A Rush of Wings (34 page)

There—off to the right—the gray sedan sunken sideways into the ravine beside the road. He jammed the brakes and slid to a stop, lurched out of the truck and ran. The car was empty.

But there were tracks heading up the mountainside. He pulled the rifle out of the cab and started up. Some two hundred yards above the road, he heard noise below and looked back. The sheriff and a female deputy had found the vehicle. One spoke into their radio, then they
were climbing the slope behind him. Michael Fallon had better hope they found him first.

———

Pain throbbed in her head and ribs. Noelle's leg burned and when she tried to breathe something wheezed in her lungs. Her stomach churned. She imagined she heard voices, but only dully. Her mind was shutting down and she welcomed the stupor. She was in a room no larger than a closet. Maybe it was a closet, though it was empty of everything but her. If she didn't move, didn't make a sound, the bad man wouldn't come back.
“Are you God?” “Yeah, kid. I'm God.”

She slid down the hard surface behind her and curled into a ball. If she could just hide where God wouldn't find her. She tried to make herself smaller, to fit into the very corner. She pressed her eyes shut, hoping never, never to see God again.

———

Bounding up the slope, Rick saw her. His chest seized. Noelle lay curled up on the ground as Michael scrambled over the boulders above, sprinting up and away. Rage burning, he raised the rifle and sighted Michael. Something tackled him from the side, and he landed hard. Rick fought back, but the deputy restrained him. Michael was getting away. Rick hollered, “Go! I won't follow.”

The man yanked the rifle from his hands, then leapt up and ran. Rick crept to Noelle, took her into his arms, and pressed her face to his chest. “Are you okay?”

She didn't respond, just clenched the collar of her coat and drew her knees up to her chest.

“Noelle?” Did she even hear him? It must be shock or . . .

Two state troopers made their way up the mountain. One stopped beside them. Rick looked up, and the man motioned. They had to get Noelle out. This wasn't over yet. Gently, Rick raised her to her feet. She could hardly support herself, and he guessed her leg was damaged again. He would have carried her, but the terrain was too steep and slick, so he bore as much of her weight beside him as he could.

God, help me
. His fury had chilled to cold rage, worse than anything he'd known before. If he met Michael Fallon now, he would crush him with his own hands. The potency of the thought terrified him.

———

“Where do I dump her?” God speaking, then another. “Leave her at the lions.”
Her heart raced. Lions would eat her! Something was wrong with her leg, but they kept making her walk. She didn't want to be alone with God. God did bad things. God was bad.

“We can call for an ambulance.”

“I'll take her in my truck.”

She knew that second voice but didn't look. Someone urged her into the cab. She smelled hay. Did they feed the lions hay? Shards of pain shot along the side of her knee, but she held herself still, silent until she climbed out of the truck and limped toward the hospital. Recognition flickered. She'd been there before.

Because of her police escort, her companion took her through the emergency room directly into a curtained cubicle. He helped her onto the paper-covered bed. His arms were strong, his hands calloused and long-fingered.

“Sir, would you wait outside?”

The man beside her hesitated. Noelle looked up. Rick.

“Sir?”

He was waiting for her to speak, but what was she supposed to say?

“I'll be right outside.” He squeezed her hand and left.

The woman who spoke was huge, not obese, but of Amazon proportions. “I'm Sharon.” She pulled the curtain shut. “I know you've been through a lot, but we have procedures we need to follow. This is all to help you out, to get the man who abducted you. Do you understand?”

Noelle nodded mutely.

“I need you to remove your clothes so I can record injuries. Here's a smock. I'll be right back.”

Trembling, Noelle took her clothing off, then slipped into the thin cotton smock. She slid down to the floor between the wall and a heavy drawer unit on wheels, then dropped her face to her knees. She jolted when the curtain opened, but it was the same large woman, Sharon, who stopped, then tugged the curtain closed behind her.

“All right, honey, stand up now.”

