*mild profanity, adult themes
Chapter 3
It had been so tempting to finish what he started. There she was—all alone, obviously vulnerable, sitting under a tree, not even paying her usual attention. It would have been so fast, so easy…but that was the problem. He didn’t want to make things easy. His face twisted with hate. No, he didn’t want to make things easy at all.
He’d had a lot of time to think in the past three years. A lot of time—dark, empty hours listening to the disgusting sounds of his cell mate’s night sounds, feeling the deterioration of his body as the hours of his life wasted away. Endless hours spent on menial tasks far beneath his superior intelligence. Hours of eating disgusting food, listening to the lowlifes around him brag about what they were going to do when they got out. Well, he sure knew what he was going to do when he got out to his ruined life. He was going to find her and he was going to make her sorry. Very sorry.
Even with all the buildings and activity surrounding Ten Acres Academy, he didn’t think he’d have much trouble staying hidden. After all, he’d become an expert at hiding in plain sight, of blending in. Kyle Dalton faded back into preserve, the beautiful scenery in direct contrast to the ugliness in his heart. All he had to do was be patient, bide his time, watch and learn. Then she’d suffer. Horribly.
One week after the first message was left, Trixie was about to go out of her mind.
"If Kyle’s goal is to drive me insane, he’s doing a great job," Trixie said sourly to Honey one afternoon as they sat at their desks, entering some case notes into their computers.
Honey sighed. "He certainly is persistent, isn’t he?" She was worried sick about her best friend, but doing her best to hide it, not wanting to add to an already tense situation. She would never forget the look on Brian’s face when she told him what was going on.
"That’s one way of putting it." Kyle had called every day, sometimes leaving a message, sometimes catching one of them. He never spoke more than a few words. "There, that’s the last of it," Trixie said, shutting down her computer. She stood and stretched. "You know, you’d think if he was following me, he’d always call when I’m here. But that’s not the case—his calls have all been random."
Honey frowned. "But maybe he’s doing that deliberately, so you’ll think he’s not following you, but he is following you, and he hopes that you’ll drop your guard because you don’t think you’re being followed." They walked into the reception area, eyeing the phone as if it was a particularly naughty child.
Trixie grinned, long used to Honey’s way of explaining herself. "If this is your way of telling me to be careful and not to assume anything, I’m with you, partner." Her smile faded. "Is Brian still upset?"
Honey shook her head. "He’s just worried about you, that’s all. You’re his baby sister."
Trixie smirked at her partner. "We’re the same age. If I’m his ‘baby’ sister, what does that make you, his ‘baby’ wife?"
Honey thought of the hungry way he always reached for her, the passion and urgency they shared, all time seeming to disappear… She smirked back at her best friend. "Hmmm, somehow I don’t think he sees me in the same light he sees you." She arched her neck, rolling the tightness out of her shoulders.
"Ugh, I should hope not!" The two women laughed. "Well, you can tell my eldest sibling that I am taking all the precautions I can think of."
Honey nodded. She’d already told him about calling one of Trixie’s friends from the White Plains FBI Office. Special Agent Frank "Coop" Johnson had come right over, installing a device that not only enabled them to record incoming telephone calls, but was linked to the FBI computer. As long as Kyle stayed on the phone long enough, he could trace his location. And true to his word, Dan was in constant touch with Daltan’s Parole Officer as well as recruiting several members of the police force to regularly patrol near the office.
"I just feel so…bad about how much trouble I’m causing everyone," Trixie continued, her face downcast.
Honey looked at her sister-in-law. "I wish you wouldn’t feel that way, Trix. We all love you—I wouldn’t call that trouble. Besides, you’ve made a lot of deposits over the years; I think it’s time you made a few withdrawals!" She stretched out on the couch. "Ahhhh, " she sighed. "I am so ready to go home."
Trixie laughed. "Dan should be here any second. We’ll give you a lift to the station."
"By the way, have you told your parents anything yet?"
"Jim and I had dinner with them the next night. That is one conversation I never want to repeat." Trixie’s eyes clouded. "My dad had to leave the room for awhile. Moms started crying, Bobby was furious—I thought I was going to die. Believe it or not, the only calm person in the room was Mart." Trixie smiled, thinking about the brother she fought the most with while growing up. So close in age they were often mistaken for twins, he was her constant tormenter in her early teen years, often teasing her to distraction. But when it came down to it, she always knew she could count on him for anything. "He knew the mystery student was me—he knew the whole time. Said he figured I’d talk about it one day and that he could wait," Trixie marveled.
Honey’s eyes widened. "Really? He knew? How?"
