The Ground Beneath (You and Me Book 1)

by Stephanie Vercier

  “I need to know the last of it,” I tell Hunter, planting my feet firmly on the floor.

  He doesn’t pull me further, just turns back to Micah. With a reluctant voice, he says, “Then tell us.”

  “What happened to Wyatt and Abe wasn’t an accident either,” he says.

  My blood runs cold.

  The words are clear as day.

  There is no mistaking them.

  What happened to Wyatt and Abe wasn’t an accident either.

  “What the hell do you mean?” Hunter asks.

  “My dad got away with killing two people and blaming it on a wild animal,” Micah continues, full speed ahead. “That was always in the back of my mind, not that there was anyone in particular I wanted to kill, but I knew that if all the pieces fell together in just the right way, it could be done, and nobody would ever be the wiser.”

  My heartbeat is racing now, my voice stuck in my throat. I know what he’s telling us, and yet I can’t quite grab at the truth of it.

  Hunter’s pulls me close to him, knowing how much I need him.

  And he’s my voice when I can’t make my own work. “You killed your own brother?”

  Micah nods, his expression so very cold.

  This is a waking nightmare, a truth more horrible than anything my worst fears could create.

  “I always loved you, Allison, from the first time Wyatt brought you home,” Micah says, even though I wish he wouldn’t say anything more at all, as if I could make his prior words untrue. “You were fifteen, and I was a lot older, and I started to wonder if my attraction to you was because I was sick like my father, but I knew I wouldn’t ever do anything to you like that—I wouldn’t force you.”

  “You are like your father,” Hunter tells him. “You’re a murderer.”

  “Wyatt hurt her,” Micah says defensively. “I had my suspicions about him and Olivia. Caught them at this motel south of town once. I told him to stop, told him he was risking everything for what… kinky sex with someone he didn’t love?

  “But my brother was selfish, Allison. Sure, he loved you in his own twisted way, and he probably figured he’d stop cheating after you were married. But a guy like that can’t change. In a couple years, he’d go off sneaking around again to fulfill his needs without having to degrade you to do it.”

  “So you killed him and her brother for that,” Hunter says, disgust in every syllable.

  “I killed them so they couldn’t keep on hurting her. You weren’t there when she found out, when her entire world crumbled because she finally saw her husband and her brother for what they were. I was there,” he says, pointing at his chest. “I put my arm around her and brought her back to people who cared about her. I’d already figured out the game they had going, the pretend relationship between Abe and Olivia to keep her brother in the closet in exchange for his silence on what Wyatt and Olivia were doing. I knew there was a chance that Allison would forgive them all, and that would have been a stupid, horrible mistake.”

  I’m aware of Micah’s eyes on me again, of his intense stare, a pleading quality to the words that begin to spill out of his mouth. “You would have given them all another chance to hurt you because you’re forgiving, too forgiving. I was so angry for what they’d done, for how they’d made what should have been the best day of your life into the worst, and so when they left, and once you were with your parents, I left too.

  “I played the same game my father played, speeding past them and then turning around, coming at them head on, willing to pay the ultimate price for you if things went wrong for me. But they didn’t go wrong. It worked, just like it did for my dad. I took some logging roads to get home, so no witnesses—just a tragic accident one of the deputies responded to, that I’d arrive at in my official capacity later. I could have taken this to the grave, Allison, but there’s no point now that I can never have you.”

  Micah’s confession hasn’t set me free. Instead, I feel the heavy weight of knowing Wyatt and Abe were murdered, that in their last moments, they might have been terrified at the headlights barreling down on them. Did they know it was Micah? Did Wyatt realize his own brother would be the reason his life was about to end?

  “You’ll tell all of this to your deputy,” Hunter demands, his arm around me a comfort, a promise he’ll help me through this as much as I’ll help him.

  “No he won’t.” The voice is calm, and Hunter and I both turn to see Mrs. Mitchell standing in the entryway to the living room.

