The Dark Room

By Sue Thornton

Following in his father's footsteps, Roy Whyte searches for the missing child of murdered model, Margo Evers. Instead he discovers Marni McKittrick beaten and left for dead in an alley dumpster. Watching over her in the hospital, he wonders about the nightmares that plague her sleep. For Marni McKittrick, her job as a photographer is the perfect cover for hiding in one town after the other. Certain IT has found her, Marni hides in the shadows waiting for him to strike. As Roy and Marni's paths entwine around each other, their painful pasts emerge and the secrets they have buried deep within draw them toward danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590880685

Book preview

One

He sat at the booth next to the diner’s front window staring out at the early risers of the small town he’d been born in. A folder sat open in front of him. He’d read the neatly typed pages again, looking for a clue he knew wasn’t there. The reason for coming back here . His thoughts were as far from the memories of his early youth as he could possibly force them. They were too painful to dredge up, even the good ones he could remember clearly.

A midnight blue Jeep jumped the curb and accelerated around the corner. A squeal of tires mixed with a young woman’s screams broke through the unexpected realization that he feared something from his youth.

His heart lurched watching the young woman fall backwards and the stroller tip onto its side. He moved without thinking, grabbed the file and joined others running from all directions, either to lend their assistance or just to ogle.

By the time he reached the corner the sobbing woman had been helped to her feet and was examining the hysterical toddler. He noticed blood seeping from open wounds on the child’s arm where it had been caught outside the stroller.

I’m okay. I’m okay, the woman cried. Pushing at probing hands, she pulled her t-shirt from her waistband and held it to her child’s abrasions to stem the flow of blood. He’s okay. We’re both okay.

An old woman pushed through the crowd and tugged on his arm. You better come. The woman’s voice was abrasive as if she’d smoked too many cigarettes over the years. She held tightly to him as she hobbled back through the gathering, pulling him along beside her. "Do you have one of those telephones you carry in your pocket?

You better call for an ambulance. She barely waited for his nod pointing in the direction the Jeep had come.

He stared down the deserted street, then glanced at the old woman sharply, his senses tingling in anticipation. His stomach clenched as the instincts he’d honed and fine-tuned over the years kicked in. Where? In the alley?

She nodded. In the garbage. You tell them to hurry. She yelled at his back when he took off at a run. Turning, he cut the corner too closely and slipped in the overflow of garbage from one of the dumpsters. He gave thanks that he could use his training and experience to detach himself from what he discovered when he slid to a stop next to the dumpster.

A crumpled body dressed in blue jeans and a white blouse lay in a heap of trash. Reddish gold curls, tinted with the red of blood, covered the face. The nauseating smell of rotting food and old frying grease permeated the tight passageway, mixing with the coppery scent of blood.

Dropping the file, he knelt over the still body, brushed back the sticky hair, and felt for a pulse. Her heart was racing, the beats strong. Her battered face was swollen beyond recognition. Several cuts were severe and in need of stitching. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to her face, attempting to stem the flow of blood from the deepest cut on her right cheek.

His fingers left sticky imprints on the phone keypad when he punched in the emergency number.

We need an ambulance in the alley between the Chinese restaurant and Paul’s drug store on Main Street. Woman’s been dumped here and she’s hurt badly. I’ll stay with her. Just get someone here. Now. He flipped the phone closed and dropped it back into his pocket.

With her head cradled in his lap, he listened for any change in her rapid breathing. An occasional whimper would escape letting him know she felt the pain inflicted upon her. Her eyelids fluttered, but there was no response to his voice.

He searched the paper-strewn alleyway while he spoke to her. With each gust of wind, gritty dirt would rise and blow along with paper and cardboard. His eyes stung from the miniscule particles. He quickly assessed the crime scene spotting a small brown handbag, the contents strewn about the alleyway, approximately five feet from her. A brown leather carryall was lying partially under her, the straps wrapped around her left hand. There appeared to have been a struggle; two of her fingers were swollen and bruised. The other hand was cut and abrasioned.

Hold on, sweetheart. Help’s on the way. He stroked the mass of wet, matted hair. You’re going to be fine. His soft, husky voice continued until the paramedics arrived.

