Remembering Steele: The Past Is Gone. The Present Is Purgatory. The Future May Never Come.

By H.B. Tyler

She's Gone. She's Never Coming Back. She's Dead. Is it better to forget who we were?

In book three, Detective Cris Steele struggles to overcome the mental and physical remnants of being buried alive and left for dead. After getting thrown back to a life she didn't want to return to, Cris feels compelled to visi

• Language: English
• Publisher: H.B. Tyler
• Release date: Jan 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798885831635

Book preview

The dark is a comfortable ally. Light and hope inevitably expose the reality of their disillusionment, which is a special kind of lifelong hell. Always avoiding the mirror because either reflection is a tortured soul.

– H.B. Tyler

Disclaimer: The first chapter is written only as inner thoughts and is meant to be mysterious. Stick with it, the remainder of the book is third person like the previous two books.

CHAPTER 1

The smell of antiseptic lingered in the empty hall. Faint rhythmic beeps could be heard from rooms passed by. One long tubular bulb of fluorescent light flickered overhead. The strobe effect made the brain and vision pulsate. The eyes instinctively averting the illumination they sought the old floor, which seemed to press coldly back. Alternating sock feet, with the white grips twisted between the top and bottom of each foot, made brief guest appearances on the tile as they trekked down the corridor.

C’mon, let’s go to the end of this hall, then we can turn back and be done.

The exit sign, partially illuminated in red above the door at the other end, looked like it was a mile away when in reality it was probably only thirty feet. An unapologetic groan emerged. It felt more like it was time for another nap and the legs were definitely not receiving the signals from the brain telling them to push through the cement-like feeling. On the contrary, the brain seemed just as willing to give up in favor of a long, deep slumber.

The nurse’s hand squeezed a little tighter. I don’t want to hear your grumbling. It’s not that far, and I know you’ve got this in you. You may be trying to fool yourself, but you’re not fooling me.

What I really wish I had in me was the energy to throat punch your peppy ass right now! Turning around to see how far they’d come, things felt even more bleak. Maybe there was only thirty feet to the turnaround point but that meant sixty feet back to the comforts of the chair. That term needed to be used loosely too. It wasn’t actually a comfortable chair, but it was at least something to rest a weary body in. Despite the lack of command from the brain to the feet, which felt like they were shackled, somehow shuffled along the time-stained tiles. No doubt once a bright spectacle of white, the floor was now a tarnished tinge of yellow.

Don’t you be looking back. You’ll be going in that direction again soon enough.

I was wrong. A throat punch is not in order. A solid roundhouse to the head seems much more appropriate. We’re almost to the wall. Hold it together. Once we turn, just focus on the chair. You can make it.

They slowly took another step.

Ah, who am I kidding? A throat punch immediately followed by a solid roundhouse is in order. Ugh. If only I had the strength. Oh, there we go, insert an eye roll. At least she didn’t see that.

Another eye roll resulted in a snicker as they almost reached the end of the hall, preparing to turn around.

Something funny? the nurse asked. Please, do tell. There’s so little humor around here. I’d appreciate being in on the joke. With her head cocked, her flawless brown skin glowed as they passed under a set of properly functioning overhead lights.

Inside family joke. Believe me, nothing you or anyone else would find remotely amusing. Metal clinked on the sternum while the feet shuffled around for the return trip to paradise.

Oh, honey, you have no idea how stale it can be in here. We can find humor in just about anything.

Slower shuffling. Deep breath. The nurse’s sweet and slightly floral scent was suddenly more apparent than the antiseptic.

You really wanna know? I can assure you, you’re not that desperate. I inadvertently chuckled at an eye roll. Isn’t that some exciting shit? I bet it’s gonna be the highlight of your day. You’re welcome for the enthralling entertainment—free of charge, no less. Well, technically, you’re getting paid quite well from my insurance company for my riveting performance when you should be the one paying me. I’ll take my tips in the form of my wheelchair arriving and chauffeuring me to my penthouse suite.

Oh, you are a salty one, but I already knew that. The nurse smiled, her grip tightening a little more. "Nice try, but if you want your chair, you’re going to have to keep walking to it. And sad as it may be, your outburst will probably be the highlight of my day, so thank you."

Head hung; another habitual eye roll transpired. That large amount of talking stole any remaining energy. The chair seemed light years away. Defeat started to settle in and along with it came a burning in the stomach and throat. The burn in the eyes was even stronger.

