The Intruder

By Betty Lynne Hull

When Scott Andrews F-16 catches fire, he remains in the blazing
inferno, fighting off the inevitable until he can clear a densely populated area
below. His last conscious thought is of his bride, Sara. . . sweet Sara.
Scott awakens in a hospital praying for death as he realizes all he can ever hope
to be is a disfigured freak held together by pain and scar tissue. But Sara refuses
to accept that their marriage as well as all their dreams died in that plane
crash. To build a life together, she impulsively buys a 19th Century house that
mysteriously draws her in. The strange sense of belonging she feels within its
walls hides the terrible secrets it has held for more than a century of fire,
lost love and. . . murder. In the house, Scott discovers an unseen Presence. . .an
intruder. . . who plans to kill Sara to keep her there with him forever.
He has waited for more than a century for his Lucinda to come back
to him. And she is finally here. It matters not that she now calls herself
Sara or that she cannot see him or make love to him yet. She is with a
man, horribly burned and scarred like himself, he dares call himself her
husband. He will not permit this mortal this intruder to interfere.
Not now not ever.
Although he is hopelessly crippled, Scott knows he MUST fi nd a way to destroy
this terrifying force if he is to save Saras life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462012114

Betty Lynne Hull

Betty Lynne Hull is the author of two nonfiction books—Cobwebs & Crystal: Colorado’s Grand Victorian Hotels and Denver’s Elitch Gardens: Spinning a Century of Dreams—and two novels, Getting Away with Murder: A Confession and The Intruder. Betty lives in a meadow in the Colorado Rockies with her husband, Jim.

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PROLOGUE

~1887~

After a long, hot day’s hard labor in Abner Hayes’ fields, Thomas Wilson, the hired man, pushed open the heavy barn door, thinking of little more than sluicing cool water over his aching muscles and stretching out on his narrow cot before getting his supper. Colonel Hayes was indeed a harsh taskmaster, but, Thomas reasoned, if he could keep on saving his meager pay and hiring himself out to other townspeople on his day off, his dream of owning his own small farm someday would come to pass. Yes, he smiled tiredly, his future was looking pretty good—it wouldn’t be long before he’d be an old married man with a few acres of his very own. . .

Suddenly, he sensed, rather than saw, a slight movement in the shadows.

Lucinda, you startled me! What are you doing out here, my love? Whatever’s wrong?

Oh, Thomas, she murmured tearfully, running into his arms. You know my father will never let us marry. As a soft sob escaped, she buried her face in his shoulder. What can we do?

He gently pulled her with him as he lowered himself onto a nearby bale of hay.

He’s a hard man, Lucinda, but a fair one. Surely, he won’t stand in the way of our happiness. When he sees how much we love each other, he’ll agree to our marriage; I know he will. Now stop that crying, you hear me?

Thomas ran his calloused thumb over her porcelain-like cheeks, brushing her tears away. I’ll go up to the house now and talk to him.

Are you standing there telling me you’ve gotten ideas above your station and have been seeing my daughter? You better not have laid a finger on her!

Sir, we love each other very much, and—

And nothing! You’re fired, do you hear me? I want you off my property tonight.

But Colonel Hayes, please listen—

Get out of my sight, you worthless bastard! And don’t delude yourself into thinking that I don’t know exactly what this is all about. You fancy yourself taking over this farm and passing yourself off as a rich landowner. But I promise you, neither my daughter or this farm will ever belong to you! Now get out of my sight before I get my shotgun!

Thomas knew he couldn’t remain near the house any longer, but he was unable to find Lucinda anywhere. In the end, he knew he had no other choice but to gather his few pitiful belongings into a bundle and leave. However, just before he closed the door to his drab little room in the back of the barn, he scribbled a hasty note to his beloved and left it on top of the old chest of drawers in the corner where he knew she’d see it.

Be not disheartened, my love. I will return for you. Watch for me at the full moon. I love you, Thomas.

