One Last Breath

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One Last Breath Page 10

by Sarah Sutton


  “Right in town,” he replied before naming a local bar. “I really hope you can make it,” he added as he stood up to grab the tea that had now finished brewing. He slid a cup across the island counter to Tara “I think it’ll be good for you, too, to have a little fun.”

  It had been a long time since Tara stepped into a bar, and she had to admit a couple drinks and a little fun did sound like it might be good for her. She had been so preoccupied with her job and her past that she had almost forgotten what it was like to let loose and enjoy herself. Plus, she wanted to support John. It was his first gig, and she certainly wanted to be there for him. But she also knew that she couldn’t promise anything, especially while in the middle of a case. “I will try my best. I really do want to be there,” she replied.

  John nodded before giving her another peck on the cheek. He forced a smile as his attention moved back to the cup of tea in his hand, but Tara could still see the disappointment hiding behind it, and it pained her.

  In the corner of Tara’s eye, a blinking light suddenly caught her attention. She looked up. It was the answering machine of their home phone, signaling they had a message. It was unusual for anyone to call on that phone. They had even contemplated getting rid of it, since they never even used it and it just seemed to attract telemarketers, but John’s parents still liked to call on it sometimes.

  Tara stood up, moving toward the machine. “Did your parents call?” she asked as her hand hovered over the play button.

  “Not that I know of,” he replied.

  It was probably a telemarketer. She rolled her eyes as she pressed the play button. But once she heard the voice, she stiffened. Her face grew hot, and John stopped eating.

  “Hey, Tara, it’s me,” it began. It was the voice of her father. He sounded rushed, speaking quickly. “It was nice seeing you the other day, but I really don’t think you should come back.” There was pain in his voice as he said it. “I’m sorry,” he added. “I just think it’s best for both of us.”

  Tara didn’t move for a moment. Shock and confusion swirled into a haze of questions. Why would he want her to stay away? Her whole life, he had been trying to reach out to her, and now she had, and he didn’t want anything to do with her. But she already knew why. It had to be the same reason he cut her visit short. It had to be the questions she asked, the mention of someone else in the room. She spun around to John, who sat, fork in hand, his mouth hanging slightly open in disbelief.

  “He’s hiding something,” Tara said. “Ever since I mentioned the person in the room, his whole attitude toward me changed. He does want to see me. I can hear it in his voice. He’s protecting someone.”

  John nodded. He didn’t know what to say, and it occurred to Tara that it was the first time he had even heard her father’s voice. It must’ve been strange.

  “It’s just so weird,” he replied. “Why would he be protecting someone?”

  It was the same question that continuously crossed Tara’s mind. She had come to the conclusion that if he was protecting someone, it was someone he cared for deeply, or it was someone who held something over his head. But Tara knew the second scenario was less likely. He had already gone to prison for life. What more would he have to lose? She told this to John.

  “Did your dad ever have an affair?”

  Tara took a seat on the barstool again, resting her chin on her hand. “Not that I know of,” she replied. It had crossed her mind before. She had never suspected her father of being unfaithful to her mother when she was a child. But she was only very young, so why would she suspect anything if it wasn’t happening in plain sight? “It’s possible, I suppose,” she added. Is that who could’ve been in the room that night? she wondered. My father’s mistress? It seemed plausible, but Tara still wondered why, after all these years, he would protect a woman who murdered the mother of his child.

  “How did he get the house number anyway?” John asked.

  “I gave my contact info at the prison, in case he needed to call. I listed my cell first, and then the home phone.”

  “And he didn’t call your cell?”

  Tara shook her head. “He probably knew I’d be more likely to answer it.” She knew her father’s goal was to leave a message, not to speak to her.

  John nodded, and a silence lingered between them before he turned fully toward her. “So what are you going to do?”

  Tara didn’t even hesitate. “I’m going to find out what he’s hiding,” she replied as her eyes drifted yet again to the answering machine. Her father’s voice still echoed in her mind. She knew him well enough to know that he did not get spooked easily or at all. But the muffled panic in his voice only solidified Tara’s feelings that he was trying to keep something buried, and she was more determined than ever to find out what it was.

  ***

  Tara lay in bed, still staring at the ceiling. The room was in total darkness, but she couldn’t be more awake. She had too many questions, too many thoughts.

  She knew she didn’t have time to go visit her father again, not in the middle of this case. But she also knew she somehow needed to get in touch with him. Her only option would be to call. She would do so first thing in the morning, she decided. She just hoped he would speak to her.

  Tara knew that he had purposely avoided a conversation with her, which was why he called the house phone in the middle of the day. He had known it was likely she would be at work. But she hoped that no matter what he was hiding, once she called, he wouldn’t be able to resist speaking to her. After all, for so many years he had written to her, hoping she would write back or call.

  Strange, she thought. After all these years, she now had more reason than a dream to believe someone else was in the room that night of her mother’s murder. It was a validation she had never felt before. In a way, it felt good. She wasn’t crazy. But it also burdened her with more uncertainty. She had no idea who it could’ve been, and it troubled her.