With precise movements the paramedics quickly assessed her condition. Lifting her head, and positioning a neck brace, they slid a backboard underneath her, and braced her head to keep it from moving. A splint was attached to her left arm in case it had been broken.

We’re ready to transport her, one of the paramedics said.

I’ll follow you. The man waited until they loaded her into the ambulance then ran across the road to his car. He pulled out his cell phone and placed a call for someone to bring him a change of clothes before roaring after the ambulance in his sporty car.

He was met at the emergency room entrance by Sheriff David Singleton. Paramedics rushed the bloody, battered body past them to one of the two rooms that served as the Hospital’s emergency area. Sheriff Singleton grabbed his arm and led him along the hallway until they stood outside the examination room’s entrance.

Did you see what happened? David asked.

No, he replied. Right now I need to be patient and wait to see how much damage there is.

David bowed his head, hiding the small smile that flickered across his face. That shouldn’t be too hard for you, should it?

Pulling his tan Sheriff’s hat off, David began twisting it in his hands. Did you happen to see the license plate of the jeep?

David leaned against the wall and watched the medical staff rush around the table where the woman lay.

There didn’t appear to be any license plates on it...maybe intransit stickers. The man matched David’s stance against the opposite wall.

Stay here with her, will you? David asked. Celina said she’d bring you some clean clothes. She should be here soon.

Thank you. I’ll call you when she wakes.

You do that. David looked at the woman once again. He stopped by the nurse’s desk and signed for the handbag and carryall they held for him and spoke quietly to the charge nurse. He turned back to see the man slip into the examining room. A harried nurse rushed past David and mumbled something about stubborn and obnoxious.

David covered his mouth and choked back a laugh.

IF THERE WAS ANYTHING he was good at, it was waiting. He could sit without moving for hours. Slipping his hands into the pockets of his black pants, he retreated to the shadows, leaned back, waited and watched.

As a small child he discovered the benefit of being seen, but not heard. Quietly watching and waiting usually led to the solution or information he was looking for.

A groan sounded from the table, followed by incoherent words. The nurse spoke to the woman lying there. He moved a step closer, but the doctor shook his head at him, so he returned to his place against the wall.

Leaning quietly against the cold wall of Locust Grove Community Hospital, he folded his arms across his broad chest. It wasn’t a big city hospital and, like most hospitals, they were understaffed and underpaid. Grimly aware he could be forcibly removed at any time, he noted the disgruntled look on the nurse’s face after blatantly ignoring her request to get out and let them do their job. Standing in the shadows of the claustrophobic emergency room, his gray-blue eyes watched the medical staff work.

The doctor had been called to stitch a three-inch gash on her back and the cut on her right cheek. One nurse cleaned and anointed smaller cuts and abrasions, while another rushed in to insert the x-rays into the reading lights.

The doctor went over to study them, then walked toward him.

She has a severe concussion, rib damage—four broken, and three cracked. There are two broken fingers, several cuts and a lot of abrasions. She’s lucky, the doctor said and pulled his latex gloves off with a snap.

Tossing them in the garbage, the doctor glanced over his shoulder at the woman lying still and quiet. We’ll be moving her upstairs as soon as they get a bed ready.

The man nodded in reply and accepted the chair offered to him. Moving the hard plastic seat into the shadows allowed him a view of the room’s entrance without being seen.

Keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings, he mentally questioned the attack on the woman. She had made someone mad at her or else she had something her attacker wanted. The next question is how or why was she singled out? This doesn’t appear to be a typical mugging. Especially in a town of this size. If her purse is all they wanted, why the severe beating? Or were they intending to kill her? And in broad daylight? Whoever did this is taking a huge chance of being caught. Or is that part of the package?

Gazing at the still body lying on the narrow bed his brow furrowed into a frown. He stepped to the side of the bed and inspected the small, delicate hands draped over her abdomen, then, gently brushing back her hair, he noted the small gold stud in each ear. So jewelry wasn’t a factor. Maybe whatever the person was looking for was in the bags David took with him.

He pulled the palm-sized phone from the pocket of his black sport jacket, flipped it open, punched out a number and waited for an answer.

It’s me. When you have a chance I would like to know the contents of the purse and the leather bag. Any information about the owner would be greatly appreciated. With a flick of his wrist he closed the phone.

