Since All Is Passing

By Elizabeth Delisi

When Marie Kenning witnesses the kidnapping of a child, she relives the horror of the death of her own child and husband.

Officer Chris Whitley takes on the case—and an interest in Marie—but evidence quickly indicates the child is dead.

Days later, Marie stumbles across the kidnapper and his very-much-alive victim. Unable to convince the man she loves of the truth, Marie sets out alone on a dangerous cross-country mission to save the child.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
• Release date: May 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310101458

Elizabeth Delisi

Elizabeth Delisi is an award-winning author of romance, mystery and suspense, with a touch of the paranormal. She has been an avid reader all her life, and wrote her first story in first grade. She has written novels, short story collections, how-to articles, and has worked as a reporter, columnist, and writing instructor.When she’s not writing, Elizabeth loves to read. She also enjoys working with tarot cards, knitting and weaving, and watching old movies. She collects tarot decks, and antique compacts.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

October, 1982

Marie Kenning hummed, her eyes half closed as her husband, John, maneuvered the car along the damp, curving road. The sun was setting. The headlights made little impact in the fog and swirling leaves, but the melancholy October weather didn’t dim her spirits in the least. Marie was six months pregnant; she and John were on their way to their first childbirth class.

What are you humming, honey? John asked. Sure sounds pretty.

‘Brahms’ Lullaby,’ Marie said. My mother sang it to me every night, and now I’m singing it to our baby.

John laughed. Don’t you think it’s a little early for lullabies? You’re not due for almost three months. Or are you just getting in some practice?

Actually, it’s not too early at all, I read an article saying that babies recognize music played to them before they were born. So I’m giving our child a head start. She patted her stomach. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a musician.

John covered her hand with his. Maybe he will. But he’s already the luckiest baby in the world to have you for a mother.

Or could it be a girl? Marie teased, closing her eyes again. She was impatient to hold their baby, boy or girl, in her arms. Even more, she couldn’t wait to see John cradle the child, protecting it as he’d always protected her.

Her pleasant train of thought was broken when John jerked his hand away from hers. What the…? he muttered.

Marie’s eyes flew open, and she stared out the windshield. A pair of headlights, set on blinding high beams, came straight at them. Look out! she gasped, jamming her right foot against the passenger side floor and grabbing the armrest on the door.

John jerked the car to the right and slammed his foot down on the brake pedal. The car spun on the wet, leaf-strewn road, twisting from side to side. He struggled to regain control.

Time diminished to a crawl. Marie watched everything in bizarre slow motion—the merciless headlights bearing down on them, John’s contorted features as he wrestled with the steering wheel, the deafening impact, the flying glass. The howl of tortured metal and squealing rubber was unbearable. Marie blacked out.

When she regained consciousness, it was silent—ominously silent. How much time had passed? Marie felt warm blood trickling down her face, but she didn’t have any pain—yet. She turned her head slowly to look at John. His head hung low, his eyes closed. A thin stream of blood, black in the waning light, ran down his right temple. The steering wheel, pressed against his chest, and the shoulder belt appeared to be the only things holding him upright. His hair and clothing were coated with pebbles of broken safety glass that glittered in the fading light of dusk. Panic gripped her at the sight of his pale, still face. How long had she been out?

Marie whispered, her voice trembling, John? Honey, are you all right? Can you hear me?

He didn’t answer.

She reached out to touch him, but a sudden sharp pain in her left side, just under her shoulder belt, stopped her. Releasing the buckle, she probed the tender area. Pain blossomed again. Her dazed senses told her she probably had a broken rib.

Moving with care, Marie touched John’s arm. He didn’t respond, gave no sign of life. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Frightened, she pushed him harder. He slumped away from her in the seat like a rag doll. His head hit the side window with a loud crack.

John! she cried. Wake up! She shook his arm.

A fierce new pain slashed across her abdomen. It lasted only a few seconds, but it left her gasping for breath and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. Although this was her first pregnancy, Marie instinctively knew she had just felt a labor contraction.

My God, she moaned, tears sliding down her cheeks. What am I going to do? I can’t lose John—I can’t live without him. And I can’t lose our baby! What am I going to do?

In the distance Marie heard the wail of an approaching siren. Clutching John’s sleeve as though her grip alone could keep him with her, she closed her eyes and prayed, willing her husband and her baby to hold on.

