Hold My Heart (20 page)

Doc sighs. “Everyone knows him, Ileana. He’s the sheriff's son, which means he gets away with a lot in this town.” He continues, “His father kept him from being drafted by claiming he was serving as a deputy, which is nothing but a bunch of baloney.”

I’m speechless. This pig is running around abusing people and everyone knows? What the hell?

“Anyhow, thought I would call and thank you. She’s so grateful she wanted to know your name. I told her your real name. I hope you don’t mind. She says that if she ever has a daughter, she’s naming her Ileana, after you.”

Why would she want to name her after…
shit
.

Dread creeps up my spine, to the back of my neck. This is bad.

“What’s her last name, Doc?” I ask because I need to hear it. I need to make sure. Even though I know what the answer will be, I need to hear Doc say it.

“Who, Sue? It’s Harper. Why?”

I can’t speak. I drop the phone, walk to the kitchen table, and drop myself down in a chair. I can’t breathe. I hear Doc’s voice in the distance, but I can’t move.

My mind is reeling. The woman in the alley is my great grandmother? How many people can say they have been thoroughly mind-fucked? Not many. Not this way. I have to come to terms with the fact that my actions that afternoon behind the factory may have potentially erased my entire existence. Had I not stopped the attack, my future great grandmother would be pregnant with my grandmother, and the beginning of the Harper curse would be born. Instead, the woman that’s supposed to be my great grandmother is now grateful for my assistance.

Grateful enough, that she will name a daughter after me.

Ileana Harper.

Chapter 19

“Are you all right, what happened?” Carol calls to me as she enters the kitchen after apparently hearing the phone drop.

I can’t answer. My head is spinning. Holy shit.

Doc’s son is engaged to my great grandmother. This is like a bad episode of
Dr. Who
. I’m losing my ever-loving mind.

“Albert? What’s the matter? Lily looks like she’s seen a ghost, what happened?” Carol asks after she grabs the phone.

I’m still in a haze. I can’t make out the conversation or anything going on around me. First, I travel through time, and now,
what
?

“That’s a good idea, Albert. I’ll have Will drive her down to your place later,” Carol says into the phone. “All right, thank you for everything.”

It isn’t every day that someone manages to alter their entire destiny with one simple, seemingly meaningless act. I can’t even wrap my head around it. I feel as if I’m underwater, the voices around me muffled and distant.

“Will! William, get in here!” Carol calls out the door.

“What happened?” Will rushes into the kitchen, heading straight for me, and kneels in front of my chair.

This must be a dream. A very bad dream. A nightmare where I get to witness the birth of my family curse firsthand. If this isn’t hell, I don’t know what is.

In one swift motion, Will scoops me from the chair into his arms. He lifts me effortlessly as Carol motions upstairs. I’m still in a daze when Will softly places me on MJ’s bed. Commotion surrounds me as Mary and MJ enter the bedroom. There’s talking, raised voices, and then silence. They all leave, except Will. The bed dips as he sits by my side.

“Lily, what happened?” His voice penetrates the haze, and I slowly raise my eyes to his. Things are starting to sink in: my conversation with Doc, that afternoon behind the factory. As I look at Will, the fog lifts, and my thoughts clear. There is only one question on my mind which I need the answer to right now.

“Did you know the man behind the factory?” I ask in a low voice, my eyes piercing his.

Will’s face gives him away. He knew who that guy was and didn’t say a word. He takes a deep breath and runs his hand across his forehead, trying to muster the courage to explain, but I don’t want to hear it. I’m beyond livid.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter. “You are a piece of work. You knew exactly who he was, and didn’t do anything about it?” I can’t believe this. I’m seething with fury.

My mind continues to process information. Maybe that wasn't the rape. Maybe he’ll try again, to get back at her for what I did to him. All of a sudden, I know what I have to do—even if it wipes me out of existence. I have to stop it from happening. Maybe this is my chance to set things right, to stop the curse.

Will is shocked at my use of bad language, but he’s apologetic, telling me the same things Doc told me. I don’t want to hear it. I slowly sit up on the bed, raising a hand to silence him.

“Spare me. Do you know where he is now?” My tone is deadly; my body is tense, ready to engage.

“You’re not going to see him,” he orders, voice stern.