  All night, she had been digging into every depth of her memory for a clue, but she still couldn’t find one. She thought of moments in her childhood, positive memories and negative ones. She thought of moments with her grandmother when she was a child. Could she have hinted at something? But no matter what point in time she chose to focus on, she was left without a conclusion. She continued to think of moments in her childhood, but as each memory surfaced, her eyes grew heavier. Eventually, she was barely able to hold them open at all, and she soon faded into sleep.

  ***

  Tara ran, the tall, uncut grass tickling her bare feet. The sky was bluer than she’d ever seen it. The sun was warm against her skin, and it made her smile grow wider. She wore a long pink summer dress. Her mother had sewn it herself, and it flapped against her legs as she ran, faster and faster. She was ready now. She took a deep breath as she threw her hands in the air and then flung her body sideways, letting her hands touch the grass, and then her feet.

  “I did it!” she screamed.

  A friend at school had been teaching her how to do a cartwheel, but this was the first time she had actually succeeded. She looked around her fenced-in yard, slightly off balance until her eyes met their target. Her mother sat on the steps to their porch. Her smile was wide, making Tara beam with pride. She began to clap.

  “Excellent!” she yelled. “That was perfect!”

  Tara giggled as she whizzed excitedly across the lawn. Her mother stood up, her arms open. Tara leapt into them. Her mother hugged her and kissed her on the forehead, but then Tara pulled away. She had too much energy to feel constrained. She reached for her mother’s hand and then used all the bit of weight she had to pull her mother toward the lawn.

  “Now you try, Mommy!”

  Her mother laughed. Tara was only five years old, and her mother didn’t budge from her pull. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, baby,” she replied as she smiled down at Tara. “I’m not as quick and flexible as you.”

  “Please, Mommy!” Tara pulled harder on her mother�
�s hand, and when she still didn’t budge, she reached higher, grabbing hold of her forearm. She tightened her grip and pulled hard.

  “Tara, ow!” her mother yelled.

  Tara instinctively let go, the playfulness immediately dissipating.

  “I’m sorry,” Tara said as her mother began to rub her arm. This was the second time this week that Tara had touched one of her bruises, and it had scared her just the same. Tara looked at her mother’s forearm, which had the marks of a grip held too tight. The bruise was large, spanning half of her mother’s small forearm, showing the size of her father’s hand.

  “You can’t pull on people like that,” her mother snapped as she took a seat back down. The mood had abruptly changed. It was confusing for Tara, being so young. How could her father grab her, pull her, and even hit her at times? Yet Tara only pulled her mother’s arm to play, and she was the one getting in trouble. Even at such a young age, the injustice did not sit well with her.

  “I just wanted you to play with me,” Tara said sadly, but her mother only raised her eyebrows in scorn and Tara’s face fell to her feet. She sat down on the stairs next to her mother. She didn’t have the urge to run through the grass anymore. She didn’t have the desire to try another cartwheel. There was a sadness in the air that muffled it all, and it hung heavy on them both in silence.

  Tara tried to fix it. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

  “We’ll order pizza,” her mother replied, trying to force a smile.

  Tara loved pizza nights, and her face lit up at the mention. But it wasn’t just the food that excited her. She also knew that it meant something else too…

  “Daddy won’t be home?”

  Her mother sighed. “Not tonight, baby, not tonight.”

  ***

  Tara’s eyes popped open. The room was still dark, and John still lay sound asleep next to her, but she suddenly felt more awake than ever. She knew it wasn’t just a dream. She remembered that day, those words—her mother saying her father wouldn’t be home. They were words that had been spoken more than once. How could I have forgotten?

  Her father was a plumber and construction worker, but not the type that would work on building houses. All she understood was that he installed fueling systems. There was a point in time where he worked for a company that required him to travel out of town. It was the reason Tara was given each time she asked why her father wasn’t going to be home for dinner, and each time he didn’t come home until a couple days later. It wasn’t too often, but now, as Tara stared at the darkness above her, she wondered, was there any truth in it at all?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sofia lay terrified, flat on the basement floor, her hands tied behind her back. He was nearby, sitting at a computer desk, but his eyes were on something else. A TV was mounted against the wall, and he stared at it intensely. It was the news he was watching, coverage of the girls found on the beach. He had been watching it for hours. It was all taped footage from different channels that he had prerecorded. Every few moments, he would pause it, scribble something down on a pad of paper, and then fast-forward.

  It was as if she wasn’t even in the room, and the unknown of what he was doing and what was to come next only heightened Sofia’s fear. She felt as if she had been lying there for a lifetime, even though it had only been a matter of hours, but how long exactly she did not know. All she knew was that she had awoken in the basement alone, untied, until he heard her and came downstairs. She had tried to make a run for it, but he had stopped her. He was too strong for her to overpower, and he quickly tied her up, duct-taped her mouth, and took a photo of her. Ever since then, he had been sitting at his desk.

