Disguised Reflection: A Novella

By Karen Campion

At twenty-nine years old, Sari Clarke had it all: a blossoming career as a TV reporter, a successful defense attorney fianc, an adoring family and her two best friends her sisters. Until one story, her first exclusive, threatens everything, and everyone, she holds dear.

A horrific murder has captivated Chicago. Sari is not only the reporter on this exclusive story, she is the exclusive. Sari takes the story to the public in her own way, in her own words. She is determined to single-handedly bring this predator down.

It is a race against time as Sari and the rookie Detective Brad Callahan work against the Chicago Police Department to piece together the truth behind the lies. With each passing hour and each murder there are fewer and fewer people that Sari and Brad can trust.

Saris world is turned upside down in an instant. Is this a random act or is someone in her inner circle hell-bent on destroying her and her family? Will Sari make it out of this nightmare alive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475953534

Karen Campion

Karen Campion is a writer living in Chicago with her husband, two young sons and stepson. She started her career in radio, but quickly moved into media and advertising, ultimately working on media promotions with Cirque du Soleil North America. She spends her free time writing, running, playing with her family and enjoying good wine.

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Copyright © 2012 by Karen Campion.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-5352-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-5353-4 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 10/29/2012

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

to bray, dyls & ky . . . never take no for an answer

Acknowledgements

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T here are a handful of people whose support has made it easy for me to move forward with this book. Joyce Campion, Netty Bauer, Shannon Bauer, Caley Wieties, Kimberly Myers and Michelle Bailey: Each and every one of you through your kind words, encouragement and publicity gave me the courage to put myself out there. Which is not an easy thing to do! But, it is a necessary thing to do, as we only get one shot in life. Without each of you pumping my tires I may not have continued. While deep in the creation process it’s a quick nosedive from confident to insecure. We are talking .8 seconds. Thank you so much. I owe you one!

My family: Trevor, Brayden, Dylan and Kyler. Thank you for accepting, appreciating and supporting me being a dream-chaser. I promise to be your dream-catcher! Dream big … that’s the most important thing I can teach you.

As always, thank you Chicago for being an amazing backdrop for a story and a life.

Prologue

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February 1991

T here is so much blood.

I want Mommy, cries Lizi, never opening her blood-stained eyelids, but still a tear escapes.

Not Mommy, Lizi. Please want anyone but Mommy.

I’m here, I whisper in her small ear, I notice a pool of blood. I swallow my gasp. Sari, do not let Lizi see your fear, I beg myself, jaw clenched.

What happened? I shout up at the girls circling me and my wailing little sister.

She tripped.

She hit her head.

Is she okay?

I’m scared.

Squeaky five-year-old voices waft through the Wake Robin Elementary School playground.

Lizi, look at me. Answer me. Are you okay? I shake her ever so slightly.

She says nothing. She just cries, and like a stream, her blood and tears cascade down the concrete stairs of the playground.

In spite of the gloom of this February day, in an ordinary suburb of Chicago, I summon Wonder Woman strength. I have to help my sister.

Do not leave her side! I command, climbing to my feet, towering a good six inches over this pack of terrified kindergarteners.

I slip out of the short crowd, hitting the pavement hard. I need to get help now. The wind blowing my hair in knots tells me I am running at full speed. I can’t feel my legs, only the burn in my chest.

Sari! A familiar voice breaks my zone. Ainslie’s holding the palms of her hands out in front of her in her usual ‘What the heck is going on?’ pose.

Ainslie, I have to tell Ainslie. She can wait with our baby sister until I’m back with help. I steer in Ainslie’s direction.

What are you running from? My second grade sister takes charge.

It’s Lizi, I pant, trying to catch my breath, though I continue running in place. She’s bleeding. From her head. I’m running home to get help.

Oh no. We have to call 911, calmly commands Ainslie. She doesn’t meet my eyes; her stick straight hair hangs over her face as she packs up her standard red backpack, quickly but carefully, loading in school books, library books, notebooks, pencils and her lunchbox.

No time to find a phone. She’s over there. Go to her. My heart is beating so fast, I’m trembling. I never thought to call 911. But I cannot slow down; I cannot change my course of action. I have to run home, NOW.

Ainslie and I take off running in opposite directions.

Lizi’s going to be fine. Lizi’s going to be fine. I say this over and over to myself to the rhythm of my running footsteps. She has to be. She has to be. I run faster. I am propelling myself up the only hill in the Chicagoland area. My thighs are on fire. Keep going. I will not let anything bad happen, I will get help.

I pass beautiful houses, houses filled with families, loving families, families with big tree-filled yards and wooden swing sets, families with shiny new cars and basketball hoops in the winding driveways, families with mailboxes full of Valentine’s Day cards and plump bank statements. Families with well-manicured lawns and families without tragedy.

I run up to the only house in the community that has stared tragedy in the face, and lost. And may be doing so again. Please not again.

I forcefully storm in the front door.

Aunt Clara! My voice quivers. Aunt Clara, help me. Lizi needs help. I dash through our living room, past Aunt Clara’s private office, bumping into framed pictures in our hallway, finally ending my stumbling search in the kitchen.

Aunt Clara is holding her index finger in the air to quiet me. I release, bending forward, putting my hands on my knees and breathing heavily.

Right. Oh sure. Ok. Thank you for calling, Aunt Clara says into the phone receiver. I can tell she is talking about Lizi.

I straighten up, running my fingers through my hair, catching my breath.

Aunt Clara places the receiver in its holder, secured to the papered kitchen wall.

It’s Lizi, I cry. Being inches away from my aunt gives me the comfort to finally cry, to show my fear, to accept it.