Orderlies arrived to move her upstairs. He walked a step behind the gurney along the dismally lit hallway to the elevator. The antiseptic smell of disinfectant filtered through the hallway barely disguising the smell of sickness and death. His keen eyes were alert to anything out of place, anything that could signal danger.

A matronly nurse spoke quietly while she tucked the warmed blanket around the woman. There isn’t anything you can do for your wife. We’ll take care of her. Why don’t you go down and get some coffee? We’ll come and get you if there is any change. Her friendly smile spoke of her concern.

Jarred by the nurse’s assumption the woman was his wife, he concealed his surprise in the unexpected hope that people would talk freely around him.

Thank you. I’ll stay here. He grasped the bed rails, looking down at the fragile woman, small in the hard, narrow bed.

Catching a glimpse, from the corner of his eye, of another nurse appearing in the doorway, he listened to the nurse’s rubber soles squeak along the floor when she left the room.

He appears to be a wonderful, devoted husband to stay by her side that way. I pray I’m not wrong about him and he’s the one who did all that damage to that poor girl.

Now Mildred... her companion scolded, their voices drifting off as they walked away.

His back stiffened at the implications. In the back of his mind he saw a fist swing and heard a woman sob.

Two

Obscene needlelike stabs of pain, from the bright light, seared her closed eyes and prevented her from forcing them open. Attempting to move her head brought on the furor of pain and nausea. Whispered promises told of a world free of pain. The darkness called, willing her back into the welcome, comforting depths of nothingness. She was flying. Voices drifted around her, fading away as darkness came once more.

COLD SEEPED THROUGH her clothing, into her body. Bells echoed through the air. Why are there bells in the park? The sun is so bright. I am so cold. Gingerly, she moved her head, waiting for the explosions the light would bring. Without warning, the deafening thunder in her head would slam her with all the power it could muster. The thick blanket of pain hovered, warning, threatening her with every breath. With every movement.

Others were nearby. She recognized the sound of shoes squeaking along a tile floor. Flinching, she tried to pull away from the cool hand prodding for a pulse. The struggle to pull away was brief and futile, as she somehow knew it would be. She grabbed at the wisp of darkness remaining in her mind, but it slipped away, leaving her in the cold, sterile room. Her eyes fluttered open to harsh unforgiving lights. A face swam over hers, momentarily obstructing the glaring light.

She wanted to ask where she was and why, but she couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around the thought. Closing her eyes, she willed the darkness to come and return her to the park bench where she had been sitting. The whisper of unconsciousness beckoned, summoning her return. Swiftly and silently, the black swept over her and pulled her into comforting arms.

HE PUSHED THE RECLINING chair back into a corner of the room. Leaning into the soft nubby fabric of the chair, he stretched his legs out in front of him. Opening the file, he noticed the bloody fingerprints, stamped on the worn yellow manila folder. Her blood. Running his fingers over the splotches, something akin to guilt pricked his conscience. Pushing back tight shoulders he absently flipped the pages where he knew every word, line, dash and comma.

Allowing his mind to stray to the man who had compiled the thick file, a soft, melancholy smile touched his lips. Closing his eyes he listened, focusing on the sounds around him. Hearing the wheels of a chair roll across the floor and bumping into wood took him back to a different time, a different place. Father never could miss running into the side of his desk whenever he rolled his chair.

AN OLDER MAN SAT AT the desk, shoulders hunched forward. He dressed in a tan uniform and wore his long graying ponytail tied back with a strip of leather. The gun he usually wore at his hip rested on the desk within easy reach. He turned the page he studied and jotted a note on a sheet of paper.

The young boy entered the forbidden domain of his father’s study on his tiptoes, thinking the man wouldn’t hear him.

Roy, what are you doing here?

Moving toward the overflowing bulletin board he stared, mesmerized by a single photograph centered in the middle of the corkboard. She has such pretty eyes, doesn’t she, Father?

Yes, son, she has exquisite eyes. Now, what are you doing here? He asked again, softly, but firmly.

I came to see you. You come in here when you aren’t at work. I miss you. I came to help. He stood straight and tall in his small eight-year-old body, self-assurance flowing from him. His perceptive gaze locked onto his father's eyes.

I haven’t been paying much attention to you lately, have I? His father rose from the cracked vinyl chair moving agilely toward his son. She would never forgive me if she knew I was neglecting you.