"I don’t know—I guess it was the investigative reporter in him." Mart, who had long thought he wanted to major in Agricultural Sciences found himself drawn to a double major in English and Journalism instead. He had attended NYU along with Trixie and Honey, although he was a year ahead of them. He taught English and writing at Jim’s school along with the freelance writing he did for various magazines and newspapers.
"I can’t believe he never said anything."
"I know. It really means a lot to me. He must have wanted to talk to me about it a thousand times. I’m going to have him over for a real feast when all this is over." They smiled, knowing that nothing pleased Mart Belden more than a home cooked meal. Heck, any meal! "In fact," Trixie continued, warming up to the idea, "I’m going to have all of you over. We can stuff our faces, drink wine—well you all can drink wine—and forget any of this crap ever happened."
Honey smiled at her enthusiasm. "Sounds like a plan."
"Is this a secret plan, or can anyone be in on it?" Dan asked, strolling into the office. He glanced down at Honey’s sprawled form. "I see you’re working hard as usual!" He laughed when she stuck out her tongue.
Trixie explained her idea for a dinner party. "Will you make garlic mashed potatoes?," Dan wheedled.
"I’ll cook whatever you want, light of my life, star in my heavens!"
Dan lifted Honey’s feet, plopping down on the couch, resettling her feet on his lap. "Well, in that case, how about pot roast, corn on the cob…"
"Steamed vegetables, garlic bread, apple pie…" Honey continued enthusiastically.
"Anything else?" Trixie asked, folding her arms, trying not to smile.
"Yeah—one of those roasted pigs, you know, with the apple in its mouth," Dan said.
"Ewww!" Trixie and Honey exclaimed. "I can’t eat anything that’s…looking at me!" Trixie added, shuddering.
Dan laughed. "Where do you think pot roast comes from? A cow, with big, brown eyes; probably named Flossie or Bessie!"
"I know, I know—but it’s not staring at me or wearing a nametag when I buy it!"
"Sounds like a good rationalization to me."
"You’re not turning vegetarian on us, are you?" Honey asked, her eyes twinkling.
Dan shuddered. "Heck no! I could never give up burgers and steaks. When a cow figures out how to load a gun and hunt me down, maybe then I’ll give it some serious thought." He grinned at them. "And let’s not forget, I live with a man who hunts Bambi, brings him home and turns him into stew!"
"Oh, and I loooove Mr. Maypenny’s hunter’s stew," Honey said, rubbing her stomach. "But I prefer not to think of it as Bambi stew, thank you very much."
When Dan first moved to Sleepyside, he stayed with Mr. Maypenny, the Wheelers' gamekeeper. It seemed like an odd combination at first—an avid woodsman in his late sixties, used to living alone deep in the heart of the preserve; a young city boy living on the streets, sent away by the Courts to get him away from the gang he had joined. But a genuine feeling of family grew between the two wildly different men, and after Dan finished college, he worried about Mr. Maypenny living alone, even though the spry gentleman insisted he was ‘just fine’.
"I hate to sound like Mart, but all this talk of food is making me hungry. You ready to hit it, my bodyguard?" Trixie sighed.
"Would it make you feel better if you just thought of it as two neighbors car-pooling?" Dan asked.
Trixie smiled. "Oh don’t mind me. I just can’t stand this cat and mouse stuff, that’s all. Not to mention the fact that even though he’s trying his hardest to hide it, Jim’s so worried about me he can hardly sleep at night.
Dan and Honey watched the play of feelings that came and went over her features, wondering if she realized what an open book she was to those who knew her best.
"This isn’t your fault, you know," Dan said quietly, watching her.
Trixie looked slightly startled. "Um…I know." Her voice was troubled.
The three of them walked out into the early evening chill, the light just starting to fade, the first star not yet available for wishing on. But they made their individual wishes anyway. Silently.
I wish I’d never gone to the library that night.
I wish everybody could be happy again.
I wish this guy’d make a stupid move so I can throw his sorry ass back in prison!
Chapter 4
His face twisted with anger as he watched them through his binoculars. Never alone. Never alone! His hands balled into fists as he watched the three figures on the porch. Although he was too far away to hear their conversation, he could tell that they were laughing and enjoying each other’s company. It made him sick. He focused his gaze on the husband, watching as he stood behind her, circling his arms around her. Enjoy life while you can, buddy, he though venomously as he slunk back into the deep woods, his newest plan dipping its dark tendrils into his heart, leaving behind an ever growing malevolence. He was glad he had taken the necessary step; he could see there wasn’t any other way. He didn’t notice the glorious smell of slightly damp earth or appreciate the soaring beauty of the surrounding trees. He only thought of pain, of suffering, of the end.