Unfortunately, Thomas didn’t see Colonel Hayes enter the barn behind him as he walked dejectedly down the road in the fading afternoon’s light with his bundle slung over his shoulder.

That evening the Colonel ordered Lucinda to him. As she entered the room, he was standing with his back to the fireplace, a small piece of paper wadded in his fist.

Yes, Father? she said nervously.

I’ve sent Thomas Wilson away. You’ll never see him again.

You can’t do that! Please, Father. I love him and he loves me!

Colonel Hayes turned with a sneer and tossed the paper in the fire.

You are a fool if you think he loved you. He was only after my wealth. He knows very well that this farm will eventually pass on to you, empty-headed, wailing, useless female that you are. He glared at his wife, cowering in the doorway. Why couldn’t you have given me a son to carry on?

Lucinda looked beseechingly at her mother, even though she knew the woman would never have the courage to utter a sound in her defense. Suddenly, she dropped to the floor at her father’s feet, her hands covering her face—half to protect herself against her father’s harsh words and half to muffle her heartbroken sobs.

Please, Father. Let him come back! We’ll never bother you again. We’ll leave—

You haven’t been stupid enough to give yourself to this man, have you? he roared.

What do you mean, Father?

You know very well what I mean, you ungrateful slut. Did he plant his child in your belly? He grabbed her and shook her hard.

No, Father. Please, you’re hurting me!

I’ve decided to send you to my sister Augusta. I do not plan to risk you eloping with that scoundrel and bringing shame down on us all. Augusta will work this foolishness out of you in her boarding house. You will leave on tomorrow’s coach. Go now and pack your things.

Lucinda looked toward her mother again, a desperate plea on her lips. But she saw no support in the tired, set lines of her mother’s worn face—no sympathy or compassion. She realized any spirit had been worked or beaten out of the older woman years before.

A few weeks later, as Colonel Hayes stood talking to three men in the doorway of the Quarry Hill Mercantile, he was surprised to see Thomas Wilson approaching him. It was market day, and the town square was quite crowded.

Colonel Hayes, I would speak with you, please.

I have nothing to say to you. Hayes began walking toward his buggy.

Where is Lucinda?

She is where you’ll never find her, Colonel Hayes laughed loudly in reply, drawing the attention of more than a few of the good townspeople who were gathering in the square.

You tell me where she is! Thomas shouted, running after him.

You? You’re not good enough to so much as utter her name. Colonel Hayes brushed Thomas aside, and climbed onto the buggy seat.

And you’ll never get your low-class hands on one penny of mine—now get away from me, he shouted, and raised his whip, cruelly slashing Thomas’ face before he laid it to his horse’s back, leaving the angry young man sputtering in pain in the dust on the crowded street behind him.

I swear you’ll regret that! Thomas shouted after him. I’ll get even with you, do you hear me? No matter how long it takes. I’ll make you sorry you treated me this way! He ignored the many interested and curious faces as he walked dejectedly across the square. Several townspeople heard him as he clenched his fist, slammed it into his other palm and vowed, I swear to you, Lucinda, my own true love, I shall never rest. . . never. . . until we are together once more!

He had hours until dawn. As Thomas stealthily approached the farmhouse, the aching sadness he had suffered as he frantically searched for Lucinda had turned into a cold, calculating rage.

Tonight, Colonel Hayes would finally tell him where he had hidden her. He had to. . . if he wanted to live. Thomas slowly eased the front door open and peered inside. The room, as he thought it would be, was empty. He walked forward and peeked through the bedroom door. As he expected, Lucinda’s parents lay in the bed, asleep. He carefully set his kerosene lamp on a nearby table.

Mrs. Hayes woke first as he approached. He glared at her, violently shaking his head. Terrified, she just stared back at him without moving. He quickly grabbed Lucinda’s father, now half-awake, and dragged him to the floor. Despite his gruff shouts for her help, Colonel Hayes knew his wife, for her own reasons, wouldn’t interfere.

Tell me, damn you! Where is Lucinda?