The boy stared at his father, watching his sad, dark eyes mist over. Who would never forgive him? Roy knew better than to question him. His father was in a rare and generous mood. He had taken a huge chance coming into the study and an even larger one by mentioning he missed his father. Roy quickly masked his response, afraid of the displeasure his father would show. A Whyte doesn’t show emotion. He was taken back seeing the bare, raw emotions in his father’s eyes move across his face. No emotion, Roy. Roy didn't want to spoil the mood his father was in.

Why don’t we see if Aunt Julie wants to have a night out? We can go get a hamburger and take in the early movie. What do you say? His father rested a hand gently on the boy’s shoulder.

All right. He walked with his father across the blue braided rug his aunt had so lovingly made. Who is the woman in the picture? At night you can’t sleep. I hear you pacing the floor and sometimes you just stand there, staring at her face. Roy held his breath realizing he had just let his father know he didn’t remain in bed, but spied on him instead. He let his breath out slowly. Father must not have heard me.

Roy crossed the room to the board and stared at her. Her smile was so vibrant, laughing at whoever was taking her picture. Who is she, Father? He gazed at his father’s lined, tired face, his curiosity about the woman making him throw all caution to the wind.

A spirit, Roy. A lost soul who was in such emotional turmoil upon her death that she turned away from the light. She’s crying out for help. The older man’s voice was full of sadness and resignation.

You’ll help her, Father. I know you will. I’ll help her, too, he announced, head up, chest out, confidence in his Father lighting his blue-gray eyes.

A GROAN FROM THE BED brought him back to the stuffy hospital room. Silently, he watched her eyelids flutter, open momentarily, then close again.

The slap of hard-soled footsteps hurried down the hallway, slowing as they came closer to the door. The scent of wintergreen mints announced the petite deputy who worked for David. She moved into the room jumping when he stepped from the shadows. Sashaying up to him, she handed him the envelope and ran her hand down his arm. Tipping her head back, she smiled up at him and stroked his chest with her hand.

Sheriff Singleton sent these papers over for you. He said you would know what they are. Her voice, deep and husky, contradicted the feminine body standing before him. She eyed his tall, athletic body. Bright blue eyes hinted at overzealous desires, while her tongue ran seductively across her bottom lip.

Glancing at the bed, he picked her hand up with his thumb and forefinger, and let it drop like a soiled rag.

Tell David I’ll call him. Stepping back into the dimly lit shadows, he returned to his seat. Turning sharply on her heel, the deputy stormed from the room. He preferred to do the chasing, if he was so inclined. He dismissed her from his mind, as quickly as she had arrived, distaste for her brazenness soured his mouth.

Pulling out a well-used pocketknife, he softly stroked the inlaid ivory before opening it to slit the seal on the brown manila envelope. There were three pages, each with only one line. He read them thoroughly, then a second time. He tapped the pages absently against his hand. There wasn’t any more information here than what he knew from his last inquiry.

The squeaking of rubber soled shoes outside the door signaled the charge nurse’s arrival. He watched her closely while she took the woman’s vital signs. She spoke softly, with a French-Canadian accent, as she smoothed the reddish gold hair from the woman’s forehead. It was as if she thought the woman could really hear her.

How are you holding up? She didn’t look at him, giving no indication he was there.

Fine. He watched her trim body bend over the woman’s, straightening the already smooth covers. The nurse's long fingers ran across the woman’s forehead, easing the pain lines.

She will be fine in a few days. Why do you not go home and see your grandmother?

Elizabeth doesn't care to see me, Celina. Thank you for bringing me a change of clothes.

She is that important you can not leave? She dared to look in his direction.

Yes.

Nodding once in answer she moved across the room. The soft, sweet scent of lilacs floated in the air.

The head on the pillow moved, bringing a groan of pain. The eyelids fluttered then closed. She mumbled incoherently, then lay quietly on the white sheets. Celina hurried over to check her.

He moved closer to the bed, hands folded in front of him, to watch her struggling, fighting to regain control of her senses. The right side of her face had been beaten so badly the eye wouldn’t open more than a slit. Fine even stitches along the cut on her cheek would leave only a small scar.

How could anyone have done something like this? What had she done to make someone do this? He frowned at the brutality and force that was used on the petite woman. Someone wanted her dead.

