“It’s all just…so much. It’s almost too much to consider, too much to deal with.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he reiterated. “We just can’t rush into anything. We have to play it smart. If we were to tip him off in any way, he could hurt Dalton.”
“I know, I know. That’s the kind of pressure that’s driving me crazy. All of this is just…just… It’s too much.” I leaned into the window again. My legs were jelly.
“Hold on just a little bit longer, baby. Things are turning around for us. That asshole just doesn’t know it yet.”
“What asshole?”
We both spun to find Gabe’s sister, Grace standing in the doorway. Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her expression was defiant. Determined. Inflexible.
“And don’t bother feeding me the same bucketful of bullshit you gave Garrett. I’m not that gullible.”
“He’s not gullible; he’s just less combative.”
“It’s not combative to want to know what’s going on with your family. It’s called concern, if you’ve ever heard of it.”
Gabe looked at me. We shared a silent conversation. A debate about what to do next. How to handle his sister.
Grace had a heart of gold, but she was also like a mama bear when it came to her brothers, even though she was younger than both of them. I knew what Gabe knew—she wouldn’t let this go until she was satisfied. We’d probably run a greater risk of her making a stink if we didn’t tell her. In all likelihood, the better course of action was to just fill her in. Give her the lowdown and swear her to secrecy.
I shrugged. Gabe nodded. Then we both turned to face Grace.
She was a gorgeous woman—dark blonde hair with a thousand honey highlights, and eyes the same beautiful blue of her brothers. But she had something neither of them had. It shone from her face. In the set of her lips, the tilt of her chin, the directness of her stare. She was stubborn as a mule, and she wasn’t moving until one of us gave her some answers.
“Well?” she prompted.
I sat down on my son’s bed. Slumped over slightly. The weight of everything that had happened, everything that was still happening, a tangible pressure on my shoulders. “First things first. You have to promise, promise on the life of everyone you love, that you won’t tell a soul what you’re about to hear.”
She moved farther into the room. Her brow knitted in concern. She was astute enough to know that this was to be no small, light conversation. She intuited what we felt every minute of every day—something was very terribly wrong.
“You have my word. You know family comes first. Always. What’s going on?”
From the side of my son’s bed, I retold all the events of the previous weeks. I hadn’t intended to go into detail, but before I realized what was happening, I was recounting some of the most gruesome moments of my entire life.
I wasn’t aware of getting lost. Getting sucked back in time. I had no idea that tears were streaming down my face. That I gasped. That I sobbed. That I wailed as I told of seeing Dalton. Of hearing him scream for me. Of plunging a knife into a live person who I later found out was my best friend in the world. I didn’t know I’d scared both Gabe and Grace until it was over. Until I looked up. Found both of them standing beside the bed, Gabe holding his sister as she sobbed into her hands.
“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered from behind her fingers. Over and over again, like a mantra. A plea.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…to…” I trailed off. Didn’t know how to apologize for being wounded. For being so deeply hurt that I knew I’d never be whole again. I didn’t know how to apologize for dragging people into that world, even if only for a few minutes and they got to leave when it was over. They were the lucky ones. I would never get to leave. That room, that god forsaken padded room and concrete floor, would be my prison until the day I died.
“Don’t apologize,” she muttered brokenly, swiping at her cheeks. With her bloodshot eyes locked on mine, she fell to her knees in front of me. Wrapped her arms around my hips. Pressed the side of her face to my heart. “I’m so sorry, Shan. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what to do. I just… Please, God.” She just moaned at the end. Then burst into tears again.
Robotically, I put my arms around her. Patted her back in comfort. I hadn’t fully shaken off that trip down memory lane. I felt dazed. Confused. As disoriented as I did when Gabe brought me home.