  But it’s what she holds in her hand that sends another dark chill through me.

  A gun.

  “That’s my gun, Mom. Please, put it away,” Micah orders, finally standing up again.

  Hunter pushes me behind him, as if acting as my human shield. I know better not to struggle, that Hunter would never allow me to take a bullet for him.

  Mrs. Mitchell shakes her head, and I can see that her arms and her hands are trembling and making the gun jolt all over the place. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that now, Micah!” Her eyes flash like that of a scared animal, one that’s trying desperately to escape capture.

  Micah steps forward, and his mother takes a step back.

  “Put the gun down,” he says. “It’s okay. I won’t say anything. I’ll keep everything I just told them a secret.”

  “But they won’t!” She snaps her eyes to Hunter and me and waves the gun around. “They’ll bring more shame on our family, on your father’s memory. You must know how they look at me in town, with pity and scorn and whispers that I knew what your father was doing. Well, I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t!”

  “Nobody is blaming you, Mrs. Mitchell,” Hunter says, his voice calm and rational. “I don’t blame you. I’m sure you had nothing at all to do with anything. Your son is only trying to set things right.”

  She squints, dragging the cold steel of the gun over her face, then blasting her eyes back open. “I’ve already lost a husband and a son. I’ve lost my standing in this community, and I won’t lose more. I won’t let you go to jail for this,” she tells Micah. “It has to end here.”

  “I deserve to go to jail,” Micah says. “I killed Wyatt! Can you look at me and say you don’t care?”

  A tear falls down her cheek, and she smiles lovingly at her surviving son. “I loved Wyatt because he was my son, but he was your father’s pride and joy… not mine, and—”

  “I killed him!” Micah reminds her. “That doesn’t bother you? You don’t care that I’ve just confessed to it?”

  “It’s over and done! He isn’t coming back. And Wyatt was loved. He had love to spare. Don’t you deserve that love too? Allison won’t give it to you, but someone else will. I can’t let you go to jail. I can’t rest until I know you’re happy.”

  I’m afraid—actually terrified—for what’s about to happen, and yet I still have the thought that had Micah let go of his unhealthy obsession about he and I being together one day, someone else would have loved him. He simply didn’t allow himself to let that love in. And because of this, my brother and his brother are dead. In a moment, I may be joining them, the thought of seeing Abe again bringing me a brief sense of peace. But this is followed instantaneously by a resolve to live, to spend my life with Hunter and not allow my parents to lose both their children. I’m just working out the possibilities of what to do when Mrs. Mitchell points the gun straight at Hunter’s chest.

  “This is the only way,” she says, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  I’m trying to go around him, wanting to stop her, but in a flash, his body moves forward just as the image of Micah shoots past me. They’re both going toward Mrs. Mitchell, and she screams, and then there’s a shot.

  “Hunter!” I’m screaming his name, every nerve of my body on edge as I go to him, his and Micah’s backs to me, Mrs. Mitchell hidden by both of them, noise coming out of all of their mouths, shock and disbelief as the gun drops to the ground and blood finds its way to the floor. “Tell my you’re okay, Hunter!”


  My eyes are drawn to the blood, as if I can tell who it belongs to.

  But in the confusion, I can’t.

  All I know is that there’s so much of it.

  There is so much blood.

  Epilogue

  ALLISON

  ONE-AND-A-HALF YEARS LATER – COALTON, WASHINGTON

  “We’re going to be late,” I tell Meredith who is sitting up alongside the couch and playing with Rocco, the bear from her father’s own childhood.

  She smiles up at me, a smile that still conjures up so much emotion and pride because of how much she looks like him, like Hunter. What little hair she has is blonde like his, and I can tell that it will be just as thick one day. And then there are those beautiful blue eyes that, along with her smile, shine brightly at me.