Look back at the discolored tiles. It’s got to be better than the far too distant and impossible respite. Getting lost in thought, a childhood image appeared of gliding on ice in the winter wearing sneakers and not lifting them up from the frozen water. That was much more fun than the hospital’s version. The so-called traction socks continued to slide sluggishly along the slippery floor. A reminder of better days.

Images kept coming back of the hard work over the past few weeks. Things that should have been simple, like walking, were suddenly so complex. Trying to figure out how to draw a face on a clock proved to be a nemesis for a day or so. What did a clock look like besides a blank circle with a dot in the middle? Surely, they were speaking English, but it may as well have been another language as the doctors tried to describe what to do. Staying awake was still the most difficult task of all. It was hard to sleep through the night and hard to stay up during the day. The hubbub was that the circadian clock was mixed up, as was common in cases like these. Yet another clock that couldn’t be figured out. Supposedly, the brain had the days and nights mixed up, and gradually, things would go back to normal. It sure didn’t feel like it yet, and it sure didn’t seem like they knew what the hell they were talking about.

Look at that. A few more steps and you’ll be at your chariot. You didn’t die.

Another eye roll instinctively transpired. Yet.

Nah, it will take a lot more than this to keep you down.

A comeback fervently swirled, but the exhaustion was too much to allow the vocal cords or mouth to argue anymore. Instead, falling full force into the taut cushion of the chair, a thud and whoosh of air emerged from the impact of the derriere. An attempt was made at waiving the right hand forward as if to say onward, but instead, it made more of a poorly executed belly flop motion.

Just think, this is the last you’ll have to deal with my abuse. It’s discharge day, and time to go home now.

Home. I can’t wait to finally get home. No more nurses prodding me and interrupting my sleep. No more of these ridiculous therapy sessions. I can curl up and hibernate for days on end with no one to bother me or make me move. It’s the best news since I can remember, which admittedly isn’t saying much.

Being wheeled out of the therapy area the blinking overhead light was like a strobe that should have had disco music accompanying it. The eyes closed as they turned down a bustling hallway, and sleep conquered again. The mind suddenly and blissfully went silent.

CHAPTER 2

The truck rumbled slowly under the pavilion and came to a stop in front of the exit. Seeing the doors slide open with the frail body being wheeled out through them, Pete put the vehicle in park and commanded Stormy to sit and stay. Shutting the driver’s door, he rushed around to the passenger side and opened that one. Stormy did as she was told, and aside from the butt wiggling from her lashing tail, she wasn’t moving. Stopping at the opened door, the nurse locked the wheels on the wheelchair, and Pete grabbed Cris under her right arm and helped her stand up. The nurse then came around to the left side for added support enroute, and they pivoted once reaching the truck.

Pete looked over at the nurse. I’ve got it from here. All right, Cris, I just need you to lift one foot onto the running board. That’s all. I’ll guide you into the passenger seat from there.

Cris didn’t verbally respond but did lift her left leg until it came to rest on the running board. Pete positioned his hands under her arms and seamlessly lifted her up and slid her back into the seat. Seeing her momma, Stormy became more excited but still remained seated. Pete shut the passenger door and turned back to the nurse.

Thank you for everything all of you have done. You saved her life. I’m convinced if it wasn’t for the quick action and care of everyone here, she would’ve left weeks ago in a body bag instead of sitting in my truck right now. Pete’s voice got deeper from the lump in his throat.

Oh, believe me, it was our pleasure, she said. These are the endings that keep us going.

God bless you. He walked around the front of the truck and jumped behind the wheel.

Stormy sat between them, managing to contain her enthusiasm relatively well. Cris had her left arm resting around the dog’s shoulders and her head back against the seat with her eyes closed.

Here we go. The drive will be a few hours. If you need to stop along the way, just let me know.

Cris grunted. At least he got some form of acknowledgment. He knew she was tired and sleeping a lot. The doctors said that would improve over time as her brain continued to heal. The more she could stay awake during the day and the longer she could sleep at night, the faster that progress would be.

The hospital wasn’t too far from the highway, and after three quick turns, Pete was cruising along the entrance ramp to the interstate. Squeezing in and threading the needle between vehicles, he quickly moved over and kept pace with the flow of traffic. Once the shifts and turns stopped, Stormy settled in and rested her head on top of Cris’s legs. Knowing Cris loved music just as much as he did, Pete turned the radio on. She normally preferred her tunes cranking, but these were not normal times. He kept the volume low, just loud enough to hear over the road noise of the tires.