With a jerk, Grace leaned up. Pulled away from me. Her eyes sparkled with a fire I recognized all too well. I’d seen it in the mirror more and more of late. “What can I do? I want to help. We…we have to get him back.” She bowed her head. Squeezed her eyes shut. I saw her chin begin to tremble again. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. If something happened to my sweet little baby…”
I watched Grace struggle. Watched her draw her fingers into a tight fist. Watched her thump that fist against her sternum. She couldn’t even speak her daughter’s name. Couldn’t bring the thought of her into the black bubble in which we all sat.
What had happened…it would affect us all. For the rest of our days. We were living the kind of trauma that never really touched home. This was the type of stuff that movies were made of. Stories were written about. But real people didn’t actually live them. It was too ghastly for mere humans to experience, much less survive. No, this was the sort of thing that was whispered about like the boogeyman, in hushed tones and in dark corners so as not to draw his attention.
Only this was real. And it was happening to us. To our family.
To me.
And to my son.
“I don’t know what you could do. I mean, we aren’t even sure what we can do yet. If I was mistaken, I—”
Gabe interrupted. “You weren’t mistaken. We just need to keep an eye on the guy. If it’s not him, he will lead us to the right person. It’s too much to be a coincidence.”
Grace nodded. “I agree. This was a gift. That name will lead us to Dalton. One way or the other.”
The corners of my mouth lifted slightly. That was what I loved about Grace. She was all family, all the time. In for a penny, in for a pound. This wasn’t just our problem anymore; it was hers, too. Even though it was selfish to want anyone else to be dragged into my hell, it was comforting to have someone else on our side. It made me feel not so alone. And the fact that she was a woman, that helped in some strange way, too.
It was my turn to nod. “You’re right. Both of you. This was the break we needed. That name, this guy…he will lead us to Dalton. Or to the person who has him. Either way, his days are numbered.”
I felt the heat of that familiar fire. The one that had pulled me out of the grips of hopelessness. I welcomed it. Relished it. I reached my hand down into the flames so I could better feel the burn of it. It reminded me that I was alive. And as long as I was alive, Dalton had a chance because I wouldn’t rest until he was back home.
“Let me think on this,” Grace said, her eyes narrowing in thought as she rose from her knees and spun to sit beside me on the bed.
“Maybe you’ll think of something we haven’t. Neither of us have slept well or much since all this started, and poor Gabe is working, too. I don’t know how he does it.” I pinned my husband with a stare of sheer gratitude as I spoke. I meant every word of it—I really didn’t know how he was holding it together.
Gabe’s response was pure Gabe. One hundred percent the man I couldn’t live without. “You two are my world. If I didn’t have either of you, I’d have nothing to hold together.”
My lower lip quivered. I felt love radiating from him. Saw it pouring from his eyes. Oozing from his lips. Seeping from his skin. It brushed my cheeks like the kiss of a summer wind, warm and familiar.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Well, now that we got that out of the way, I think I might have an idea.” Grace was already back to her bold, plucky self.
“So soon?”
“Brilliance
comes when brilliance comes,” she quipped. “But seriously, I think I might have a way to get more information without taking a big risk.”
“Do tell.”
“I’ve been talking to Drew about getting a part time job. Just to get back in the swing of working when preschool starts. What if I got a job where this guy works? I could nose around, buddy up, make some inroads without raising suspicion. What do you think?”
I was too busy pondering to answer. Too busy poking holes in it. Finding reasons why it wouldn’t work. Why it was too dangerous. I was pretty sure Gabe was doing the same thing. The problem was, the idea was mostly sound. I could only think of few downsides.
Finally, I cautioned her. “You couldn’t be very obvious about it.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Duh. I know what I’m doing. I can be subtle when I need to be.”
“Says who?” asks Gabe.
“Ha. Ha. You’ve never seen me in action. You only know me as your little sister, but I can put on quite the act when the occasion calls for it. And I can’t think of a better occasion than this one. Lives literally depend upon it. So, yeah, I can do this. I have no doubt.”
I eyed the angle of her chin. The stiff ridge of her spine. The determined set of her gaze. Grace was decided. Resolute. She loved Dalton almost as much as we did. I should’ve known she would react this way.