I spring up from the bed and glare at him in challenge. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” I say, trying to control my temper. “Where. Is. He.” I hiss the words between clenched teeth, almost in a growl.

He comes around the bed and stands right in front of me, his large body blocking my path. “You’re not—”

“He’s at the diner out on Main, like he always is.” Mary’s voice startles both of us.

She’s standing in the bedroom doorway. I hone in on Mary, completely ignoring Will.

“Take me to him,” I ask, and she nods.

“I’ll get Mom’s car keys.”

“Mary, stay out of it.” She is long gone as his words drift away, his eyes coming back to me.

Heading out of the bedroom, I walk around Will, but not before he grabs my arm.

“Ileana, don’t—”

I yank my arm from his grasp. I’m thoroughly disgusted. I slowly look up to his face and seethe, “You and your fucking boys’ club. Let me do my job and stay the fuck out of my way.”

He flinches as if I slapped him, frozen in place. His strong jaw softens as he lowers his bright blue eyes. I’m not sure why, but he doesn’t try to stop me again as I leave with Mary.

قلب

“It was you back at the factory, wasn’t it?” Mary asks me as we drive into town.

Consumed by murderous thoughts, I leave my weapon behind at the Shaw farm. Will was kind enough to provide me with a box for my belongings after returning them that day at Doc’s office. It’s stashed away, safely tucked under MJ’s bed. Will kept my clothes as some sort of insurance, I think since he won’t relinquish them.

I finally turn and look at Mary, puzzled by what she’s asking.

“Behind the factory, it was you who beat up Robert. There was never a ‘Good Samaritan,’ was there?” she finishes, pinning me momentarily with her hazel eyes. Her light brown hair is away from her delicate face.

So, he has a name. Good. I can use that. I don’t answer, and focus my anger straight ahead.

“Thank you for that,” Mary quietly mutters. “I don’t know who you are, Lily, but I can tell you’re not like any woman I’ve met.” She shakes her head, pensive. “The way you walk and talk, it’s,” she trails off, “different.”

I don’t say a word. Mary’s gratitude tells me this is something that has been going on for quite some time. I don’t want to think about how many women are beaten, or have to put up with abusive behavior while others just look away. What’s even more sickening is that other men know and do nothing about it.

“I grew up with him you know,” Mary’s tone is laced with pity. “Robert. He’d come to school with black eyes, bumps, scratches, everyone knew his dad was beating on him.”

“That’s no excuse, Mary. We choose our own path.” Sympathy threatens to make an appearance, but this isn’t the time. Mary must smell the fury emanating from me because she drives silently the rest of the way.

I am so disappointed in Doc, but especially Will. I actually believed he was the kind of man that wouldn't put up with this. Would he let this
Robert
walk away if it had been Mary behind the factory instead of Sue Harper?

God, I miss Tommy. My entire being aches for him.

Tommy would have been the first one going for the car keys, driving right along with me, getting us psyched up to go kick this guy’s ass. Tommy, who, if I go through with this, I may never see again. The thought of not being able to see him ever again threatens my resolve and whatever little strength I have left to carry this weight on my own. Not to see his panty-dropping smile beaming at me, his bright green eyes sparkling with life and energy. The way his imposing presence makes me feel safe and alive, like I can accomplish anything, take on the world. The sense of impending loss envelops me, but as much as I want to get back to Tommy, I have to do this.

There is no way I can carry on fully knowing that a crime is being committed. A rape will be taking place while I sit back and do nothing, letting it happen. A rape that I know will cause my great-grandmother to drown in so much despair she takes her own life. Leaving my grandmother just a child, alone, starting a vicious cycle of abandonment and misery that will span generations. Why, so I can keep on living? No way. I just can’t. It’s not who I am. The impact of what I’m about to do hits me. What if this is the real reason I’m here? Not to stop a serial killer, but to stop the women in my family from decades of suffering?

We finally reach our destination and Mary parks her mother’s car. I’m still wearing the clothes I put on this morning: overalls and short sleeve blouse. My hair wrapped up in a headscarf, just like Mary wears when she’s working around the farm.

“He’s in there.” She points to a diner I didn’t even notice the last time I was in town.

I take stock of the location, the exits, and foot traffic. After a minute, I’m ready.

“Stay in the car,” I shoot Mary’s way as I get out and head inside.