I’ll never tell you, you scum. How dare you break into my house! The older man struggled to free himself from Thomas’ death grip. As the two men wrestled together on the floor, a thrashing foot slammed into the table, upsetting the lamp. Kerosene splashed over Colonel Hayes’ back and in the blink of an eye, it erupted in flame. Flames were quickly spreading over the floor as well.

Ignoring the man’s agonized cries, Thomas ran for the front door. But, he skidded to a stop as he heard a terrified female voice behind him.

Lucinda. . . she’s. . . in. . .

Oh, my God! Could she be here? In the house? Oh, what had he done?

Where is she? Where. . . he keened as he raced back through the house, throwing open every door, screaming her name. He was unaware of the flames that licked hungrily at him from every side.

Before too many hours had passed, only smoldering ruins remained.

CHAPTER ONE

~2010~

Captain Scott Andrews maneuvered the F-16 into a climb and felt the familiar G-forces push him back deep into his seat. As he watched the revolving pattern of the hundreds of tiny rainbows from the sun’s rays refracting through the Plexiglas of his cockpit, he thought smugly that his life was just about perfect.

Silently recounting his good fortune, he gave yet another prayer of thanks for coming through the war in Afghanistan virtually unscathed, although he still felt uncomfortable with that hero label they’d hung on him. As he saw it, he’d done nothing out of the ordinary. He’d merely pretended his plane was damaged—the old wounded mother bird trick—which had lured the insurgents away from the two Black Hawks on the ground picking up those fifteen starved and tortured American prisoners. He was even able to bomb the nearby chemical weapons plant before the Russian-made missile hit him. His crew chief was amazed his bird could make it back to base with that much damage. But Scott had shrugged it off as all in a day’s work. Actually, the guys in the Black Hawks were the real heroes. Besides, anybody would have done the same thing given the same circumstances.

Grinning, he thought about the phenomenal job at Astro Aerospace that was waiting after his retirement at the end of this month. He stared idly out at the wispy shapes of the clouds against a background of endless blue. He was a little concerned that he’d miss flying when he was tied to a desk. Except for being with Sara—his sweet bride— his happiest moments were right here in the cockpit of his F-16.

Scott seldom looked back. He had been abandoned at birth, and spent his childhood and youth being shuttled from one foster home to another, some good and some. . . not so good. As the result, he had learned to be a realist very early in life—to take care of himself, to not waste energy envying friends who had loving families to go home to, and to always, always focus on the future. He had set high goals for himself early on. Luckily, he was a good student and worked hard to earn the full scholarship that opened the endless vistas of college to him. A friend with weekend access to an airplane awakened in him a love of flying that led him to the Air Force after graduation.

Scott had often fantasized about the woman who gave birth to him. Was she a scared young girl who simply found herself ‘in trouble’? That image comforted him more than the one that haunted his darker moments—someone who didn’t love him enough to want to keep him. Sometimes, he wondered if his mother, wherever she was now, ever wondered in turn what had become of him. But then the realist in him would force a cynical laugh at such useless thoughts. He’d always believed in the deep recesses of his mind, though, that the image of that frightened young girl was why the idea of having a family of his own to cherish was so important to him. He had always believed in what he laughingly called a ‘light touch’ around females, and there had been many. But, he had no intention of getting seriously involved with anyone. And then, he’d met Sara.

His Sara. . . His smile widened. He was sorry he’d had to leave her so soon after the honeymoon, but the warm memories of those ten magical days—and nights—on Maui would have to hold him for just a little bit longer. He knew she could hardly wait to start house hunting in Seattle. In fact, he smiled at the thought, she was probably packing up boxes in their tiny San Francisco apartment at this very moment. And all he had to do now were just a few more flights like this one—herding fighters from one coast to the other and back—a piece of cake after what he’d been through! Nope, life was pretty nearly perfect, all right.

He heard a familiar softly-whistled tune in his headphones and grinned. Adam Carlson was flying in his old role as radar man today. It had been awhile since the two old friends had been together, and Scott was reminded of countless other afternoons just like it during their time in the Middle East. What a team they’d made! A person only came across a good friend like Adam once in a lifetime—if he was lucky.