I looked up at Gabe. He was leaning back against the wall. Arms crossed over his chest. Expression inscrutable. “What do you think, Gabe?”
He didn’t answer right away. He was deep in thought. I could tell by the crooked twist of his lips. He always drew in one corner of his mouth when he was thinking. It triggered the dimple in his left cheek. I’d always loved that quirk. It made him look smart and sexy all at the same time.
I didn’t rush him. Neither did Grace. A couple of minutes later, he answered. He always answered when he was damn well ready and not one minute before. “I think it could work. We’d just need to cover all our bases. And, of course, they’d need to have a job opening that you could fill.”
“There has to be something. I’ll answer phones, file, take inventory. Hell, I don’t care what it is. I’ll even mop the floors if I have to. Empty trashcans, clean toilets. Whatever it takes, I’m in.”
I took Grace’s hands in mine. The familiar sting of tears burned my eyes as I pleaded with her. “Promise me you won’t do or say anything that could tip him off. Not even so much as a dirty look when you find him. Anything, anything at all. No matter how mad he makes you. If he were to figure out what we’re doing…” I didn’t even try to stop the shudder that rattled through me. “He could kill Dalton. Or maybe something even worse.”
“What could be worse than death?” Grace looked horrified that I could even consider such a thing.
“I would rather he be dead and at peace than be tortured by a monster every minute of every day for the rest of his life. The things people can think of to do to another person… I know you can’t understand that, but there are worse things than death. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Grace’s already creamy complexion grew more and more pale as I spoke. “I…I don’t…” She paused to regroup. “I won’t tip him off. I swear it.”
I nodded. Attempted a smile. Let it fade away, afraid that it came off more heinous than reassuring. “Then let’s pray they have an opening. And that you can find him. He’s hiding behind this other person. Somehow, some way. But if you can get us anything, anything at all to go on, we’ll bring Dalton home if it’s the last thing I do on this earth.”
Grace squeezed my fingers. “You’ll have him back. That dumb asshole doesn’t know he picked the wrong people to mess with.”
At that, my smile returned. More genuine this time. “I’ve told myself that a thousand times.”
With a firm nod, Grace stood. “Looks like I’m off to job hunt then. Wish me luck!”
“Good luck.” Gabe and I said it at the same time. After Grace left the room, we looked at each other.
I think in that moment, for the first time since the night a maniac stole our child, we both believed things were turning around.
Chapter Forty-Six
The closer it gets to time to go with Jill to her house, the more excited Marcy becomes. Not to be too dramatic, but she feels ever like it’s high noon and she’s heading to a showdown. All that’s missing are spurs and guns and dusty streets.
John is waiting on the couch when Marcy comes down the stairs. She’s wearing her most intimidating outfit—a smart, navy blue pantsuit. Her blonde hair is a little wilder than usual, her makeup a little darker. Her goal was to look strong and supportive, like a woman who doesn’t take shit off any man. In her opinion, she knocked it out of the park.
And when she sees John’s expression, she’s certain of it.
Marcy grins. “You like?”
“I love. Turn around.”
She does a slow pirouette for him, and is pleased when her full circle finds him smiling up at her, nodding in approval. “I want this douche to know the instant he walks in and sees us that he doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll get the hint when he sees both of us there with Jill.”
Marcy agrees. “I know we probably won’t be gone very long, but are you sure we should both go and leave Caroline here?”
“She’ll be fine. She won’t leave her room. You know that. She only comes down for meals now. Pretty soon, we won’t be able to blast her from her room.”
Marcy chews her bottom lip in concern. “I know. It worries me, how much she seems to be…I don’t know. Devolving.”
“We’re doing the best we can for her. She’ll improve. It’s just going to take some time.”
“Yeah,” Marcy replies, noncommittally. A thought pops into her head, overriding fears for her daughter’s future. Marcy lowers her voice, glancing at the stairs behind her. “What did you do with the…” She makes a square with her fingers.