  She’s such a good little girl, so well behaved, and so often I’m reminded of how she’d been a surprise, how she hadn’t been planned but had made herself known during another dark chapter in my life.

  I found out I was pregnant right after the funeral. I’d faithfully taken my birth control with Hunter because I hadn’t been ready to be a mother, and yet it ended up being thrust upon me whether I was prepared for it or not. It was scary and made me unsure about so many things, but of course I wouldn’t trade Meredith for anything, not for all of the world.

  After locking up the house, I buckle her into her baby carrier in the back of the car, and slide into the driver’s seat—so glad to have finally learned to drive—and I smile at her through the rear view mirror. She looks around, watching the world as it goes by through the window. It’s summer, and every tree is bursting with leaves, the sky as blue as her eyes, Coalton alive with tourists wanting to get away from the big city and spend a few days in the bed and breakfasts, antique shops and the beautiful outdoors.

  Our life is always eventful, but it’s been peaceful since Meredith was born. That peace was welcome after so much upheaval, enough, I decided, for several lifetimes. I think of the pride Abe would feel at being Meredith’s uncle, and I have to believe he can see her from above. She’s named after Hunter’s mother, and her middle name for his Aunt Angela, and I feel sure that these two amazing women who I’ve learned so much about are watching too, guiding her and loving her from a place I hope they’ve all found peace in.

  Sometimes, I think about Wyatt too, of the life he should and could have lived. I think of Micah who took that chance away and how his confession after the shooting led to his eventual conviction for two counts of premeditated, first degree murder, for which he’s serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole. The remorse he’s shown is the only thing that has allowed my mother, my father and myself to forgive him—but not forget the lives he took away from us. We all hope Micah will find a meaning to his life and perhaps do some good in this world, even from behind bars.

  When we pass The Mountain Gazette building downtown, it’s surreal to imagine that I work there now. Well, it’s not just that I work there but that I own the paper, along with Daniella. Mr. Turner, having decided to retire nearly a year ago, asked us if we wanted to buy the paper from him for the staggering sum of one-dollar.

  “Now, before either of you get excited,” he said, “you realize this paper isn’t the cash cow it once was? You’ll both be lucky if you break even.”

  Having moved back to Coalton, I’d still been pregnant then and had just started college, but it was an opportunity too wonderful to decline, especially knowing Mr. Turner trusted and believed in us enough to pass the torch.

  My time with Sheila, even though short, had given me experience in working under pressure and with difficult people, had kept me going even when I was exhausted. The paper and motherhood and everything else in my life is a huge undertaking, but I love every moment of it, and I’ve learned the delicate balance between work, education and my personal and family life.

  I wouldn’t give anything less to the people I love.

  The parking lot at the community center is full. And while that makes finding a spot a little harder, it’s a great sign as to how many people it serves. Meredith is already squirming in her seat when I turn the ignition off, as if she knows what awaits her inside.

  “Hold on just a minute,” I tell her, going around the car, opening her door and unlatching her. I can imagine that, in a few years, she’ll be ready to bolt from her seat and run like her dad. But for now, she’s my little baby girl, and I’ll enjoy every moment I still get to hold her.

  While I might not have been as prepared as I’d wanted to welcome Meredith into this world, having her early has worked out perfectly as far as cousins go. Patrick, Billy and Kristie’s son, is a little over six months older than Meredith, and Keith and Madison’s new baby, Ella, is six months younger. The three are the best of friends, babbling at each other whenever they’re brought together, Patrick surely the one who’ll take on the role of big brother because, even as cousins, I think they’ll grow up to be more like siblings. And knowing they’ll always have each other makes all of the losses that came before them hurt a little less.

  I carry her across the parking lot, the playfield off to the side full of older kids from every walk of life, from Coalton and Mountainview and smaller communities in between, learning to play soccer.

  “Let’s look, just for a moment, Meredith,” I say, veering toward the playfield and away from the front door of the center where the younger children will be.