  Sofia’s heart still pounded. Her parents were probably worried about her by now. She hoped that someone would find her, that the cops were already searching for her. But as she looked up at the news he was watching, as she saw each dead girl’s face pop up on the screen, a wave of hopelessness crashed into her, and she sobbed. She wanted her mom’s home-cooked meal. She wanted her warm bed. She wanted to hear her parents say goodnight. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

  A warm liquid trickled down her pant leg, and she looked down to see her urine leak out onto the floor. Her eyes welled; her body shook with sheer fear. Her body hadn’t even given her warning, and it only signified the reality of her situation. Even her body knew how terrified she was.

  Sofia broke out into sobs. She wanted to plead with him to let her go, but her mouth was duct-taped, and all that sounded was a muffled cry. She thought of her school, of her future, how she wanted to be teacher, how she was soon supposed to be applying to colleges. Terror flooded her body at the thought that those things would never happen. She had no way out, nowhere to go. She was completely at his mercy. Her cries grew louder.

  Eventually he could no longer ignore her, and he finally stood.

  At his movement, Sofia quieted, but he had yet to speak a word. Is he going to let me go? she wondered as he moved closer, as he bent down next to her, as he stared at the puddle of urine on the floor.

  “Don’t be scared,” he whispered as he looked from the floor to her face.

  His words were almost reassuring, and for a moment, Sofia wondered if he was going to listen.

  But then he raised a string in his hands—the same string he tied her hands with—and terror flooded once again through her body. “It’s your time,” he added. “It’s almost over. And I know exactly where I’m going to put you.”

  He sat atop her legs so she couldn’t move. He placed the string around her neck as she tried to plead with him once more. But then she felt the pressure as he pulled, and the words couldn’t leave her throat. She thrashed about, but it was no use—his weight was too heavy for her petite body—and eventually her movement slowed as she gasped for air she couldn’t find, and the room darkened around her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tara sat in the kitchen of her apartment, staring at her laptop. She had slept very little after her dream and had eventually given up and gotten out of bed. She could now feel the lack of sleep, and she yawned. It was six thirty in the morning. She had been up for an hour, her mind racing.

  She had looked up the prison’s phone number and was now staring at it, her eyes moving from the number to the time at the bottom of the screen. It was too early to call just yet. She waited another fifteen minutes, and then she dialed. She just hoped her father would speak to her and that the prison would allow it.

  Moments later, an operator was on the other end. Tara mentioned her father’s name and that she was returning a call. The operator was quiet a moment. Tara could hear the clank of fingers on a keyboard.

  “He’s allowed limited incoming calls,” the woman said. “Are you on his call list?”

  “I’m not sure,” Tara admitted.

  “Your name?”

  “Tara Mills.”

  The woman put her on hold without even a word, but Tara knew she was looking up the call list of her father. A few moments later, she was back on the phone. “Sorry, you’re not on his list,” the woman said unsympathetically.

  Tara sighed. “Is there any other way I can speak to him?”

  “You can try coming in, but I can’t put you through by phone.”

  “But…” Tara was going to ask one more time, but the phone suddenly went dead. The operator had hung up on her.

  Tara slunk in her chair, defeated. There was no way she would be able to travel to New York in the midst of this case. At that thought, John walked into the kitchen. He yawned as he made his way to the coffee machine.

  “Were you able to talk to him?” he asked, knowing very well why she was already up.

  Tara sighed. “I’m not on his call list. The only way I can possibly talk to him is by going there, but I have a feeling he’ll refuse to see me.”

  John sat down next to her. “So what’s your next move?”

  Tara already knew. The dream the night before had stirred the thought. “I want to
get hold of the visitation records,” she admitted. If he was covering for someone, it was likely they had visited him at one point or another. That might even be the reason why Tara’s father pushed her away. He might not want her to poke around and see who’d been coming around when she was already suspicious.

  She explained all this to John, and he nodded. It made sense to him too.

  Suddenly, Tara’s phone vibrated on the counter in front of her. She looked down. Warren’s name flashed across the screen, and she immediately picked up. She knew he could either just want to reconvene early, or he could have some important news.

  Before she could even say hello, Warren spoke. “Mills,” he started, his voice filled with urgency. The next words burst out of his mouth. “Another teenager never came home last night.”

  ***

  Within just over two hours, Tara pulled into a parking lot right along the beach. A sea of police vehicles and news vans lined the side of the road. She quickly got out and made her way through the endless questions from reporters. She then stood behind the yellow tape on the sandy beach, peering around for Warren.

  When she last spoke to him, a body wasn’t found, and she could now see that it still hadn’t been. Cops and forensics were tearing apart the beach in every direction. Cadaver dogs were being led over the sand dunes by officers, each in an assigned section spread out for about a mile stretch. She could see Warren up ahead, speaking to Sheriff Patel. She walked over.

  “Anything yet?” she asked.

  Warren shook his head. “Still no body.”

  Sheriff Patel said, “We checked for about a five-mile stretch down this beach. If he buried the victim here, he sure didn’t do it close to the first two.”

  “Could she still be alive?” Tara asked.

 

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