“Locked it up in my desk drawer with our other important things,” John explains, matter of fact. “Nothing to worry about.”
“It might be good that it’s here and not over there. You know, evidence.” She sends him a conspiratorial wink.
“Timing couldn’t have worked out any better,” he concurs.
“Now to get this part over with. I hope he spills his guts so we can put an end to this.”
“I don’t know if we’ll get that lucky, but we shouldn’t be in the dark too much longer at any rate. Things are coming to a head.”
“They most certainly are.”
The clonk of Jill’s overnight bag hitting the floor upstairs snags Marcy’s attention. She puts a finger over her lips and points upward. John nods.
Marcy takes a seat beside him and, together, they await Jill. It seems to take her an inordinate time to reach them, but when she finally makes it down to the foyer, she stops, sighing deeply. “Well, I guess it’s time.”
John stands, offering his hand to his wife. She takes it and lets him pull her to her feet. “It’s all going to be just fine. You have back up this time. If he loses his temper, Mark Halpern might just rue the day he moved to South Carolina and messed with the Stanleys.”
Jill’s lips curve into a weak smile. “Yes, there will be regret for sure. For somebody anyway.”
Marcy doesn’t delve into that comment. She and John follow Jill out the front door and up the driveway. The make the right turn down the sidewalk and then again to Jill’s driveway. Marcy can’t speak for anyone else, but she has butterflies. Wonderful, exciting butterflies. Witnessing a bad person get their comeuppance is as intoxicating as that expensive Beaujolais that John ordered for their tenth wedding anniversary. She’s giddy with it, almost dizzy with it.
With every step she takes, a scene unfolds in her mind. Mark arriving rational, Jill confronting him, him becoming irate. In her mind’s eye, Marcy can see him lunge for Jill, maybe try to choke her, and John stepping in to save the day. Joh
n subdues him, but Mark wrestles free. Panic ensues. Marcy moves herself in front of Jill to protect her. She glances around for a weapon, spots a thick metal candlestick, grabs it. Mark and John struggle for the upper hand. Marcy waits for her moment. John turns Mark toward her, pins his arms behind his back, giving Marcy the perfect shot. And she takes it, swinging the candlestick toward his head with all her might, getting her whole body behind it. She can almost hear the satisfying crack of his skull as she makes contact. Blood spurts, a flap of hair moves wetly aside, he falls in a heap to the floor. He’s dead. And Marcy’s victorious. An act of self defense. All parties would agree, would tell the same story.
Her pulse taps erratically in her neck as she approaches the Halpern door behind Jill. As morbid as she knows it to be, Marcy hopes it plays out precisely the way it had in her mind. She would gladly rid the world of a man like Mark Halpern. He was a menace. Not a nice man. And Marcy wouldn’t allow anything harmful to come near her child. Even if that meant murder.
Jill unlocks the door, and the trio enters the dark, quiet foyer. The only sound is the thunk thunk thunk of her suitcase wheels as they roll over joints in the hardwoods.
Without a word, Jill leads them all into the living room. She takes a seat on one end of the couch closest to the door, and motions for them to take the other end. They sit in silence. Jill, clearly preoccupied, doesn’t even offer them a drink, which Marcy finds decidedly rude, if understandable.
There’s a clock ticking somewhere in another room. It’s probably a light, soft sound normally, but in the abnormal stillness surrounding them like a funeral blanket, it seems more like a gong.
“What time was he—”
Before she can even finish her question, the snap of the front door clicking open stops her. All eyes turn toward the foyer. Seconds stretch into hours as they wait for Mark Halpern to find his way to them. Marcy is practically salivating as she imagines the look on his face, his anger at being thwarted. She knows she will relive these moments hundreds of times in the coming years. They will sustain her until the next time the unthinkable happens and she’s forced to respond.
Right Next Door Page 27