Chasing Darkness (22 page)

She
willed herself not to cry. Please don’t cry. Please.

Suddenly
his shape filled the entrance to the crawl space and his big, hairy hand
reached for her.

She
screamed and kicked at him to get away.

He
howled and she scrambled to the furthest corner, but it wasn’t deep enough to
get away. He caught her leg and pulled.

“You’re
hurting me!”

“You
don’t come here, I’ll hurt you more.” He yanked hard until he got her under one
arm and dragged her out. Her nightie flew up and her pink panties showed. She
tried to cover herself, but he pushed her hand away.

The
smell of his breath reminded her of the first time he had come into her room,
late at night. He always had the same smell when he came for her.

Her
daddy pulled her panties aside and touched her.

Her
eyes squeezed closed, she fought not to cry, not to fight.

“How
do you like that?” he asked, blowing his breath in her face.

Ignore
him. She had to ignore him. She lifted herchin. At least he didn’t go to Polly.
She needed to keep him away from Polly. Polly was only seven. Sammy was nine.
She could take care of herself.

“I
said, do you like it?” He jabbed deeper.

Wincing
in pain, she lashed out, throwing her hand at his face. Her palm made a loud
smack as it struck his skin. She kicked hard and hit him in the chin.

He
let go and she twisted fast and got up. Running for the stairs, she didn’t look
back.

She
reached the top and pulled open the door. The smells of the kitchen hit her as
she gasped for breath. She took a step onto the yellow linoleum floor, but a
giant hand yanked her back. She started to scream, but he hit her hard in the
eye. She blinked hard to focus, feeling her left eye begin to swell.

“You
want to fight?” he said, shaking her, her feet barely touching the floor.

She
tried to pull away.

“I’ll
show you what men do with women who taunt and then don’t put out. You can learn
this lesson nice and early.” He smacked her hard in the mouth and then picked
her up and turned back toward the basement. She searched for a way out, but he
was too big. She could already barely see out of her left eye and she knew she
shouldn’t fight anymore. She’d have enough explaining to do as it was.

He
tossed her on the bed and tears closed her throat. She felt the hair on the
back of his hand hit her belly. Sammy shut her eyes and clenched her teeth,
trying not to make a sound. She could block it out. Block it out. She felt the
pressure of his weight on her first, his round, hard belly pressing against her
chest.

She
shook her head and held back her tears. Dream about something else. Dream.

Sam
shot up in bed, the dark sheets stained with tears and sweat, the flannel
clutched in her hands. Her eyes scanned the room, her pulse like a drill in her
ears. It was a dream. It was only a bad dream.

Sam
hadn’t heard a word on the case all morning. She’d talked to Aaron twice and
learned that nothing was going on at work. With the exception of the fact that
Williams had told everyone about how she’d drawn a gun on him.

“You
want to talk about it?” Aaron had asked.

“No,”
she’d snapped before adding, “It’s a load of crap.”

“I
figured,” he told her, but she knew there were plenty of people in the office
who were eating the rumors up and loving it.

And
to make matters more frustrating, the space heater that had exploded on her had
also disappeared from the closet in her office where she’d put it. So now there
was no way to find out if someone had tampered with it. She’d had Aaron call
facilities to check and see if anyone knew where it was, but they’d never seen
it. Sam again wondered if Williams wasn’t the obvious suspect.

She
was supposed to be on the case full-time, but she wished now that she’d gone to
the office even if just to pass the time. At least she could have told Williams
what a shit he was. Instead, she was stuck staring at the walls, going crazy.

She’d
paged Nick twice and called his house three times, only to hear the familiar
sound of his answering machine. She hadn’t left a message. He knew she was
trying to reach him. She’d tried to sleep, but her nightmare had left her with
a twisted gut and an inability to rest at all. Instead, she’d done something
she had been intending to do for years. She had pulled out the small cardboard
box and was sorting through the stack of Polly’s letters. She dreaded the
thought of coming back to these after so much time, wishing she had read them
all those years ago.

