Echoes (15 page)

She was still staring with disbelief as he threw the door open and rushed at her in a dripping blur of dark clothes and red rage, clamping a wet hand over her mouth before her scream became sound. He pushed her back, unmindful of the table in the entry and the wall behind it. She heard the door slam then her treasured Precious Moments figurines shatter against the tiled floor and the crack of her antique mahogany table as it splintered and still he plowed her backwards until she hit the wall with a
whump
that rattled the light fixtures and knocked the air out of her lungs. For one crazy split second she thanked God that there were no guests to hear her that night before her head slammed into the unyielding plaster and black patterns exploded behind her eyes.

He was taller than she, but nowhere near her mass. Still his wrath kept her trapped against the wall. He pressed his hand tighter over her mouth and nose, so tight she couldn't breathe. In contrast, he took deep ragged breaths. He leaned in close letting her see the full scale of his uncontrolled fury.

"I don't like games, do I, Lydia?"

She tried to shake her head but couldn't move. He was smothering her and she was letting him.

"When I say open the door, you better—open—the—door."

He accented each word with a shake that snapped her head back against the wall. Eyes clenched tight, she tried to hold onto consciousness, but weakness spread through her veins in place of oxygen and stole even her phony resolve. Her knees buckled and she began to slide down the wall. Still he kept her mouth and nose covered. She opened her eyes and looked deeply into his until her vision blurred and darkness won.

When she came-to, she was sprawled on the floor. Her mouth was dry, but no longer covered with his hand. She didn't know how long she'd been unconscious, but her lungs burned as she gulped in breaths of air. Her feet stung from the glass she'd stepped on. Her head hurt. The silky fabric around her legs was wet and the smell of urine hung strong in the air. All that tea...

Humiliation crowded in between the fear and pain. From the corner of her eye she saw him move away from the wall and come at her again.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered before he kicked her hard in the gut. She screamed and curled up into a ball, trying to protect herself from the anger that was far from spent. He circled, kicking her again and again in the legs and arms and fleshy expanses in between. "You didn't know I had a key, did you?" he asked in a voice so soft she barely heard. "Did you really think you could lock me out?"

He reached down and grabbed two handfuls of her aqua gown, uncaring that handfuls of flesh were in his punishing grip as well. He hauled her to her feet and slammed her back against the wall.

"I'm sorry," she said again, sobbing now. "I'm sorry."

He slapped her face with the back of his hand so hard that it felt like her cheek had exploded and then shoved her away. As much as anything, the slap stunned her. He was always careful to avoid the face, where evidence of his abuse could not be concealed. She fell to her knees in the broken pieces of her figurines, crying and begging for him to stop, to forgive her. He kicked her hard in the rump and knocked her flat, belly down in the broken glass.

"Clean up this mess, you pig," he said, striding angrily into the kitchen.

She lumbered to her feet, weeping silently as she picked up the fragments of her collection. She was covered in blood from her hands, feet and knees, but she swept up the glass like a robot who felt no pain. Outside the storm raged on.

Knowing there was no way to avoid it, she limped into the kitchen to wait for whatever came next. Keeping her eyes downcast, she paused in front of him, soaked in her own urine and bleeding from a hundred different places. He was standing at the island, a drink in his hand and a bottle of Crown Royal on the counter beside him. When he drank, it was always ugly.

He watched her with dispassion as she went to the sink and ran water over her bloody hands. She was shaking too hard to remove the pieces of glass that stuck out of the fleshy pads of her fingers and palm and his stillness behind her was as frightening as his fury had been. Muttering a curse, he moved suddenly to the sink and reached for her. She yelped like a beaten dog and scooted away, but his touch was gentle now and his voice soft as a lover's.

"It's okay. Let me help."

Carefully he bent to extract the slivers and let them rinse down the drain. When he was satisfied that he'd gotten all of it, he went to the cupboard where she kept her first aid kit. The candle cast shifting shadows that played devil with his features.

"Wait here," he told her, getting a clean towel and some ice for her face. She couldn't stop crying, but she did as he said. He took a candle and disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he brought her white sweats and a pair of elephant sized underwear. The sight of the enormous undergarments in his hand filled her with mortification. Powerless, she let him pull off her wet clothes, like she was a baby. Making her stand naked except for her industrial strength bra, every roll and bulge of her milky flesh exposed, he bandaged her hands, told her to sit and then washed the glass off her feet and knees. Only after he'd wrapped both up with clean gauze and tape did he allow her to dress.

When she'd finished, he swung a chair around and sat in front of her. "What were you thinking,
Lydia?"

She gulped deep draughts of air, fighting the tears that clogged her throat. "I-I saw you at her house."

"You were spying on me?"

Cringing, she nodded. He took a pensive drink from his glass, closed his eyes and smiled. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

Wary, she sniffed and brushed at the tears on her face. "I got scared and I thought—I thought—" She couldn't finish. "I got scared."

"I know," he murmured. He put his arms around her and rocked her as she sobbed all over his shirt. The side of her face where he'd hit her felt like it was on fire and her hands and feet throbbed. Gently he cupped her cheeks and kissed her.

"Are you okay?"

There was forgiveness in his tone and the tender look he gave her. Forgiveness and blessed mercy. Gratefully she nodded. Her smile felt weak as her will, but he answered it with a grin of his own.

She sniffed and took in a shaky breath. "She's beautiful. Like her sister."

"Yes, she is."

His acknowledgment brought more tears. Futilely, she blinked them back. "Do you want—do you want to be with her?"

