Darkness & Shadows (10 page)

The Sea of Fire. This is the second death
…

Two fires. Two deaths. The connection was chilling.

And the implications were worse, because now Patrick recognized that Marybeth could have been in some kind of trouble,
and that trouble might have found its way back, this time ending her life.

That realization, though hard to take, also seemed to give Patrick a measure of comfort, because he now knew that Marybeth might not have ever wanted to leave him—she might have had no other choice. A matter of survival. And that brought relief, followed by more sadness, because before he could save her, she was gone again. He never had a chance.

His cell rang. A number he didn’t recognize.

“Mr. Bannister?”

“This is.”

“Dave Wesson from the Medical Examiner’s.” Wesson cleared his throat. “I’m looking at the records for the dates you requested. I’ve got nothing.”

“What do you mean,
nothing
?”

“I mean, there were no victims in that fire.”

“That can’t be,” Patrick said. “You sure you’re looking at the right information?”

“Yeah, it’s right here on my screen. Checked our records, double-checked the fire inspector’s report. No fatalities.”

“But I was there. I saw the body myself when they pulled it out of the building.”

“Mr. Bannister, I don’t know what you saw, but it couldn’t have been a body because there was none.”

Patrick nervously ran a hand across his face. “Could the records be mixed up? How about a death nearby? Anywhere near the campus?”

More keyboard clicks. “No to all the above.”

“What about at a nearby hospital?”

“No burn victims, that’s for sure.”

Patrick sighed. “Thanks, Dave. I appreciate the callback… and the info.”

“You bet.”

Before he could put his phone away, it rang again. Another number he didn’t recognize. Maybe it was the body calling.

Get a grip, Patrick
, he thought, and answered the call.

“Mr. Bannister,” a measured female voice said. “It’s Lilliana DeFrancisco.”

Not a body, but almost as good. She was the last person on earth he expected to hear from.

“Hi, Lilliana, how—”

“I’ll talk to you,” she interjected, with a sense of urgency he hadn’t heard when they’d last met.

“Okay…” Patrick said, still unsure whether he was hearing her right… or for that matter, why he was hearing her at all. “When and where?”

“Any place my husband won’t find out about.”

“Ocean Beach Pier in about an hour?”

“Fine,” she said, and hung up.

Patrick stared at his phone again, an odd combination of anticipation and caution fluttering through him. What in the world had changed her mind?

C
hapter
S
ixteen

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

Unlike other San Diego coastal communities, Ocean Beach could at times cast unflattering vibes: hip, but not in a chic or trendy way—more of a funky bohemian affect. The outlying neighborhood was lined with old-style cottages and beach bungalows, some in good shape, some in downward stages of disrepair, some just downward. The commercial side was just as eclectic, with a peculiar combination of mom-and-pop stores, head shops, and organic produce stands. The inhabitants were equally diverse, a commingling of yuppies, surfers, and an occasional tourist or three. If Lilliana wanted anonymity from her high-society La Jolla crowd, as well as from her control-freak husband, this was the place that could assure it.

After pulling into the parking lot, Patrick reached for his notebook, then thought better of it. As skittish as Lilliana had been about talking to him, he decided it would be best to leave the notebook behind. He shoved it under the passenger seat.

But when he arrived at the pier, she wasn’t there.

He walked along it just in case she was waiting, but after going up one side, then down the other, Patrick found himself
empty-handed. After thirty minutes, it seemed obvious: he’d been stood up.

More than a little irritated, he checked his phone for messages but found nothing. He dialed her number; it went to voicemail. He headed back toward the parking lot.

When he got to his car, the glove compartment was hanging wide open, the contents strewn on the floor. The sight gave him an initial jolt, but after sifting through the pile, it seemed nothing was missing. Just for good measure, he scanned the parking lot but noticed nothing suspicious or unusual there, either. Car break-ins at the beach weren’t exactly uncommon, especially at this one, and since Patrick had left the flap open on his Jeep, he decided he’d likely just become the victim of a random prowler. Unfortunately for them, the crime was a bust. He had nothing of value to take.

Patrick put everything back into the glove compartment. He turned the ignition, and turned his mind to the matter at hand: the beautiful blonde with the attitude who had just stood him up for a meeting
she
had initiated. As Patrick pulled from the lot, he wondered what she was up to, and whether this had been a childish attempt at retaliation for his bad behavior at the mall.

Or maybe something else.

He glanced at the glove box again, and suspicion kicked in. Now he wasn’t just thinking he’d been stood up—he wondered if he’d been set up so Lilliana could rummage through his car while he waited for her.

Patrick felt a sharp nudge of deep emotional unrest that he couldn’t ignore. At the light, he glanced over his shoulder to check the back seat for anything unusual or out of place. After finding everything in order, he swung his head toward the front passenger seat, then down toward the floor beneath.

His heart jumped, and his throat turned dry.

His notebook was gone.

A horn honked. The light had changed again. Patrick jammed the gas pedal. At the next intersection, he leaned sideways and frantically swept his hand beneath the seat, hoping maybe the notebook had slid there. The horns went off again, and Patrick shot straight up.

“Hey, asshole!” the guy behind him shouted. “Either piss or get off the pot! You’re holding up traffic!”

Patrick shot the guy a nasty look, then pulled to the side of the road and jumped from the car to run around to the passenger side. He heard tires squealing and a horn blare as a car narrowly missed clipping his door—the one he’d inadvertently left wide open, tipping out onto the road. This wasn’t good. He darted into the street to slam his door shut.