But
when Sam had gotten the first one, Polly was so happy at a time when Sam had
felt so destitute, she’d been unable to handle her own loneliness. And now
Polly was dead. She should’ve reached out to her sister, tried to save her. But
the letter had not asked for help. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Sam
untied the stack and removed the only opened letter from its envelope. With
dread clawing at her, Sam read it again:

Sammy
Jean,

Who
knows if you’ll even get this letter, but Daddy asked me to write you to see if
you’d come home. He’s really sick, you know. Doc Brewster says it’s his heart,
but I don’t understand much more about it. He’s supposed to stop drinking, but
he doesn’t. Mostly, he doesn’t want to tell us. He thinks we’re still kids.
We’re not. I’m almost twenty. My birthday’s in three months, if you forgot. I
finished up at NW Miss. Community College in Senatobia. I’ve thought about a
four-year college, but I got offered a full-time job at the Wal-Mart. I’ve been
there for about three years, so they’re offering me a job as an assistant
manager. Pay’s real good, so I can’t see turning it down for college.

Dad
asks about you sometimes, when Mom’s not around. Mom doesn’t want anyone to
mention your name since you left, but Dad does. She’s real mad at you, saying
you made up all that stuff about Daddy. I’m sure you had your reasons. Idon’t
think he’s mad or anything. I’m sure Mom would forgive you, too, if you just
come back and tell her you’re sorry.

When
he asks, I tell him you’re a big shot out in California and that you’re real
busy. He smiles. You know, I moved to the basement after you left. Funny being
in your old room.

Jimmy’s
moved to Atlanta, chasing Tammy Smith. Mom needs me now, especially since Dad
is sick. And Wayne is here. Do you remember Wayne Austin? He lived over on
Church, just a couple blocks down. We’ve been going out for nearly a year. He’s
a little like Dad. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? But he loves me. And I love him.
I just found out I’m pregnant, so I think he’s going to ask me to marry him. I
haven’t told Dad yet. Mom says not to tell him. She says it would be bad on his
heart. I hope you have some kids by now.

I
can’t imagine anything more wonderful than being a mom. Take care. Maybe you
can bring your family back here. I know Dad would like to see you. And Mom too,
even though she wouldn’t say so. Call us. Do you still have the number?

Sam
read the familiar phone number and felt the tears drift down her face as she
pictured their father drunk, chasing Polly down the stairs. Jimmy had left, Sam
had left, but Polly had stayed. She even took care of their father. Polly put
up with all of it, bought the line of bullshit her mother fed her. Her mother
had never forgiven Sam for refusing to live her mother’s lies.

Sam
had left them and when she’d gone, she’d told her mother why. She’d told her
with Polly and Jimmy in the room how screwed up she was. Sam had convinced
herself she’d risen above it, and taking the moral high ground, she called her
father sick and dysfunctional, called her mother weak for putting up with it.
It was something only an eighteen-year-old could do. And her mother had never
forgiven her, had erased Sam’s existence from the family tree. Sam wondered
where her mother was now. Was she dead?

She
remembered the day Polly’s letter had come. Sam had been through a battery of
tests, and failed each one. The doctors had explained the results with grim
faces. They had used words she didn’t understand, identified organs she didn’t
know existed. “Due to previous trauma,” she remembered one of them saying. It
was the only time Brent had even looked at her. Through the rest of it, he had
nodded without a word.

On
the drive home, he was silent. He dropped her off at their house, changed his
clothes, and disappeared. Polly’s letter arrived in the mail that day. Divorce
papers and a letter from Brent’s attorney the next. It was over like that.
Alone again.

She
looked down at Polly’s letter.
I tell him you’re a big shot out in California
and he smiles.
She shook her head. She was no big shot. She wasn’t even
sure she would have a job next week.
I hope you have some kids by now. I
can’t imagine anything more wonderful than being a mom.
Oh, Polly. Sam
shook her head. It should’ve been me instead of you. You should be raising your
boys.