"You see where I am now? That's where I want to be. I want you, baby. You belong to me."

Yes, she did. Had she ever doubted that, she would no more.

He looked deeply into her eyes. "Trust me, honey. Everything's going to be okay. We'll get through all this and then everything will be just like I said. You're going to be rich and famous, a household name. Didn't I promise you that?"

She nodded. "But what about—"

"Don't worry about it. I told you I'd take care of everything, and I will. Right? I will."

She nodded again, but inside doubt mingled with her fear and shame.

"Hey? You trust me, don't you?"

She swallowed thickly. "Yes. I trust you."

Chapter Sixteen

After Grant left, a part of Tess wished she had chased after him and begged him to come back, keep them company, make her feel safe. But security was arbitrary. It could be snatched away at any moment. In New York City. In Mountain Bend. Anywhere. It was best not to rely on anyone.

Knowing every worry showed on her face, she rubbed her hands against her arms and faced Caitlin who looked tiny and lost. Tess felt as if she were looking into a reflection of her own past as she knelt down beside her. She wished she could tell Caitlin that everything would be okay. This morning she'd managed to pull it off, but tonight she wouldn't fool anyone.

Her sister was missing. In the worst scenario she could be dead, in the best she'd bailed on her kid and possibly a dying man. Since arriving, Tess had been having hallucinations, nearly been run over, watched by a mysterious horseback rider who didn't leave tracks, and beat up by who knew what and who knew when. Outside, the storm sounded like a herald for the end of the world. Oh yes, and the power was out.

On the Richter scale, as far from okay as she could get.

"I know you're worried about your mom," Tess said gently. "I'm worried about her too. All we can do is pray that she's safe."

"I don't know how to pray."

Tess bit her lip, knowing that Tori had left God behind with the Colonel. Tess herself had abandoned the rituals of religion at the first opportunity. But it didn't seem right that this little lost child before her did not even know how to pray.

Feeling as if the eyes of the Jesus painting were burning into her back, she said, "I know how. I'm a bit rusty at it, but I can show you."

Caitlin's face gleamed like bleached bone in the firelight. It seemed that Tess could see right through the translucent covering to the fear and stress beneath. She clutched Purcy tight against her chest, dampening his fur with her moist palms.

"Aunt Tess... Do bad guys know we don't have any lights?" she whispered, as if hushing the words would take away any power they might have to be real.

"Bad guys? What bad guys, Caitlin?"

"The bad guys that scare my dreams. Do they know that it's dark here?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Tess said, taking her niece's shoulders in her hands. "I'm sure they don't. And even if they do, I'll be right here to scare
them
away."

"Even the ones with the horses?" she whispered, softer still.

The question instantly brought the image of the man on horseback to Tess's mind and a feeling of deathly stillness to the air. The hair on her arms stood on end and her mouth went dry. She couldn't help the glance over her shoulder anymore than she could the shudder that went through her.

"What do you mean? You dream of men on horses?" she asked.

"Mommy says I do. I don't remember them usually. I just wake up scared and she says I cry about the horses."

Mooolllly.

Tess straightened suddenly, dragging her clammy palms down the sides of her sweats. "Dreams can't hurt you, honey. No matter how bad or scary they are, they have to go away as soon as you wake up."

"Sometimes they follow me."

The room felt tight, closed in. Tess wanted to open the door and let the coldness revive her. She wanted to run.

"How do they follow you?"

"I don't know. My mommy's scared of them, too. She said the horse ones were after us."

"After you? Caitlin, nobody's after you. Dreams are just your imagination working overtime."

Caitlin stared at her, unblinking. Unconvinced.

"Don't worry," Tess said, stronger now. "I promise I won't let the bad guys get you."

"I'm glad Mr. Weston came," Caitlin said, moving closer to the light of the fire. The flashlight remained on the mantel, the light switched off to conserve the batteries. Caitlin stared at it with a look of longing.

"You know your Mommy works for him."

"Mommy works for
old
Mr. Weston. He got killed, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Mommy was afraid for him."

"Afraid... You mean she thought something might happen to him? Caitlin, why didn't you mention that before?"

"Because I knew you'd ask me why she said it or what she meant." Caitlin lifted her shoulders and shook her head. "I never know what she means. She just says stuff like that. I don't know why."

Anyone else might not have understood what Caitlin meant. But Tess knew. She knew exactly.

"Honey, you remember at the restaurant tonight, when you said you've been there before?"

Caitlin nodded, watching Tess with wary eyes.

"Who do you go there with? Which Mr. Weston?"

"All of them."

"All of them? You mean, together?"

Caitlin almost smiled. "Usually just alone with Mommy. Once we all went, but... They don't really like each other."

Tess struggled for a neutral expression as she absorbed this.
All of them…
Usually alone, not together, because they didn't really like one another. Couldn't Tori have foreseen trouble in that situation? And if she was dining with all three Weston men, what else was she doing with them? A sickening uneasiness settled with that speculation.

All of them.

And yet the two surviving Weston men had claimed no more than passing knowledge of Tori. Neither knew her well. She presumed that went for the bright blue plus sign on the pregnancy test upstairs as well. They wouldn't know anything about that either.

"Caitlin? Can I ask you another question?"

The girl nodded, but the lines of stress deepened on her face. Tess could see the anxiety bunching in her shoulders, in the tight grip she had on the stuffed animal. "Does your Mommy have a boyfriend?"

"You mean a real one?"

The question should have made them both laugh. What other kind could there be, but the real kind? But neither cracked a smile. "Yes, a real one."