Since all is passing, retain

The melodies that wander by us.

That which assuages when nigh us

Shall alone remain.

Let us sing what will leave us

With our love and art;

Ere it can grieve us, can grieve us,

Let us the sooner depart.

—Rainer Maria Rilke

CHAPTER 1

October, 1988

Marie stirred sugar into her coffee as she stared at her wavering reflection in the Lakedale Café window. Shoulder-length auburn hair framed her face, accentuating its thinness. Wide-set eyes gazed bleakly back at her from the rain-spattered glass, their pale blue hue darkened by the gloom until they matched the cloudy October sky. A slight frown creased her forehead, then deepened as she looked past her reflection out into the rain and swirling leaves.

The stormy fall day brought back with crystal clarity every sight, and sound, of the anguished fall night six years ago when she’d lost John and their unborn child in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. The careless decision of the drunk to get behind the wheel had changed her life forever in one shrieking, heart-rending moment.

Marie couldn’t come to grips with her grief, hadn’t accepted her loss. She didn’t understand why her husband and child had died, or why the other driver got off with cuts and bruises. She couldn’t comprehend a legal system that gave the drunk driver a slap on the wrist, when he had taken from her everything that was most precious. Most of all, she didn’t understand why she had survived when she had nothing left to live for. The only way she got through each day was to repress all her feelings, both good and bad. It was the only way to keep the memories out. But occasionally, on rainy days like this one, the tip of the painful iceberg surfaced.

A movement outside the window caught her attention, snapping her out of her bitter memories. Her frown disappeared, and her lips curved in a tender, wistful smile. Tagging behind a group of older children, a slight figure in a bright yellow vinyl raincoat sloshed enthusiastically through the puddles on the sidewalk outside the café. A matching yellow umbrella hovered over her pigtailed head, sometimes shielding her carrot-colored curls, but more often not. Nevertheless, the expression on the child’s freckled face was as sunny and carefree as a daffodil.

Marie sighed and turned back to her coffee. Though she took a big gulp of the scalding liquid, burning her tongue and the roof of her mouth, the pain couldn’t erase the thought she had every morning when she saw the child from her usual table in the café: her little girl would have been about that age now, might have looked just like that.

Her throat closed and her vision blurred. A hot tear slid down her cheek, followed by another.

Hey, Marie! Are you okay? Bill Mackay, owner of the café, walked over to her table. The ever-present coffeepot in his hand wobbled a bit as he leaned over her, peering into her face.

The concern in his voice halted the downward spiral of her despair. That was the problem with living in a small town—Bill and so many others knew every detail of her past life, every fragment of her tragedy. If she so much as sniffled, they all knew why.

Yes, she said, crumbling her cake doughnut to bits. I’m okay. Days like this still get to me, I guess.

Bill glanced at her and nodded, then looked down at his scuffed shoes. She felt a reproach coming. He had urged her, more than once, to stop mooning over the child and get on with her life. Marie didn’t think she could stand another lecture, so she held up her half-empty coffee cup. More?

Here now, he mumbled, taking the cup from her and filling it. It’s on the house. Hot and free, just what you need on a rainy day.

Marie reached up and squeezed his arm. Thanks, Bill. I’ll be all right. You always know what to say to bring me out of the blues.

Bill grinned. Don’t want to lose my best customer, he said.

Someone called for more coffee, and he shuffled off happily with the pot.

Marie turned her attention back to the window. She knew it was foolish, but she wanted to see the little pigtailed girl again. On many mornings she waved to the child through the window, and the little girl waved back. The brief exchange of greetings was always the highlight of Marie’s day.

Sure enough, the child was still there, though her companions were out of sight farther up the street. She was bent over the newspaper stand, her lips moving, trying to decipher the front page headline of the paper on display. She couldn’t be older than six, and was just learning to read.

An old, black Mustang, pockmarked with dents and red primer, pulled up to the curb and came to a stop next to the vending machine. The passenger window rolled down. The little girl glanced up. Marie couldn’t hear anything through the café window, but it was apparent someone in the car was speaking to her. The child nodded. Pointing down the street, she skirted the newspaper machine and stepped closer to the car.

Marie frowned. What adult in his right mind would stop and ask directions of a six-year-old child? Something wasn’t right. Shoving her cup away, she kept her attention on the little girl.