Hey, Bulldog, it sure feels good to be flying together again, doesn’t it?

Yeah, it’s gonna be great to be stationed stateside for awhile. This will finish up my flight time for this month, and then I’m up for some major partyin’, son. Adam’s lazy Alabama drawl sounded as smooth as finely aged bourbon to Scott’s ears. He smiled.

Will you be staying on the base while you’re here?

I might as well. I don’t reckon I’d know to act in a real home anymore. Adam laughed.

Well, how about giving it a try Friday night for dinner? Sara sure wants to meet you. I don’t think she believes all those stories I’ve been telling her about you.

How is that gorgeous bride of yours, anyway? She really must be somethin’ to have clipped your wings, Buddy Boy. It’s just lucky for you that you happened to lay eyes on her first, he chortled. Otherwise, it’d be me sittin’ here wearin’ that stupid, carpet-cuttin’ grin!

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Adam added, I’m sure sorry they had me out of the country for your weddin’.

I know, and we really felt bad about that, Bulldog. I know we always said we’d stand up for each other, but Sara and I decided to go for it pretty fast. So there wasn’t time to wait until you could get here. If we hadn’t gotten married that weekend, we would’ve had to wait until next month after I get out. But just you wait. She’s—

Tomahawk! Hey! There’s smoke back here. Christ! We’ve got fire!

There must be a short somewhere! All my lights just went haywire! What the fuck’s going on? Scott struggled frantically with the aircraft’s suddenly unresponsive controls. Thick, acrid smoke was quickly filling the entire cockpit.

Shit, Bulldog, I’ve got flame up here! Scott hit his helmet repeatedly with his open palm. And I’ve got nothing but static. Damn! My radio’s gone. Mayday! Mayday. . . shit!

It’s time to eject, Tomahawk. Adam yelled. We can’t save this crate, and my fine young ass sure ain’t meant to be bar-be-cued!

We’ve got to nurse this baby along, Bulldog. That’s Scranton down there. I couldn’t live with myself if I abandoned her over a city. I’m going to try to spot some little puddle jumper airport up ahead somewhere to set her down. Scott’s voice carried a desperate determination.

Negative, Tomahawk. Negative! If we don’t go right now, livin’ with yourself won’t be a problem. Do you read me? We’ve got to punch out— now! There’s no more time to be noble, ol’ buddy.

After a few seconds, Scott said quietly, I guess you’re right. Just a few seconds more. You got your hand on your ejection switch, Bulldog?

Yeah, I’m set. You? Adam’s glove gripped his switch tightly.

Affirmative. Scott clenched and unclenched his fists, then kneaded his thighs. It felt like the sweat on his palms was soaking clear through his gloves. We’ll go on my count, okay?

Roger.

Three. . . Two. . . One. . . Now!

The aircraft bucked as the canopy blew off and Adam’s seat shot out of the cockpit behind him. Scott hunkered down against the sudden jerk, and continued to fight the unresponsive stick. He looked down. Flames were visible now around his feet. He peered out the side of the cockpit attempting to track Adam’s chute through the trailing smoke.

So long, Bulldog. Have a tall, cool one for me. Scott muttered wistfully. He wiped at his visor with his glove, trying vainly to clear the smoke away. He grimaced in pain. Come on, baby, keep your nose up! Frantic now, he fought to control the powerful aircraft. Keep your nose up. Where the hell is that airport, anyway? Scott peered desperately through the wall of smoke. Don’t lose power. Keep—

Suddenly he saw it, a small, rural airport coming up just ahead. There it is! I’m going to make it. Oh, sweet Sara, I’m coming home to you!

The F-16 careened wildly and hit the ground at an angle, its left wing breaking off just as the fuselage hit and burst into flame. Fire erupted everywhere. After endless minutes, a smoldering figure, obviously in excruciating pain, slowly crawled out and away from the wreckage. But he made it no further than a few yards.

