Cassidy. That’s where I’m stuck. If he didn’t do it, who did? I don’t even know how to find answers.”
“I’m sure Mac is looking into it. I wouldn’t concern yourself over it. Especially if someone violent is involved. You don’t want to put yourself in a bad situation.”
“I know. And I don’t. And I won’t. I just need . . . and I don’t know what I need.” She let out a sigh. “I need hope, I suppose.”
Cassidy didn’t say anything for a moment. “So you don’t think Braden did this. But in order to prove that he didn’t do it, you need to prove that someone else did?”
“Right. I don’t even know how to do that. If you were here, you would know just what to do. You’re a natural at things like this.”
“Oh, girl . . . I don’t know.” Cassidy’s voice dipped. “I don’t want to lead you into trouble. Do I need to remind you how many times I almost got killed in the past year alone?”
“No, I remember a lot of them. And I don’t want to put myself in that situation either. I just don’t know what to do.” Cassidy had always found herself in the middle of trouble, it seemed. After the stellar way she handled things, it only made sense that she became police chief.
“Maybe John will wake up and remember something. Or Mac will find some DNA evidence that’s been left behind. Maybe a footprint or a hair. And I’m sure he’s looking for witnesses. Just try to trust the process, Lisa. I know it’s hard.”
“It is.” It was tearing her apart inside.
“I’ll be praying for you.”
“I appreciate that, Cassidy. Thank you.”
Just as Lisa ended the call, she heard a knock on her back door. What was up with all of her unexpected visitors lately? She didn’t know.
She rushed through the kitchen, toward the space at the back, and saw a man through the window.
He had gray hair, glasses, and wore a suit.
Lisa had never seen the man before—but he looked unassuming enough.
Leaving the chain lock on the door, she cracked it open. Until she knew what was going on, she had to be cautious—most of the time, at least. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Lisa Garth.”
“I’m Lisa.”
“Lisa, I’m Rick Larson. I’m Braden Dillinger’s therapist. We need to talk.”
Braden stepped inside the small, traditional sanctuary and paused. Jack Wilson stood on the platform, bending over to pick up something from the floor in the choir loft area.
Jack straightened when Braden walked in. As recognition lit his eyes, he smiled. “Well, hello there. Braden, right? Come on in.”
Braden stepped closer, apprehension pulling at him. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“I’m picking up some lyric sheets. I wish our choir members were as loose with their vocal chords as they are with their trash.” Jack smiled and hopped off the stage to meet him. “What brings you by?”
“Could we talk for a minute?”
“Of course. Why don’t you come into my office?” He nodded at a door off the side.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, could we sit out here?” Something about being in a cramped office made Braden feel suffocated. This sanctuary, on the other hand, with its tall ceilings, stained glass, and padded pews . . . it brought back memories of better times.
He’d grown up going to church with his grandparents, but he’d fallen away once he hit high school. It wasn’t until after his head injury that he’d started coming back. But those early memories were full of warmth and love.
“Of course, we can stay out here,” Jack said. “Pick your pew, and we’ll make it work.”
<
br /> Braden already liked Jack. He liked his attitude. His confidence. His dedication to the church.
Braden sat on the front pew, his body molding into the well-used, wine-colored cushion. Jack sat a comfortable distance from him.
“What’s going on?” Jack stretched his arm across the back of the pew, looking totally at home and at ease in the space.
Drawing in a deep breath, Braden launched into what he had to say. He told Jack everything that had happened since he arrived in town—the copper wires, the memory loss, feeling utterly helpless.
It felt good to have everything off his chest, but now he waited to see how Jack would react. Would he treat Braden like a guilty man? Would he become fearful as he realized what Braden was capable of? Or would he simply offer advice?
Jack’s expression lost his happy-go-lucky candor, and the grimness of the situation lined his eyes. “I can see where you’re facing a dilemma. A big one, at that.”
“You can say that again.”
Jack studied Braden a moment, his eyes wise and accessing. “You don’t think you did this?”
“I don’t think so. But I wish I knew. It’s hard since parts of my past are just . . . well, empty. Erased almost.”
“I can only imagine.” Jack nodded toward Braden’s hands. “And you have no idea how that happened?”
“No idea. I woke up and my hands were sore. My clothes were fine. Nothing else was wrong. I assumed I had a bad dream and maybe punched something. And, no, there were no signs of that. I’m just going off assumptions here.”
Jack shifted in his seat, pulling his arm down from the back of the pew. He rested his elbows against his legs and leaned forward. “When did you first start having these blackout spells, Braden? I’m no expert on these things. Please don’t confuse my advice or opinion for that of a medical professional. But I do want to talk this through with you.”
“I’m all in favor of that.” Braden let out a breath. “I suppose my issues started with tremors. But, as I got deeper into my therapy, I started having the blackouts. I assumed it was because we were talking about some pretty dark things. My therapist said my mind was trying to shut out the bad stuff.”
“Does anything seem to trigger these blackouts?”
He remembered what Dr. Larson had talked to him about, remembered how he’d pinpointed issues that Braden hadn’t. “Trauma, I suppose. The first night I was here, I blacked out. I found firecrackers the next morning.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Firecrackers? Do you think someone set them off to mess with your mind?”
“It’s my best guess. I assume the person who’s coming after me did it.”
Jack shifted. “Why would that person try to scare you? If they had the chance, why not just kill you? Why go through all this trouble instead?”
“That’s a great question. I don’t know. Maybe to make me miserable?”
“I know a little about terrorists. I was a soldier before I was a chaplain before I was a pastor. And terrorists usually don’t have time to waste. They get the job done. Especially if it’s revenge. Am I making sense?”
“You’re making a little too much sense.”