Cris had not opened her eyes or made a sound since the grunt upon leaving. A few miles down the highway, Pete noticed her head kept rolling toward the small headrest in the middle of the truck. It didn’t take long before it made contact. Apparently, it was a sufficient pillow because once her head was cradled and secured, Cris slept the whole way.

Traffic was busy, but not the bumper-to-bumper idiocy it typically was. As he listened to the subdued music, Stormy’s occasional snoring and the ebb and flow of Cris’s breathing, Pete couldn’t deny the overpowering sense of feeling blessed. Just a few weeks ago, he was praying for an ending like this, but he hadn’t believed it might actually happen. It seemed so distant and illusory to even consider. But here they were.

Pete was grateful but not ignorant of the obvious. He had been worrying about her abilities and apparent changes. Cris had been very quiet. In general, that was nothing new. She was introverted by nature, but if she had something to say, she didn’t hold back from saying it. Both truth and sarcasm flowed off her sharp tongue. But over the past few weeks, words were a rarity and when they did come out, sarcasm was almost non-existent. He knew she was tired, and her wits weren’t about her, but it felt like the issue was more than just fatigue. It appeared something had changed in her soul.

Two weeks of therapy, three times a day, seven days a week, and Cris still couldn’t walk long distances. Her muscles were partially atrophied, and she tired far too quickly, spending most of her day sleeping when she wasn’t in rehab or with the nurse in her room. It was almost as if the exhaustion intertwined its roots with her bones.

Additionally, Pete noticed she often struggled getting her thoughts and words out. When that happened, she became frustrated, angered, and subsequentially embarrassed by it. The doctors had said it would likely be permanent. That news was probably the hardest for him to accept. Continuing with occupational and physical therapy and introducing new daily brain exercises could yield some improvement though. Cris was always on top of everything, and even when she may not have been, she was able to pull herself together enough to get through whatever needed to be done, and nobody was any the wiser. She couldn’t hide it now, and that realization would crush her once she was cognizant enough to realize it. Perhaps she already was.

Her discharge instructions included a slew of doctor’s appointments and tests along with continuing OT and PT. The immediate instructions were to walk at home in short but frequent durations until her strength and stamina gradually returned. She was also supposed to try to stay awake more during the day so she could sleep better at night, gradually getting her sleep cycle back on track. Apparently, when you’re incoherent and sleep for days on end, your body loses its circadian rhythm, and it takes time and effort to get back to normal.

Pete rarely took time off and had a buttload of vacation time saved up. He had put in for a month off to help Cris with rehab and all her various appointments. She wouldn’t have the ability to keep up with it all in her current cognitive state, although the old Cris wouldn’t admit that. It would be interesting to see what happened now. She didn’t know she wouldn’t be able to drive for a while yet. She was told by the doctor, but Pete could tell she didn’t retain the news since she didn’t react in her normal tell him where to shove it way. She fell asleep right afterward and didn’t mention it upon waking. He was dreading that conversation the most.

They finally arrived at Cris’s community. Pete listened to her breathe softly as he pulled into her neighborhood and then her driveway a few moments later. As he shut off the ignition, Stormy lingered in her position but thumped her tail with enough force for it to reverberate through the seats. Cris, however, remained steadfast in her slumber.

CHAPTER 3

Plummeting sharply into a black abyss, Cris found herself caught in a free fall. Her body swayed from side to side, and her head slumped forward as if it weighed too much for her neck to hold up. Startled by the movement, Cris opened her eyes and looked around in confusion. They were in her driveway. Pete had his hand on her shoulder, presumably because he had pushed her back to prevent her head from hitting the dashboard. He must have also been trying to shake her awake. Both of those actions would account for the feeling of free falling into the abyss. Stormy’s tail thumped as she licked Cris’s cheeks. She hoped they weren’t getting redder from embarrassment. She would never have fallen asleep in a vehicle before, much less been so comatose she needed to be joggled upon arrival.

Reaching up to pet Stormy, she tried to pretend as if nothing had happened. Gee, thanks, girl. I needed more of your dog germs. Still groggy and slightly confuse her speech was slow and thick, as if she just downed a fifth of whiskey and the effects were kicking in.

Pete, always gracious, played along. You can never have too many of her kissing germs. I’ll bring her to the backyard quick then come help you inside.