Scott never felt the heat of the nearby flames, nor did he hear the wail of the approaching sirens.

CHAPTER TWO

Sara lay dozing, lost in her favorite dream. . .

Stretching lazily with her eyes closed against the hot Hawaiian sun, she senses a shadow above her. She opens one eye to see Scott’s mischievous grin, as he looms above her, dripping sea water. Carefully wiping the droplets of water from her well-oiled skin, she deadpans,

I take it you enjoyed your swim?

Are you sure you don’t want to join me? The water’s really great!

No, I feel too comfy right here. She yawns. Besides, I need to go in and get showered for dinner before long.

Well, just be careful you don’t get too much sun, he murmurs softly as he tenderly traces the salty path of a lone droplet down her cheek. His dark eyes capture hers for an endless moment.

Ah. . . sweet, sweet Sara, how can I ever tell you how much I love you?

Sara smiles as she closes her hand over his as it lay on her shoulder.

Oh, my darling, we have an entire lifetime.

That may not be long enough, you know.

She watches his tanned, muscular body appreciatively as he runs toward the waves. She knows she’ll never tire of looking at him. Except for his dark hair and eyes, he looks just like that painting of the Greek god Apollo that she’d seen in a museum once. Oh, life is so good! She’s so very, very lucky!

What was that noise? The front door? Sara shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs of sleep, reluctant to come back from her dreams.

Her long, honey-blond hair fell in tangled waves around her face. The knocking persisted, and Sara’s heart suddenly began pounding in her throat. Another knock on her door just like this in the middle of the night eight years ago brought the devastating news of her parents’ sudden deaths, their car nearly demolished by a stolen pickup driven by drunken teenagers.

As the knocking persisted, she hastily pulled Scott’s worn, terrycloth robe around her and hurried to the door. The peephole revealed the faces of two somber men, one dressed in an Air Force uniform and the other in a black suit accented by the white collar of the clergy. Terrified now, Sara frantically worked the lock and night chain with frozen fingers.

What is it? What’s wrong?

Mrs. Sara Andrews? the Air Force officer inquired.

What’s happened? Is it Scott? Tell me! She began to tremble uncontrollably. The chaplain immediately took her arm and led her to the couch.

Take it easy, Mrs. Andrews. We’re here to help you.

Is there someone we can call to be with you? the uniformed man asked.

Sara shook her head impatiently, her wide eyes never leaving his face. No. Just tell me, she whispered.

Mrs. Andrews, my name is Major Wallace. Your husband, Captain Andrews. . . Scott, has been in an accident.

His words hung in the air. Sara’s mouth went dry as her mind raced. Then, fighting for calm, she clasped her hands tightly in her lap and finally voiced her fear in a small, empty voice.

Is he dead?

The chaplain placed his large hand comfortingly over both of hers.

No, don’t worry. He’s alive.

What happened?

Perhaps this can wait until we’re in the car, Major Wallace interjected. We have a plane waiting to take you to him.

Of course, I’ll be right with you. It’ll take me only a minute to get dressed and throw a few things in a bag. She hurried toward the bedroom.

Sara closed the door behind her, and for a few seconds, leaned against it, fighting for control. Then, purposely keeping her mind blank, she quickly pulled on a pair of gray wool slacks and a white turtleneck. Not bothering to wash her face or apply any makeup, she carelessly raked a brush through her tawny hair. Her eyes skipped over the stack of unfinished thank-you notes for their wedding gifts on the top of the dresser and came to rest for a moment on the framed picture of Scott and her clowning on the beach in Maui. She blinked back tears as she grabbed a handful of panties out of the drawer. She crammed them into her carry-on bag. Her hand clutched the photograph, and she momentarily drew it to her breast before quickly stuffing it into her bag as well. Moving to the closet, she pulled a couple of blouses off their hangers, and from the dresser, several sweaters and pairs of jeans—all haphazardly stuffed into her bag. Hurrying into the bathroom, she scooped almost everything she saw into the space at the top of