Aunt Clara turns to grab her car keys, she hesitates. Instead, she gently wraps her arm around my shoulders, she kisses my forehead. Sweet Sari, Lizi is alright. She is going to be just fine.

Aunt Clara’s grip on me is slick. My body is doused in sweat.

She’s so bloody, I whimper. We have to go get her.

We are. We’re going right now. She is on her way to the ER.

The ER! My nine-year-old brain registers horror. My parents lost their lives in the ER.

Sari, she is getting stitches. That is all. Aunt Clara uses the patient tone she reserves only for me and my sisters, treating us with the kid gloves we so often need.

And Ainslie? The question is barely audible.

She’s with Lizi. Aunt Clara says, with an encouraging smile. At the ER.

I think I am going to throw-up.

*    *    *

Check it out! brags Lizi, showing me the twenty-four stitches in her forehead.

Your little sister is quite the trooper, says the nurse cleaning up Lizi’s hospital room.

Thanks Nurse Jean, Lizi giggles, kicking her feet off the hospital bed.

Here you go. Ainslie strolls in, handing Lizi a Snickers and a bottle of water. As the door slowly shuts behind Ainslie I see Aunt Clara talking, make that laughing, with the doctor. Everyone is so calm, as if nothing happened.

I’m still a bit green from the experience.

Sari, are you listening to me? asks Lizi.

What? No. Sorry. I don’t like hospitals, I admit.

Of course you don’t. You’re an emotional wreck, states Ainslie.

What do you know, you are seven! I snap back.

And you are nine. Ainslie never breaks a sweat. It’s because she is right, I am emotionally stunted, whereas she is all brains, fitting the mind over matter bill. As for Lizi, she is all energy. We’re quite a bunch, I let out a silent snort.

Thanks for rescuing me, Lizi says, her baby doll eyes saying much more.

I didn’t save you, but I promise I will always, always be there for you guys. You can always count on me, I say, my heart pounding, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my whole life.

We know, Lizi acknowledges, nibbling on her candy bar, chocolate smearing on her face. I take a Kleenex, wiping her cheek clean. I will always take care of you.

We are going to have the funnest lives ever. I promise. Watch out fun, here we come! I reach for Ainslie, pulling her and Lizi in for a hug. See, even this crazy day turned out to be fun.

The tension breaks, we lose ourselves in laughter.

Now there is a sight for sore eyes, chuckles Aunt Clara. Best friends.

Chapter 1

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Twenty Years Later

"W h   .   .   . wh   .   .   ." Why, why me? Me. Me. Me? This can’t be me. It is so dark. The tumultuous thunder rattles my bones. I feel the slimy, thick mud cramming up my nostrils as my head scrapes across the ground. I feel the tugging of my hair. My legs dangle lifeless behind. Where is he dragging me   .   .   . where am I? Why can’t I break free? Why can’t I at least try? The sky is on fire with ferocious lightning. All I can do is shudder with fear. I suffer the hammering of the downpour, each drop a thorn in my skin. I was stripped of my clothing, my dignity, my flesh. Please make this stop. "Puh   .   .   . End the torture. Accck. Accck!" My breath   .   .   . is gone. I cannot breathe. The mud fills my throat. I beg God for strength. I violently flail. My body coils. Keep twisting. Fight! Fight. I am drowning in the earth. Oh my god, I am suffocating. I cannot let him do this to me. Where is he taking me? Let go of my hair! He does! He did. At last. Ugh. My head smacks onto the sopping terrain. I struggle to lift it, it sticks. I clinch my jaw, hoping for a surge, but   .   .   . "AAAAAHHH! No, don’t   .   .   . not me   .   .   . puh   .   .   . I shiver, sensing him turn in my direction. Like a pendulum, my head swings on my neck from the strike of his foot. My skull echoes. My face feels hollowed by the assault of his steel-toed boot. Open eyes. Open eyes. Oh no, my hair is being wrapped around my neck. No," I whimper. I succumb to the burn of choking, my eyes swell. Open them! Break free. I need my hands. His foot is thrust on my back   .   .   . need hands   .   .   . now! OPEN EYES!

*    *    *

Sari, Sari! Honey, wake up! You’re having a nightmare. My eyes flip open, and freeze. In the darkness I cautiously scan the area until I accept the comfort of my surroundings. I draw in the familiar air of our bedroom and slowly savor the exhale of my morning breath, directly in Mark’s face.

Mark, my wonderful, bare-chested, strong-shouldered fiancé is compassionately hovering over me. My very own knight in shining armor shook me awake to rescue me from that horrible nightmare. Without insecurity or restraint I begin to sob hysterically. Mark is here, I am safe.

Mark. I cannot articulate my thoughts. How could I? Mark. Is all I can muster between gulps of air and dripping tears. I lean forward to enfold my clammy body into his for refuge.

I got you, baby. I got you. Shhhh. Shhhh. Mark squeezes me so tightly; I feel we might meld into each other. The touch of his skin assures me mine is my own. That’s it, baby, relax. You’re okay. I’m gonna hold you back to sleep.

Oh my gosh. I wiggle out of our bear hug to run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to collect myself. I meditatively breathe loudly and deeply. Relax. I must relax. It was awful, Mark. So terribly real. I close my eyes to lock in the tears. The mud fills my throat. I quiver as those horrid images flash on the screen in my brain. Please, please erase.

Don’t think of it, Sari. Mark takes my face in his hands. My jaw trembles, trying not to cry as I stare into his entrancing blue eyes. He shuts my eyes, rolling his thumbs over my swollen eyelids. Think of our wedding day, he whispers.