  From what she’s seen of soccer, I can tell she likes to see the ball being kicked from one person to the next and across the grass of the field, and now she points off into the distance, trying to form words, her little brain taking in all of the activity in front of her.

  “Logan’s out there,” I say, pointing out toward the young man helping to coach this summer.

  The world is full of so much tragedy and sadness, and Logan beating his cancer had been a ray of light amongst all of that. His doctors said he was one of the lucky ones, one of the few who goes from a terminal illness to full recovery. His healing couldn’t be ascribed to just one thing, no way to say for certain what treatment or combination of treatments had been the answer to arresting his illness, but it had worked. Hunter had been an integral part of it, offering his friendship and financial support to Logan, financing what would one day become a foundation to continue to help other kids.

  “I wish Grace were out there with him,” I say, more to myself than to my little girl.

  I’d had high hopes for the young couple, especially as Logan’s health began to improve, but Grace’s father had been offered a job in England, one so good he couldn’t turn it down. I know Grace would have loved to stay, to be close to Logan, but of course she had to go with her family.

  It broke Logan’s heart, but he told me once that since cancer hadn’t killed him, he’d be strong enough not to give up on Grace, that maybe they’d be together again one day.

  He sees us, breaks from his coaching and waves.

  We both wave back at him, Meredith smiling and laughing, and I hope Logan will indeed have another chance with Grace, but for now, I’m glad to see him healthy and strong and here with us in Coalton.

  Meredith could probably watch Logan and the other players all day, but I tell her that it’s time to go in, and we wave once more at Logan before I carry her toward the entrance.

  Once we’re through the front doors, we’re immediately drawn into the sounds of people, of adults and children and teenagers, all of them finding a place here. There is friendship and learning and support where nobody has to hide, where you can be yourself, where you can truly belong to a community. It’s a place that’s here because of Hunter.

  We walk toward the library where we know the cousins will be, and sure enough, Madison is reading to about a dozen children, Patrick sitting up and attentive while Ella dozes in Kristie’s lap. Billy and Keith, both fairly new, proud fathers, stand quietly by, listening too. I have to softy hush Meredith as she spots familiar faces, but there�
�s no quieting her when Hunter turns toward us and stretches his arms out.

  She cries out something that might one day actually sound like, “Daddy,” but for now, we know exactly what it means, and I go to my husband, and he takes our daughter from my arms, pulling her close to him and telling her how much he loves her.

  Being strong and muscular, he holds her in one arm, freeing the other up for me, and I gladly lean into him as he wraps his arm around me, tilting his chin down to kiss me, a kiss that is still as electrifying as the very first time I’d felt his lips on mine.

  “I love you,” I whisper, taking a moment to look into his eyes and to be grateful that I have him, that I didn’t lose him when he and I had both already lost so much. There had been terrifying moments where I hadn’t been sure, a year-and-a-half ago now when Mrs. Mitchell aimed a gun at us, when Hunter and Micah rushed her and a shot rang out.

  Nobody will ever know what Micah and Wyatt’s mother was thinking in those final moments, only that she decided to turn the gun on herself before Hunter or Micah could pull it away or keep her from firing it at anyone else. We went to her funeral, her final resting place being far away from that of the man she’d been married to, a man who had stolen so much away from the people in these communities we have chosen to call home again.

  “I love you too,” he whispers back, “and I’m glad you made it. I missed my girls.”

  “I’m so sorry, but I decided to finish up my fact checking on the story about Sheila for Wednesday’s issue. I figured it was better for me to do that at home than drag the laptop here.” Usually, Hunter and I come to the community center together, but he’d wanted to take Logan out for breakfast, and I’d had some work to do. “And I know I’m not supposed to work on weekends,” I add, wanting him to know I hadn’t forgotten our agreement, “but it was only because it’s Sheila, and Meredith was having such a fun time with Rocco, and it was time for her to be fed anyway, and—”