Her moss green eyes were glazed, unable to focus on anything in particular. He watched her struggle, the shimmer of tears filling her eyes. He watched them escape, running down the sides of her face to splash silently against her hair. A garbled sound came hoarsely from her mouth.

SHE OPENED HER EYES a fraction at a time, afraid of the unforgiving pain. The right side of her face ached and her eye wouldn't open very far. Focusing on the task she tried harder, attempting to lift her hand to her face, but it felt like lead and dropped, with a thud, back against the covers.

Lilacs. I smell lilacs. I’m at the little white farmhouse and safe from pain and evil. The soft voices she heard weren’t familiar. Who’s here? Her heart tripped over itself as she tried to orient her thoughts. Where are the girls? I promise I’ll be good. Who’s going to take care of the girls? Please don’t let them be hurt.

She wasn’t sitting on the bench in the little park by the hotel. When she tried to move her head white lights burst behind her eyes.

She tried to focus on the sounds of many machines filling the small room. Medicinal smells penetrated her senses. Why am I here? What has happened?

Another explosion of pain besieged her. She lay still, listening. She couldn’t hear the girls. A whimper escaped, as anxiety churned in the pit of her stomach, and reality took hold. Panic escalated as she tried to focus her thoughts. She needed to run, to escape, but just the effort of the thought had cold sweat running down her face.

Welcome back. You've had us a little worried around here, a woman's voice said. I'll let the doctor know you're awake. Celina rushed from the room to locate the doctor.

She imagined nodding an agreement.

Open your eyes. A husky voice whispered close to her ear. I need to talk to you.

Darkness whispered in the distance, tempting her. She reached out, concentrating on the safe emptiness, only to find sanctuary slipping beyond her reach. The darkness slithered away and was gone.

THE PAIN WAS UNSPEAKABLE, but she was unable to release more than a fragment of the scream that ripped through her head. Her tongue ran across her cut and swollen lips. This was the worst beating he’d inflicted on her. What did I do wrong this time? Why am I here? I’ve never been allowed a doctor before.

What? He leaned closer.

She struggled to form a word, but her lips were so swollen the garbled whisper was scarcely heard.

Willie?

She tried to focus, repeating the word again. It was useless. He would never understand. Lifting her hand, she made writing motions.

Twisting away, he picked up a notepad and pen from his chair and held them before her so she could write. She grasped the pen, wincing with pain. With a shaking hand she scribbled two words on the paper.

Lily. Camilla.

Is that your name?

No, she rasped.

They weren’t with her. Swallowing hard to keep back the cry of fear that tore at her, she racked her memory, trying to remember. I’m not in Texas. I left there long ago. Pain ripped through her. Gasping for breath, she craved the darkness, but fought to think more clearly. Lily and Camilla had been at the hotel when I left for my walk. Pictures—I’d wanted to take pictures.

Who are Lily and Camilla?

Sister niece, she scrawled. Her hand dropped heavily to the bed. So tired.

What is your name? He waited for a reply. We need to know your name.

He leaned closer, his face smelled of soap, nothing sweet or spicy, just soap.

Struggling, she forced herself to print. Marni.Who...

She closed her eyes. No more today. No more. There were voices in the room. Someone was talking to Himself. Himself never told me his name, she thought groggily. She was barely conscious of his presence, in the chair next to the bed, as she drifted off to sleep.

HE WANTED ANSWERS. Normally he would have persisted until he was satisfied. But she won’t be going anywhere. Not for a while anyway. She’s given me something to work with. Who are Lily and Camilla? Where do they fit into all of this?

I see she woke up. David stood quietly next to the bed. Celina said she was trying to talk, but couldn’t manage to get the words out. Did you learn anything?

Her name’s Marni. She asked for Lily and Camilla. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

She didn’t happen to say who they are, or where I might be able to locate them now, did she? David stared at him.

Her sister and niece. No.

You are a man of so many words. Sometimes you scare me when you talk so much. David chuckled softly. Did the information I sent over help you any?

No.

David ran his hand over his jaw.

Celina said you aren’t going to go home. She seems to think this woman means something to you. Do you want to talk about it?

No.

David looked around the dimly lit room.

Roy, if there’s anything I should know...