The diner is small, narrow, galley style. There’s a long counter to my right, round metal swivel stools with red cushions lining it, perfectly matching the red and white tiles adorning the back wall. Two men are chatting up the man behind the counter, while I scan the booths to the left. There are about six sets, with red backs and white Formica tabletops. It doesn’t take me long to spot him. He’s sitting at the last booth all the way at the end with three other guys, his back to the front door. They're loud, acting like they own the place.

Moments like these are when I’m glad I’m the law. I smoothly walk toward the men. Before any of them register my presence, I lean in Robert’s ear and whisper, “Hello,
sweetheart
.”

As soon as he turns and sees me his body tenses and his smile disappears. His companions stop laughing and turn their attention to me. They seem amused by the strange girl flirting with their friend, so they smile at me with nothing but evil intentions.

I smile back, just as maliciously. “Do you boys mind giving Robert and me some privacy?” I say flirtatiously, shooting a wink at the guys. I see Robert flinch from the corner of my eye when I use his name. Good.

“Sure, doll.” One of the men says and winks back at me as they all slowly get up to leave, each grabbing their fedora hats from the hooks next to the booth. As they walk by, each gives me the once over.

I thank them with my best impression of coy and wave them goodbye. I sit on the seat across from Robert vacated by his friends. The second his friends exit the diner, my smile vanishes and my murderous glare returns, this time landing on the intended target. His eyes are downcast, focused on his coffee cup. He has not moved a muscle since he saw my face.

“Robert,” I say his name as if I’m speaking to a five-year-old.

He looks much younger than he did that day behind the factory. I notice his pinkie finger is taped up which means I broke it, and his throat is still showing bruising from my punch. I wonder if his balls are still sore.

“Look at me,” I order him.

His gaze rises up from the table carefully, as if he’s afraid that when he looks, he’ll realize I’m actually here. His blanched face, completely devoid of color, makes him look like a corpse. Slowly, his eyes land on my face, and I give him my best evil smirk.

“
Boo
,” I say softly as I lean forward on the table, staring straight into his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” His voice oozes disdain as he goes for defiance, but his eyes betray him. He’s wary of me. Tension is evident in his shoulders and all the way down his arms. His muscles are rigid, ready to spring.

I sit back, leisurely. “Did you forget what I said to you back at the factory? I see all. Do you remember what else I said?”

He shrugs. “I haven’t done anything,” he quickly amends with a smirk and a lot of false bravado.

I lean forward again, bringing my hands together as I would during an interview with a suspect.

“
Yet
. You haven’t done anything
yet
.” I lean back casually, thinking about what I’m about to say. “Here’s the thing, Robert, I’m no ordinary
gal
,” I say, making quotation marks around the word. “I’m more like an ‘angel of justice’ so to speak.” My voice lowers, as I threaten, “I’ve been watching you. You’re being a
very
bad boy,” I whisper, pinning him with my glare. “Do I need to put you in the hospital, Robert?” My tone is menacing and deep. “What would your
daddy
say if he found out a little girl put you in the hospital? Because I can, Robert, and I will.”

As soon as I mention his father something shifts, and I can feel it in the air. It’s like an invisible shift, a cloud around him, something I can’t put my finger on. His demeanor changes. Jesus, he’s terrified of his dad. The threat of his father seems more powerful than my threats of physical harm. It’s like being on a large ship and feeling that change in direction under your feet. And it only makes me more determined.

I lean further across the table, making sure I continue to use his name. I want him to know he won’t get away from me.

“What do you want?” he finally says in a curt tone, his eyes darting around the diner as he fidgets in his seat.

“Look at me, Robert.” I take a deep breath, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. “I want you to stay away from Sue Harper. I want you to start treating people,
women,
with respect.”

He stares at me, and I take the moment to study him. There’s sadness to his darkness. Makes me wonder how much his father is responsible for his behavior. He’s taken aback by my words but continues to play the tough guy. Reaching across the booth, he grabs my hand and squeezes my wrist.

“And if I don’t?”

I scan the diner, finding the waitress glancing nervously at our booth, but other than that, no one is watching. I have to get through to him, put a stop to his abusive behavior.

I stare down at his hand squeezing my wrist, then back at him.

“Okay, this is how it’s going to go,” I explain calmly. “You’re going to let go of my hand. If you don’t, I’m going to break your nose, leave this diner, and you’re going to let me.”