Noelle didn't move. The woman reached down and helped her up. She photographed the bruises on her face, the cut at the side of
her mouth, the swelling on her temple. Then she photographed the bruising on her ribs and abdomen.

The lions were stone. They wouldn't eat her. But they were so big! She huddled into the hollow of one animal's side.
“Don't tell,” God said. “If you tattle these lions turn real and tear you to pieces.”

Noelle grabbed her stomach and retched. Sharon scrambled for a plastic, kidney-shaped dish. The hand on her shoulder was heavy and warm, and the palm had a soft, spongy feel. The spasms stopped. As the woman leaned over, the gold cross at her neck dangled. Noelle fixed her eyes on it, remembering the cross in Rick's church.

Sharon handed her a paper towel for her mouth. “Just bear with me one more minute.” She cleaned the cut beside her mouth, then stepped back. “Are there other injuries I need to know about, honey?”

Noelle knew what she was asking. She shook her head. Not this time.

“Honey?”
The woman seemed small, calling to her from the steps between the lions.
“What are you doing there, honey? Are you lost?”
Don't tell—don't tell—don't tell.

Sharon gave her a packet of pills and a glass of water. “Just a little painkiller for the cuts and bruises. And you can get dressed.”

She swallowed them, amazed they didn't come right back up.

“They'll finish the report outside.” Sharon paused, touched Noelle's shoulder with her warm hand. “I'll pray for you.” It was almost a whisper.

Noelle looked into her eyes. “Don't.” She didn't want anyone talking to God about her.

She waited for the woman to leave, then got dressed. With all the injuries the photographs documented, she should hurt, feel something. She opened the door, and a different woman took her to a tiny room. A desk wrapped the walls, with computer equipment and stacking files. A man stood when she entered. “Ms. St. Claire, I'm Detective Spaulding. I need to get a statement from you.”

Someone came in behind her, and Noelle turned. It was Rick. She turned back to the detective. “All right.”

He motioned her to a molded plastic chair. “What you say will be recorded. Please be as specific as you can. I know it may be difficult, but the more you tell us now, the better case we have against your assailant. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

He pushed the button on a handheld tape recorder. “Please begin by stating your name.”

“Noelle St. Claire.”

“Please describe the events of this day, January 4, 2002, from the beginning.”

Noelle began hoarsely, then cleared her throat. “I went into the stable . . .”

“At your home?”

“Yes . . . well, no . . . at Rick's ranch.” She glanced at Rick, who stood against the wall just inside the door.

“Rick?” Detective Spaulding prompted.

“Rick Spencer. I've been living there . . . boarding there since last July.”

He nodded. “Please continue.”

“I went into the stable and unsaddled Destiny, the horse I had been riding, and when I came out . . .” Her voice shook. “He was there.”

“Who was there, Ms. St. Claire?”

“God.” No, that wasn't right. She saw the glance Rick and the detective shared.

Detective Spaulding straightened. “I'm sorry, could you repeat that?”

Bile rose in her throat. “It was Michael. Michael Fallon.”

“Are you acquainted with Michael Fallon?”

She nodded.

“Please answer aloud.” Detective Spaulding held the recorder a little closer.

“Yes.”

“Did you speak with him?”

Noelle pictured the glaring sunlight, Michael standing there like a nightmare. “I asked him if my father had told him where I was.”

“Where you were?”

“I ran from him the last time.”

The detective leaned forward. “The last time? Has he assaulted you before?”

Noelle closed her eyes, starting to shake. “Yes.”

“Did you press charges?”

“God is everywhere, kid. And he knows everything. If you tell, I'll find you again. You know I will.”

“No. I ran away.”

He considered her with a flat, opaque gaze, then said, “Please describe what happened after you saw him at the stable.”

She swallowed. Her voice sounded distant, a stranger's voice. It didn't have to be hers. “He grabbed me and hit me and forced me into the car. He had a gun.”