Gripping
the letter, she wished she could cry. The guilt, the anger, the physical pain,
none of it would come loose. Instead, it had seeded deeper into her belly,
sinking roots there. She stared at the other letters, the unopened ones. She
should have been stronger. She should have been able to handle what was in
them, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Sam
sat in her car and watched Rob’s team practice through the fence. She was
parked opposite the outfield, and she could just barely make out Rob in the
lineup. All the kids wore baseball pants that had long since stopped being
white, despite the bleach and hot water that went into cleaning them.

The
team was supposed to have finished up ten minutes ago, but they had a tendency
to run over. A line of cars waited, mothers mostly in SUVs, talking on cell
phones. Sam wondered who they were talking to—stockbrokers, friends, husbands,
therapists? Sam had no one to call. She tried not to think about Polly or her
family.

Nick
wasn’t on the field today, and she knew he was tied up with the case. She knew
it was keeping him busy, but she hoped he would call her soon to give her an
update. She felt certain he knew more about the accusations that were
circulating around the station. She wished he hadn’t told her. Not knowing what
the evidence was made her feel like her job and her reputation were flying in
the wind.

Seeing
him last night at the crime scene, she had yearned for a chance to speak
privately. It was the wrong time, but she would have been comforted by just a
moment alone with him. Ridiculous, but it was how she felt. How long had it
been since she’d been close to a man? Or to anyone, for that matter?

Brent
had been too distant to get close to. When they were married, she didn’t think
she needed to share herself completely with another person. She was private.
Privacy was one thing, but the complete lack of intimacy she’d had with Brent
was another. Only she hadn’t realized it at the time.

Even
as a child, she’d blocked herself off from other children because she didn’t
want them to know what happened at her house. She’d never confided in them,
couldn’t share the little secrets that created friendships between young girls.

Sam’s
own secrets hadn’t been so little. She had fought to protect Polly, to shelter
her. She remembered the small silver ring Polly had given her before she left
Mississippi. Seeing it in the box of letters from Polly had brought back a
barrage of memories that Sam had kept carefully tucked away—things she still
didn’t feel prepared to deal with. She would probably never feel prepared to
deal with them. Today, she had started to deal with what was there. She’d let
it go too long.

Distracting
herself from thoughts of Polly, Sam pulled out the list of the names of people
who had worked the two homicide cases and went over it again. She’d put check
marks next to Corona and Williams.

She
knew her sense of desperation was a result of the situation at work. She needed
to get answers. She would have to face Corona on Monday. He was commuting to
the Sacramento office for the remainder of the week. The blackout would surely
come up then. Corona would’ve heard Williams’ version of the story at least.

She
stared at Williams’ name again, wondering what would have happened if the
security guard hadn’t shown up.

A
litany of questions followed that one. Was Williams the one who had shut the
electricity off? Was he responsible for the threats? Had she really made such
an enemy of him? Did he really blame her for his mistakes? Had the latest
fiasco with the D.A. been too much for him? Aaron had told her that people
thought she was difficult. That was fine by her. But was she difficult enough
for someone to want to hurt her? That subject was another one that she wanted
to discuss with Corona, but it wasn’t something she was willing to discuss over
the phone. Since she hadn’t really needed to be in the office for the past two
days, she’d been doing most of her work from home. It was pretty clear that
Corona supported the idea of her lying low for a while. As much as she hated
it, she couldn’t blame him. There was no other link between the cases but her.
As hard as she searched, she couldn’t find anything else to tie them together.

She
glanced at the field, where Rob’s team was still in full practice, and then at
the clock. They were twenty minutes late. The line of cars waiting had grown,
and it wouldn’t be long before someone’s parent got out of a car and told them
it was time to quit. Sam could wait. She liked to watch the kids’ enthusiasm,
and the quiet gave her time to think.