Cris got ready to protest, but Pete had already opened his door and was guiding Stormy out of the truck. She was still so tired she didn’t have the energy to argue, but she knew she needed to at least attempt to keep up her former façade. A few weeks ago, she would’ve berated him at the mere implication of help, but things had drastically changed. In so many ways. Cris was still loathed to openly acknowledging it though. As she sat there brooding about her past life and present reality, Pete opened the door and surprised her. She hoped she hid her startled response well enough.

He held his palm toward her. You ready to go inside? You must be happy to be home.

Cris tried one final time to muster up a snarky comeback about not needing his assistance, but she decided to concede. If she didn’t have the energy for that, how the hell was she going to make it inside her house by herself? She sluggishly came up with a response that was hopefully fitting enough.

I’m looking forward to getting some uninterrupted sleep for a few days. Those damn nurses would come in every few hours to poke and prod me or do a test or do some form of therapy. A person can’t get any rest in a hospital. A few days of good sleep and I’ll be ready to get back to reality again. Such as it is.

Bright blue eyes shining, Pete smiled sweetly, almost placating her. I think you’re right. Some solid rest will get you back to your smart-assed, fiery ways.

Cris swiveled in the passenger seat and rested her feet on the running board. The exhaustion made her legs feel like lead, the weight of them working with gravity to pull her down. Trying to gracefully stand and step down to the ground proved to be a challenge she lacked the ability to complete. Thankfully, Pete was prepared and already had her by the arm guiding her down. Once on the ground, she halfheartedly tried to pull away. Pete loosened his grip but didn’t let go, which was good because as her surroundings started to spin, Cris realized she wouldn’t be making the trek alone. Shuffle, shuffle, clank. She proceeded forward, occasionally catching her toe on the ground and more thankful for Pete’s assistance than she was willing to confess.

She thought back to the past month. She had gone from being a coworker and friend to accusing him of murder, despite his sacrifice and the care he had shown her and Stormy. The words of her father and Luke echoed in her brain. Open up to him. Trust him. We’ve been trying to show you. The thoughts made her temper punch at her skull to come out, but she shut it down and reminded herself it wasn’t Pete’s fault they said those things. It wasn’t him she was angry at anymore. She needed to work on showing him some grace. She owed him way more than that. Her life, in fact. However, admitting that out loud was a completely different story.

As she approached the steps, Cris froze. She had only worked on walking in PT, and it was obvious how much work she still needed to do. The thought of going up the five steps in front of her made her catch her breath. Pete strengthened his grip.

I’ve got you on this side. Grab the handrail, and we’ll make up these stairs, he said. Take all the time you need. I won’t let you fall. If you need to stop along the way, just tell me. We can sit on the step together. I won’t complain about getting a break.

She attempted to crack her veneer and show kindness. You never complain about anything.

That’s not true. I do. It’s just not often and rarely in front of other people. Think about it—there were a few times this month I expressed some frustration.

Cris certainly didn’t want to go there since those frustrations were the result of either her case or her husband’s case. The murder she had accused him of was her husband Luke’s, and Pete had been the lead detective. At the time, the evidence against Pete was clear, at least to her. She had been openly accusatory toward him and conjured things that, as it turned out, weren’t there. On a rare occasion, Pete would express exasperation, but he never angered at her antics and never stopped being there for her or Stormy for one second. He even blamed himself for what happened to her, which was a result of her own actions. Again, she knew she owed him everything.

I’d rather tackle these stairs than those deep issues right now if it’s all the same to you.

Pete smirked. Yes, ma’am, it is. Tally ho, me lassie!

Cris spat out a cackle. She couldn’t remember the last time she had done that, certainly not since she’d been with Luke, but it felt really good. Cognizant enough to feed off the temporary feeling of vigor, Cris lifted her right foot to take that first step. She felt the metal clank against her sternum again, which gave her more strength for another step. Step, clank. Step, clank. Step, clank. Cris raised her watery eyes to look beyond the porch roof. Thanks for the strength, Dad!

Pete unlocked the door and disabled the alarm upon entering. Confused at the beeping, Cris watched him fiddle with the keypad. She had forgotten she installed a security system in the house—to catch Pete as the killer while he was staying with her, no less. She certainly wouldn’t have known how to stop the annoying noise without him, and she was thankful he was there.

He resumed his position as chauffeur, wrapping his hand around her arm to guide her. C’mon over to the couch. You must be exhausted. I’ll grab your pillow and a blanket and close the curtains.

I’m fine. Really.

He escorted her to the couch and eased her into