The detective made a note on his paper. “And then?”

“He drove into the park. We hit a deer and crashed, then he made me get out and climb the mountain.”

“He had the gun with him?”

She nodded, then remembered the tape. “Yes.”

Rick put a hand on her shoulder. She scarcely felt it. Sharon came in and handed Detective Spaulding a note. He glanced, then set it down and returned his attention.

“What was your previous relationship with Michael Fallon?”

“We were engaged to be married.”

Detective Spaulding leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on his mouth. “Was that before the previous assault?”

“Yes. No. I left when he grew violent.”

“Did he sexually assault you?”

“Can you show me where he touched you? Here's a picture. Just touch the places on the picture.”

Michael's face in the woods.
“What are you talking about? I never raped you.”

She glanced at Rick, then stared at the tape recorder. “I don't know.”

Detective Spaulding waited. “Take a minute to think about it.”

“I'm confused.”

He pressed the button on the recorder. “It's very important that you describe as accurately as possible everything that happened, this time and the last.” He turned the machine back on.

Rick said, “Tell him what you told me, Noelle. Tell him about the hawk.”

He probably hoped to trigger her memory, but she shook her head. “It doesn't make sense. There are pieces I can't see and things I don't remember.” And the lines between real and unreal had blurred unrecognizably.

“How long ago was the first assault?”

She pictured the closet walls towering over her. She felt so small. But . . . had Michael locked her in a closet? The picture of the hawk.
That was real, but she didn't know what had happened while she stared at the hawk. The other images didn't fit.

“July. It was the beginning of July, just before I came to the ranch.”

“Do you recall the date?”

She shook her head. “I don't know how many days I traveled.” It was sounding crazy. She could tell by the cop's face, he was frustrated. “I left a message on Daddy's voicemail.”

“Okay. We'll check that out. Is there anything else you can tell us?”

She shook her head.

Detective Spaulding turned off the machine. “Thank you very much, Ms. St. Claire. I promise you, we'll see this through.”

She stood up. “May I go now?”

“Yes.”

She took a step and winced. Funny she would feel her leg, with everything else so numb. Rick took her arm, led her out. Now she recognized the truck; Rick's, of course. She felt drained of words, and Rick didn't speak. Maybe he sensed there was nothing left to say. She was so numb it didn't matter. Her head felt like fuzz. Maybe the pills they'd given her for pain.

The ranch was dark when they got back. Rick flicked on a light. “Do you want something? Tea?”

She shook her head. “I'm just tired.”

With his hand on her elbow, he walked her up the stairs and into her room.

She sat down on the bed. “Have they found him?”

He sat down beside her. “Not that I've heard. But there are two officers outside. There's no way he can get to you again.” Rick curled his arm around her shoulders, drew her to his side. He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Noelle.” His breath warmed her hair. “Is there anything I can do?”

He must feel helpless. Rick who always had the answer. Rick the doer. “No.” She pulled away and lay down, curled on her side.

He stood up to give her legs room. “I'll let you rest, then. I'll be close. Call me if you need anything.”

She had screamed his name, and he hadn't heard, hadn't come. But the rest of it, the rest was becoming a blur. Her eyelids scratched like sandpaper, but she couldn't sleep. Images crowded in, images she could not reference.
“I'm just not sure, Mr. St. Claire. Sometimes with severe
trauma the victim forgets. It gets locked away. A protection mechanism. Then again . . .”
And here the woman looked at her.
“She may have nothing to tell us. We assume abuse with child abductions. But as you've pointed out, this was not a typical case with your extenuating circumstances. There was a different methodology and purpose.”

Noelle stared at the log wall. Her eyes changed focus and made a double image, superimposed.
“Why won't she talk? How long will it be before she speaks?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. St. Claire. I just don't know.”

“Well, what do you know!”
And her mama's hand on Daddy's arm.
“I want to take her home now. I want to take my baby home.”