I’ll call you when she wakes up. He remained standing next to the bed. The light from the hallway rested across her body stirring an old ache...a longing from somewhere long ago. Not taking his eyes off the woman, he didn’t hear David move toward the door, but his instincts knew.

David?

Yeah?

Thank you.

David gazed back at his cousin. He nodded. David didn’t expect a response, knowing he would be told what he needed when it was time.

Three

Achild’s cries and screams of terror filled her head. She ran through the long passage of trees, and ominous dusk, searching, spotting the apparition ahead of her. When she got closer the cries would shift, first further away; then behind her. Stumbling, she caught herself before falling. Thorns and tree limbs tore at her arms and legs. IT turned, ITS face twisted from the uneven scar running down ITS cheek, distorting the sneer on ITS face. The wild taste of terror sharpened the air. Raucous laughter poured from ITS mouth. The smell of decomposing flesh mingled with the bittersweet scent of rotting leaves. Turning, she ran back toward the cries. IT stepped out in front of her. The wind ravaged the shedding branches, leaves drifted down, whispering words of warning. The agonizing screams grew louder.

Stop the screaming! Jerking awake, her own scream died in her throat as she gasped for air. Her sweat-soaked hospital gown clung to her body. Damp curls plastered to her neck. Terror consumed her very being, manufacturing panic in the poorly lit room. Whipping her head around, oblivious to the pain, she searched the shadows. Her chest burned from lack of air leaving her to believe her pounding heart would explode.

Something moved off to the side. She turned her head for a closer look. IT is in the room. But how? How did IT find me? Pressure built in her chest, tightening up into her throat, constricting her body. Struggling to breathe, she opened her mouth to scream. IT lunged toward her and covered her mouth. The salt from ITS skin mixed with blood from her lip. She fought to pull away, but found little strength to assist her. The excruciating pain of her injuries sent waves of nausea through her.

I’m not going to hurt you, the deep voice said. You were having a nightmare. I didn’t mean to scare you.

She closed her eyes then opened them. The hideous face she envisioned before was gone. A very handsome man leaned toward her, his hand still secure on her mouth.Marni, are you all right?

She stared at him. His chestnut-colored hair gleamed in the lamplight. Searching his face and her memory, unable to remember who he was, she drifted back into the depths of security.

Himself flickered through her mind as she fell into an undisturbed sleep.

Four

Someone chattering like a magpie woke Marni from a sound sleep. Rose. The dream about a farmhouse and gardens flickered once, then dissipated like rain on hot cement. Marni opened her eyes, turning her head with a small murmur of pain, looking for her younger sister. The bright glare of sunlight on white walls hurt her eyes. She wasn’t lying in the big double bed she shared with the girls. The antiseptic smell of disinfectant greeted her. She frowned, stopping at the tight stiffness of her face that greeted her. The torn skin was still raw and stiff with the healing process.

An old woman bustled around preparing a sponge bath, stopping once she realized Marni was awake.

Well now, dearie, it’s good to be seeing you awake. You’re in the hospital and you’ve been doing a lot of sleeping. It’s good for what ails you, but you’re on the mend now. She lowered the blankets down around Marni’s waist. We’ll just give you a bit of a wash now. Get you nice and pretty for your man.

Marni closed her eyes. The woman’s words came fast and ran together making no sense. Man? What man? A warm cloth gently swiped her hands and arms.

Lilacs. She opened her eyes. The old woman was gone. A younger nurse stood next to the bed holding her wrist. I must have been dreaming the other woman. She sounded like Rose.

"Good morning. Hazel said she put you to sleep while she bathed you. You’ll sleep off and on for a while yet. The doctor will be here to check you over in a little bit."

Marni gazed up at the dark haired woman with huge round dark eyes that animated her face. Long black eyelashes surrounded expressive eyes. A noise off to the side of the room drew Marni’s attention away from inspecting the exotic woman. Himself moved to stand next to her bed, his hands clasped in front of him. She studied him, taking in the styled chestnut-colored hair resting on the collar of his expensive tailor-made suit jacket. A five o’clock shadow covered his strong square jaw. Blue-gray eyes looked down on her. Dark circles under his eyes told her he was tired. The way he compressed his lips into a tight line made her wonder what she had done to displease him.