On the passenger side now, he dropped to his knees and reached deep beneath the seat. Nothing. Sweat crawled down his neck—actually, it poured—as he reached deeper, swept wider, in a last-ditch effort to be sure he wasn’t missing anything.

The notebook still wasn’t there.

He trudged back to the driver’s side, got in, and stared vacantly out at the road, wondering why someone would want his notebook. There was nothing in the damned thing other than some random thoughts about the Clark case—and his lists.

Once more, Lilliana invaded his thoughts. It had to be her. Nobody else knew he was coming to the pier in the first place.

He started the car and raced down the road, a slow burning anger brewing in his belly.

C
hapter
S
eventeen

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

Patrick stepped off the elevator in Dr. Ready’s building. He rounded a corner, and nearly ran right into the angry woman with the scar—the one who liked breaking things.

They both stopped abruptly. Their eyes met.

She didn’t say anything; neither did he. It was awkward and odd. He couldn’t interpret her expression: lacking but not empty, and definitely with some sort of intent behind it—something riding a thin line between angry and hostile. One thing, however, was certain; the color of the day was black. Black jacket, black pants, black boots. Even the fingernails were coated in black. Patrick couldn’t help but note how well the bleak, monochromatic ensemble matched her aura.

He moved out of her way. She didn’t budge an inch, maintaining her stare, maintaining her defensive posture, as if demanding an apology.

Patrick cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me.”

The stare morphed into a scowl.

“I didn’t see you coming,” he tried again.

The eyes were shooting daggers.

He sidestepped her and continued down the hallway.

She really is quite lovely
, he thought.

“I’d like to talk a little more about Marybeth, if we could,” Dr. Ready said, settling back and bringing her hands together.

Patrick broke from her eye contact, shifted restlessly on the couch. “What do you want to know?”

“We’ve spoken about the effect she’s having on you now, but let’s go further than that, shall we?”

He nodded.

“Do you remember how it felt when you first met?”

“It was my freshman year of college,” Patrick said, gazing into his lap, scratching his temple, “but I’m not really sure if
met
is the right word. It was more like she happened to me.”

“Really…”

“Kind of like a fender bender. Actually, more like a knockout punch.”

The doctor smiled.

“That’s how she was,” he said. “This heavenly disaster in a pink shiny wrapper.”

“Why do you describe her that way?”

“Because on the outside she was so amazingly beautiful, but on the inside… it was very different.”

“Different how?”

“She could be… dark, intense at times. I never understood where it came from.”

“When you say dark and intense, what do you mean?”

“Don’t know if I can explain it.”

She shrugged. “Anxious? Depressed? Vindictive or angry, even?”

“Anxious and depressed and sometimes angry.”

“How often would you see her this way?”

“I don’t really know… It never lasted, and I never knew which Marybeth I was going to get, the good or the bad.”

Her words lingered from one to the next. “So her moods seemed unpredictable…”

“Yeah. Except even during the times when she was good, I still had this underlying feeling she really wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like she was broken in places that could never be mended. Sometimes, during our quietest moments, I swore I could almost hear it—or maybe I felt it.”

“Felt what?”

“Like there was never really peace—more an unnerving silence.”

“Did she ever talk to you about it?”

He shook his head.

“And you had no opinions about why she was this way?”

He shook his head again. “No… not really.”

She narrowed her focus on him. “Not really, or not at all?”

He smoothed a hand along his forearm, glancing around the room. “Well, I know she had a bad family life. Maybe it came from there. But that wasn’t anything unusual—not to me, anyway. I mean, I wasn’t exactly in a position to judge her for it.”

“So neither of you ever spoke about your difficult upbringings.”

“No.” He shook his head rapidly. “We stayed away from that.”

“How come?”

“Because. We were in love. It was an amazing time. Why bring all our baggage in and ruin it?”

“Got it,” she said, nodding. “But you stayed with her. Despite the fact she seemed so moody and unpredictable.”

“She was beautiful,” he said. “I couldn’t resist her.”

Dr. Ready arched a brow. “That’s a lot of power.”

“It was a lot of beauty.”

“Did it ever make you uncomfortable?”

“ ‘Truths and roses have thorns about them.’ ”

She grinned. “Interesting analogy.”

“Thoreau.”

She persisted. “But I’m still wondering what made you stay despite the discomfort.”

“I guess… maybe on an intellectual level, I could see the danger, but on a deeper level…”

“You accepted it?”

“Right.”

“But you’ve told me before you were never much of a risk taker.”

“I’m not.”

“But in this case, you were.”

He lifted one shoulder. “I guess sometimes desire can be stronger than fear, you know?”

Dr. Ready nodded, but she was searching his eyes.

Patrick thought about it some more, then added, “But there’s a price you pay for sticking your head in the tiger’s mouth.”

“So why did you?” She was gentle but implacable, and Patrick suddenly felt trapped.

He sat in long silence, fighting to speak. At last, he said, “I guess maybe because before Marybeth, people treated me like I was invisible.”

“Like Camilla did.”

He nodded.

“So it felt good,” she confirmed, “to feel like Marybeth valued you.”

He smiled. “It was amazing.”

“You felt loved.”

“I did.”

“And then she left you.”

He felt a jet of anger. “We don’t really know that. We don’t know the circumstances yet.”

“True,” she said neutrally. “Let me rephrase: she was suddenly gone from your life, and as a result, you were left feeling alone.”

“Yeah…”

“And what effect did that have on you?”

He stared down at his empty hands.

“To finally experience love,” she continued, “and then for it to disappear so fast like that. Do you remember those feelings?”