Jack leaned forward with his elbows against his legs. “Is there a way you can regain these memories? Has your therapist said anything about that?”
Braden shook his head. “He hasn’t. But I can ask him.”
“Maybe try that. Maybe there’s something you can do. Because these moments when you black out—they could be key.”
Maybe Jack was right. Braden only knew he had to do something.
Because he couldn’t live like this for much longer.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“What brings you here?” Lisa asked, sitting across from Dr. Larson at one of the booths in her otherwise empty restaurant.
Almost as if on autopilot, she’d made coffee and had gotten the doctor a piece of her apple pie. She definitely didn’t need to eat all three of those by herself. And Dr. Larson seemed to be enjoying his piece.
However, the anticipation over why he was here was pushing Lisa to the edge.
“I’m looking for Braden,” Dr. Larson announced.
Caution reared its head. “He’s not here. Why did you think he was?”
With measured, purposeful actions, he raised a forkful of pie. “Because he mentioned you to me, Lisa. Mentioned the two of you were growing close.”
“Did he?” At least that was something. Before Braden had forgotten everything, maybe what they’d had between them was real. Maybe he really had cared about her.
Lisa wasn’t sure if that comforted her or only made her sadder.
“That’s why I felt the need to come here and warn you.” He paused from eating his pie.
All the muscles in Lisa’s body seemed to stiffen at Dr. Larson’s words. “Warn me? What do you mean?”
Dr. Larson put down his coffee, moved his apple pie to the side and leaned toward her. “Lisa, Braden is a very dangerous man.”
She blinked, certain she hadn’t heard the man correctly. “Dangerous? Braden? I mean, yes, he has some issues. But would you really consider him dangerous?”
Dr. Larson pressed his lips together in a tight line, and something resembling compassion crossed his gaze. “I’d definitely consider him dangerous. He was a trained killer, Lisa.”
She gasped. “No . . .”
Braden had told her some things, but not that. Certainly it wasn’t true.
“He was. And that’s why he’s having some of the issues he’s having right now. I must say, that information isn’t for the public to know. And I probably shouldn’t have even told you. But I felt strongly that you needed to know that.”
What was Dr. Larson’s game plan here? “You came all the way here to tell me that?”
“No, I came here to talk to Braden and bring him back before he does anything else stupid. But I felt like I needed to tell you before you found yourself wrapped up in this mess he’s created. Or worse—before you found yourself hurt or dead.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“His problems are growing more serious, Lisa. As is my concern.”
She leaned back, still trying to comprehend everything. “I don’t know what to say. I still can’t believe Braden would do this. I just can’t believe it.”
Dr. Larson pushed his glasses up. “Lisa, when I was a child, my family found a stray dog. The poor thing had been abandoned on a country road. It was malnourished, had mange, but his eyes drew us in. We had no idea what the dog had been through, but we were in love.”
Lisa wasn’t sure where Dr. Larson was going with this, but she gave him time to finish his thought. “Okay.”
“We took the dog in, and I loved Bitsy. Came home every day from school, and I couldn’t wait to see her. The problem was, no matter how much I loved on Bitsy, there were parts of her my love could never conquer.”
“What do you mean?” His little analogy now had Lisa fully uncomfortable as she wondered where he was going with this.
“I mean that, because of what Bitsy had been through while growing up, her brain was wired differently. I don’t know what happened to her as a puppy, but that dog fiercely loved the ones in our family. But anyone else? She would take them down in a minute. One day, she bit my best friend.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Her gut twisted tighter, and the few bites of the apple pie she’d tasted now felt rotten in her stomach.
“And that was it for Bitsy.”
“What are you getting at, Dr. Larson?” Lisa thought she knew, but she didn’t want to acknowledge the conclusions she was drawing. They were too demeaning, not to mention too difficult to face.
“Sometimes we can do everything within our power to change someone. We can hope and believe. We can pour out our love. But that doesn’t change the fiber of who a person is. It doesn’t change their past or their reactions to the present.”
A feeling of dread settled in her gut. “You’re saying I should
stay away from Braden?”
“I’m saying that I know you believe the best for Braden. He has some really kind and intriguing sides to him. But all of that attention and belief you pour into him doesn’t mean he’ll ever be the whole person who’s ready to be committed and to return to a normal life.”
Her heart lurched. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I can’t speak specifics about my client. I just know that he’s unstable, at best. I would be very careful around him.”
“Thanks for your advice.”
He stood. “Thank you for the coffee and pie. It was tasty, for sure. I’m going to go pay Braden a visit now. Hopefully I can talk some sense into him.”
Braden stood on the screened-in porch at Hope House, staring out over the water, and reflecting on his conversation with Jack.
It had felt good to get everything off his chest. Jack hadn’t judged or looked down on him. No, they’d prayed together, and then Jack had driven him home. Once there, he’d called Mac and told him that he’d found those copper wires in his trash can. Mac was sending someone out later.
A sound drew Braden’s attention. He turned toward the noise and saw a car pulling down the lane.
To his surprise, he saw a polished red SUV.
He knew exactly who it was. Rick Larson. His therapist.
What was Dr. Larson doing here in Lantern Beach?
He didn’t move, just listened as the tires crunched gravel. As the engine shut off and a door opened. A moment later, footsteps came up his wooden stairs, and Dr. Larson appeared on the other side of the screen door.
“Braden,” he said, pushing his glasses up higher and offering a hesitant but compassionate smile.
Braden nodded in return. “Doctor. Come in. What brings you here?”
Dr. Larson stepped onto the porch, looking out of place with his suit jacket and button-up shirt. “I’m worried about you.”
“Why are you worried about me?” Braden knew there were a lot of possible reasons—but none that should have brought the doctor here.
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