She allowed her gaze to drop to his broad shoulders. He wore a black t-shirt under his jacket, a tiny shimmer of gold peeked above the neckline. A gold watch encircled his left wrist.

A shiver of delight startled her. She didn’t doubt for an instant that Himself was dangerous. Her gaze traveled back across his solid muscular chest to his face. He carries secrets. Mentally shaking herself, she wondered where that absurd notion came from. How do you know this? You don’t even know his name.

Disconcerted when she discovered his gaze still upon her, she closed her eyes wishing sleep would overtake her again. She willed her breathing to become slow and shallow. A sharp pain in her ribs caused her to gasp and her eyes flew open. Himself remained next to the bed, a mask of apathy neatly in place.

The nurse touched her arm. It’s about time for a dose of pain medication. That will help you rest a little better.

No. I don’t need it. Marni murmured. Her mouth felt greasy, but her lips were just as stiff as the rest of her face. I don’t want anything.

What are you saying? You can sleep. He’ll go away. But the dream will return, and not the white picket fence and farmhouse dream. So which is the worse of two evils? Himself or the dream?

Is there some reason you don’t want anything? The nurse paused, Are you a recovering drug addict?

Marni laughed and immediately wished she hadn’t. She grasped her rib cage with her free hand. No, I’m not recovering or otherwise. I don’t need anything, but thank you anyway.

She’ll let you know if she changes her mind, Celina. Himself’s voice was soft and husky, barely above a whisper.

Marni stared at him, surprised that his voice wasn’t booming. But then he’s in control isn’t he? Complete control over himself. His appearance, actions, expressions. Cop. Closing her eyes, she shut out his steadfast gaze.

I’m tired. She murmured, hoping they would leave her alone so she could think. The soft whisper of nylons brushing against each other and the squeak of rubber-soled shoes told her the nurse had left, but the scent of lilacs remained in the room.

Marni let her thoughts drift back to the farmhouse and the garden behind the white picket fence. She could feel the warmth of the sun warming her face. Birds chirped happily as they hopped along the freshly turned earth looking for worms and bugs to satisfy their hunger. She envisioned herself squatting for what seemed like hours watching them. Safe and secure at the farmhouse she sank into the soft cushions of sleep, the cloudy cotton substance enveloping her.

THE ROOM WAS IN SHADOWS when she woke. The sun had moved to the other side of the building. Looking through the window she noticed the sky was filling with dark gray clouds. It’s going to rain.

An orderly entered the room carrying a brown plastic tray filled with an assortment of covered bowls. Setting the tray on the bedside table he rolled it toward her.

Are you ready to eat? Let me raise your bed a little bit. He smiled at her.

I’ll take care of her. Thank you. Himself spoke from where he sat. The orderly nodded and left the room. Himself moved around the bed, lifted the remote and slowly raised the bed.

Marni felt his eyes on her. Why do you watch me like that? Have I done something wrong? She forced herself to lift her gaze to meet his.

Himself continued to watch her, his eyes boring holes into her sensitive skin. No, you’ve done nothing wrong. He wheeled the tray and placed it carefully over her.

But you feel the need to watch me. Why? She studied his face while he removed the lids from her soup and Jell-O.

No reason. Eat. You need to regain your strength so you can leave here tomorrow. He moved back to his chair and picked up his magazine.

Marni lifted her left hand, wincing at the pain. Deep bruises ran the length of her arm and two of her fingers were taped to metal splints. Great. Now isn’t the time to rely strictly on my left hand.

The IV had been inserted in her right hand earlier. The tube had been removed, but the needle was still taped securely in place. A dark bruise surrounded the needle extending to a variety of other bruises. She flexed her fingers slowly.

Reaching for the dark broth she felt the pull on her ribs. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of receiving sustenance, but the effort was too great to work for it. Leaning back against the pillow, she closed her eyes.

Open you mouth. You need to eat. Himself ordered quietly.

Marni jerked and gazed at him. Himself stood next to the bed, the cup and spoon in his hand.

Go away. I don’t need a nursemaid. Why are you here and who are you?

I am your nursemaid. Now open your mouth. He dipped the spoon in the liquid and moved the small bowl toward her.

Obediently, Marni opened her mouth and reluctantly allowed him to spoon-feed her. She shook her head when he