At that moment, a man’s arm darted out through the window, grabbed the little girl by the front of her raincoat, and slammed her against the side of the car. She dropped her umbrella and tried to rear back out of the man’s relentless hold. Her high, wavering scream was whipped away on the wind. His other arm seized her, and he dragged her in through the window. Just before she disappeared into the black interior, she threw an anguished backward glance in Marie’s direction.

Marie couldn’t move. She held her breath and blinked in an effort to erase what she’d seen. After an instant that seemed an eternity, she leapt up with a strangled cry, bumping the table and overturning her coffee.

Marie! Bill called from behind the counter. What’s the matter?

She stumbled from the booth and staggered toward the door. The little girl! she cried over her shoulder. The little girl—someone just kidnapped her! Help me!

Oh, my God, Bill said. His coffeepot crashed to the floor, and he rushed out the door after her into the wind and driving rain.

CHAPTER 2

Marie raced out the door into the torrential downpour. Bill followed right behind her, his greasy apron flapping in the gusts of wind like a dirty white seagull.

All that remained of the black car was a faint smell of exhaust and two skid marks on the street. Marie faltered to a stop at the newspaper machine. The child’s little yellow umbrella rolled forlornly back and forth in the gutter. She leaned over and picked it up.

Did you see it? she whispered, water running in rivulets down her face and neck. Did you see the car?

He shook his head. I was behind the counter pouring coffee. Didn’t see a thing. I just heard you yell. You sure about this, Marie?

I can’t believe it. He grabbed her and pulled her right in through the passenger side window. Who would do such a thing? She clutched the little umbrella in both hands.

Was it that kid you’re always watching? Bill asked.

She nodded, misery etched on her face. I don’t know her name, but she passes here every day on her way to school. I can’t believe it.

The significance of what she’d witnessed hit home, and she trembled violently. The umbrella ribs rattled like seeds in a dried gourd. I feel dizzy…I need to sit… Her knees buckled and she swayed.

Hold on there! Bill grabbed her before she could fall. He put his arm around her and pulled her to his side. Come on. Let’s get you inside. He urged her toward the restaurant door.

No! she cried, plucking at his hand on her arm. We have to help her! I’m going to follow them. Maybe I can catch up…

We will help her, we will, but they’ve got too much of a lead for you to catch them, he said, peering down at her. Your face is as white as the café china! All you can do out here is catch pneumonia. Let’s go inside and call the police—they’ll find the kid, I promise. Come on, now.

Marie took a long look down the empty road. The remaining strength oozed out of her like air from a punctured tire, and she slumped against him. All right, she agreed. Still gripping the umbrella, she allowed him to take her back into the café.

Every gaze was fastened on them as they walked back inside, leaving a trail of watery footsteps. The waitress had cleaned up the mess at Marie’s table and was working on the shards of glass from the broken pot.

Sit down, Marie, before you fall down, Bill ordered, leading her to her table. I’ll get you another cup of coffee.

The police, Marie insisted as she slid down into the booth. Call them first. Coffee can wait.

Yeah, yeah, I’ll call…but listen, Marie, are you really sure about this?

Marie stared at him, her eyes wide. How could he disbelieve her? Of course I’m sure! What do you mean?

Bill studied the tips of his worn shoes. Well, I’ve seen you…I mean, you watch that kid every day, but you don’t know who she is. How do you know… He cleared his throat. Don’t you think that maybe someone just gave her a lift to school? You know, to get her out of the rain? No one else saw anything.

No one else was watching. Marie’s throat tightened. If Bill didn’t believe her, the police wouldn’t either. You have to believe me, Bill. I’m not imagining things! We’ve got to help that little girl.

I don’t know.

Heads turned to stare in her direction as Marie thrust the yellow umbrella in his face. If she were getting a ride to school, she wouldn’t have left this behind. Would she? And do you think it’s customary for an adult to drag a child in through the passenger window instead of opening the door?

He shook his head. No…no, I guess not.

Are you going to call the police now? Because if you aren’t, then I will. She glared at him defiantly, anger warming her cheeks.

Yes. Yes, all right, I’ll call them. You stay put.

Bill retreated hastily. He returned in a few moments and offered her a steaming mug. Drink this.

Did you call them?

He nodded. Dialed 9-1-1. They’re sending a patrol car right over.

Good.