"…And she never moved again," Trixie sighed, comfortably sprawled over her husband, her head tucked between his neck and shoulder. Peril seemed like it was a million miles away.
"Works for me," Jim murmured back, enjoying the sweet weight of her.
"But I have to move sometime."
"Why?"
"Oh, you know. After awhile, our family and friends would get worried and come looking for us. I think the shock would be too much for them." Trixie started giggling, suddenly imagining her parents’ reaction to the imaginary scene. The more she thought about it, the harder she laughed.
Jim nuzzled her neck, enjoying her mood. You make her laugh; you got a life. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Haven’t you done me twice already?"
Jim let out a startled laugh. "What happened to that sweet innocent girl I used to know?"
"You must be thinking of one of your college girlfriends," she teased, nibbling on his earlobe.
"Ugh. No, I don’t think so." When Jim first went away to school, he was barely 17 years old, although his height and build made him look older. He and Trixie had never even been on a real date, had never taken their special friendship to the next level…his freshman year was a blur of empty, meaningless relationships. His sophomore year started out the same way and Jim was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with him, that maybe those bad years before he moved to Sleepyside had somehow ruined him for real love. Then he had kissed Trixie in the Bob-White clubhouse and knew the problem had been that his heart was already spoken for, he just hadn’t realized it. "Do you really want to talk about them?" he teased in turn, kissing the top of her head.
Trixie slid her lips from his ear to his chin, lightly scraping underneath with her bottom teeth. "Actually, I don’t want to talk at all…"
White, white, white, white…he raced down the endless white corridor, passing menacing figures in gleaming white uniforms, their faces blurred white blobs. His legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, but he pushed on, turning corners only to find himself in another identical corridor, stretching so long in the distance that it appeared to have no end. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat running into his eyes, blinding him, but he kept on, the sense of urgency almost overwhelming. He barely spotted the snowy-haired man in a white coat, jauntily swinging his stethoscope, his bleached form blending with all the surrounding white. "Please, help me find her. Help me. I’m lost and I have to get to her before it’s too late," he gasped.
"A trot is a jogging run or quick walk. A canter is a gait slower than the gallop, but faster than the trot. A gallop is faster than a canter but slower than a run. Run. Run. Run..." the man spoke rapidly, but his mouth never moved, the words spilling over each other in Jim’s brain.
He began to run again, passing tray after tray of strange looking instruments, the overhead lights reflecting the glare from the shining objects into his eyes. There was a constant hum—the world consisted of nothing except for white, white glare and noise. His heart felt like it was bursting, the pain in his lungs intense. The walls were pulsing, making a sound very much like a heart beat. With a final burst of speed, he rounded the corner and found himself in a standard hospital waiting room. He skidded to a stop, wheezing and gasping. The same man he spoke to before, who told him to run, stood in the middle of the room, his face stern and unforgiving.
"We did everything medically possible for your wife, but it was too late. I regret to inform you that she died less than 10 minutes ago," he said, his voice implying that had Jim just been a bit more on the ball this might not have happened. He picked up the end of his stethoscope and blew into it, frowning. Then he leered triumphantly. "What did you expect?"
His life was over, over, over, over. Jim sank to the floor, an animal sound of pain tearing from his throat. "Nooooo......."
Jim opened his eyes, his heart pounding loudly, breathing heavily, his fingers digging into the sheets. He could make out the shape of the dresser in the darkness and he slowly understood that what he just experienced was not real. Just a dream, just a dream, he repeated to himself, drawing deep breaths, the feeling of relief immense. He rubbed his eyes, his forehead wet with perspiration, his legs aching as if he had just run a marathon, every muscle in his body painfully knotted. He turned onto his side, listening to the welcome sound of Trixie’s steady breathing. Whew, I must be losing my mind. What the hell is the matter with me? How overprotective can I get? He could still feel remnants of fear in his belly and chest and knew it would linger for awhile, perhaps even the rest of the night. He slipped his hand over the slight swell of her pregnancy, snuggling his face into the side of her neck and felt much better, the reassuring warmth of her body calming him. She sighed in her sleep, twining her foot around his calf.
"Trixie?" he whispered.
"Mmmmmmm," she mumbled, pressing against him. She let out a tiny snore.
Out like a light, he thought fondly. He lay there for a long time, gradually able to match his breathing to hers. His eyes closed, the lids suddenly heavy, his body beginning to relax and he drifted off to sleep— the warm, sweet scent of her hair chasing him into a more peaceful slumber.
To Be Continued