Stranger in the Mirror [Shades of Heaven] (Soul Change Novel) (28 page)

“She doesn’t have to talk.” At least at first.

Despite the wooden floors and white walls, the house seemed dim. Outside, birds sang and butterflies danced on the wind, and a breeze rustled through the flowers. Inside, the air was quiet and musty. She followed him down a hallway to the room at the end. He tapped on the door.

“Donna? Marti’s here.”

The room looked like something out of
Seventeen
magazine, with a lace canopy bed and frilly curtains. Donna sat in the window seat, her knees pulled up to her chin. She kept staring ahead into nothingness. When Dr. Hislope started to say something again, Marti held her hand out to silence him.

He hesitated, then backed out and closed the door. Marti stood there for a few minutes, hoping for some kind of invitation to step closer. She thought then about leaving, but remembered Jesse waiting across the street, desperate for answers. Answers she could get from Donna. Marti spotted a wicker chair and pulled it to within a few feet of Donna’s still form. Again she waited for some acknowledgement, but it didn’t come.

“Donna? It’s Marti. Do you want me to leave?”

No response. Donna kept looking out the window at nothing. Nothing because the curtains were closed. She didn’t have any bruises around her neck.

“I’m not going to ask you how you’re doing, because I know you’re feeling pretty awful right now. I thought you might want someone to talk to, someone who’s been there. Almost.”

Marti tried to imagine how being raped might feel. She could easily imagine the fear of being attacked, though. She waited for some kind of reaction, but none came.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know I’m here if you need to talk.”

Marti started to get up when Donna spoke in a deadpan voice.

“Everyone knows, don’t they? They’re all talking about it, saying how stupid I was.”

Marti drifted back down into the chair. “Nobody knows. I haven’t heard anything about it and remember, I work at Gossip Gourmet. And you’re not stupid. You thought you were safe with Paul.” She was fishing for a reaction, but none came. Marti waited. Finally, she asked the question she most wanted to know. “Donna, do you have a weird scratch, right here?”

Without looking to see where she was pointing, Donna rested her palm over her left breast. Finding a small pad and pen, Marti drew the indents she remembered. She walked over to Donna and held it in front of her.

“Does it look like this?” she asked quietly.

Donna squeezed her eyes shut, and a tear slid down her broad cheek. Marti pulled the pad away and set it on the desk.

“I’m going now. Call me if you need anything. I’d like to come back again. Shake your head if you don’t want that.” No reaction. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

Marti visited Donna twice a week over the following two weeks, keeping her visits short, learning little with each one. Donna now seemed to expect her and even acknowledged her presence, but barely more than that. Marti was always disappointed that Donna wouldn’t share anything or even point out Paul as her rapist. The cut, if it had existed, was now long healed.

Marti arrived later than usual that afternoon, after running some errands when she got off work. Marsala, the Hislope’s housekeeper, opened the door, an expectant look on her face.

“Oh, I thought you were Mister Doctor Hislope,” the Hispanic lady said, stepping aside to let her in.

“He isn’t here?”

“No, a farmer on dee edge of town have sick horse, and he fix it. I must go now. Can you stay until he return?”

“Sure.”

“Hello, Donna,” Marti greeted as she entered the bedroom. The curtains were open this time, but Donna was in the window seat as usual. She hugged a pink teddy bear between her chest and her legs.

“I wish he had killed me.” Her words dropped with heavy thuds.

“No, you don’t mean that. You’ll be all right. I can’t promise it’ll go away, but you will take control of your life again.”

Donna dropped her head on her knees and wept, deep, guttural sobs that made Marti wish Jesse were there. It went on like that for a long time, as if she had broken the dam and let the barred tears flow. Marti put her hands on Donna’s shoulders, not feeling comfortable enough to hug her. Later, she called Jesse to let him know she would be later than usual. She was tempted to take him up on his offer to meet her there but suspected it would upset Donna if she knew.

“Call me when you’re leaving,” he said before hanging up.

She smiled, feeling that he at least cared about her still. “I will.”

It was almost nine o’clock before Dr. Hislope arrived. Donna’s renewed sobs reached them in the living room, and he rushed in to comfort her. Marti gathered her purse and said goodbye.

“If you’ll wait a few minutes, I’ll walk you out,” he offered, but Marti knew by Donna’s heaving chest it would be longer than that.

“Thanks, but I’ll be all right. The moon’s bright, and I’m parked just outside the door.”

The crunch of the mango leaves beneath her feet obliterated her thoughts as she walked toward the car. When she reached for her keys, a voice scared her into dropping them.

“Marti, don’t be afraid. It’s me, Paul.”

She stiffened, ready to run back inside. Would Dr. Hislope hear her screams over Donna’s sobbing?

“What are you doing here?”

“How is she?”

“You’re always so concerned about your victims, aren’t you?” Her anger pushed adrenaline through her veins, making her less afraid.

“I didn’t do that to her, to you, to anyone. But I’ve got to talk to you about something. This is going to sound crazy. Hell, I’m probably crazy for even thinking it.”

Something in his voice made her listen. A confession, maybe? “What is it?”

“I noticed it the night someone broke into your house. I—” The sound of a truck approaching made Paul stop.

“It’s Jesse,” she said, not sure if she was relieved to see him or not.

“Damn.”

“You’d better get out of here.”

Paul turned into a silhouette in the darkness, then disappeared right before Jesse’s headlights cut across the yard. She headed over to his truck, feeling as though she was betraying him by not alerting him to Paul’s presence.

The old ways, coming back.

No, this was different. Her sixth sense told her that she hadn’t been in danger, but Jesse wouldn’t believe that. He’d just kill Paul, and she had to admit, his waiting for her in the dark didn’t look good.

“What are you doing out here alone? I was getting worried about you so I drove by.”

“I was just leaving. Donna’s crying up a storm, and I didn’t want to wait for Dr. Hislope to calm her down so he could walk me out.”

He hesitated for a moment, assessing the situation. “Next time wait for him or call me. Let’s go home.”

CHAPTER 16

He sat in the dusty, dark attic. Alone. Filling his lungs with stale air and the aroma of lingering ghosts. Ghosts that taunted him, calling him a failure, a weak, good-for-nothing pile of flesh. He thrashed around in the darkness, shoving boxes onto the floor. A box filled with old china dropped with a muffled shatter. Dust clouds filled the air as he pushed over a coat rack and toppled framed paintings that were stacked along the wall.

Spent, he dropped to the floor and coughed, and those coughs turned into sobs. He let himself cry for two seconds. Then he stopped and listened. Nothing.

Clutching at his head, he wished he could make the buzzing and the words go away.
Failure! Weak!
It wasn’t his fault. If only the blood of his heart would have married him. If only his love would have seen that he was the only man for her. None of this would have happened.

Marti had looked so helpless, so female. Like that day long ago when his love had broken down on the side of the road and he’d given her a ride to the service station so many years ago. She had smiled nervously, the same way Marti had after admitting she’d run out of gas. Somehow he’d felt he had another chance to win his heart’s blood—and he wasn’t going to let her get away that time, no matter how hard she resisted.

He’d nearly killed her in his rage. If he convinced her that he loved her, she would forgive him. This time he’d keep careful control over his fury, no matter how much she fought, how fiercely she rejected him. He ran his fingers through his short hair, tearing at his scalp, scratching until he drew blood. Pain, yes, pain would temper the rage.

Donna sure had not. She’d just lain there and let him pound into her. He pretended it was Marti, submissive, wanting him.

He shook his head. None of the past mattered now. Marti would be his soon. He had to find some way to make her understand how much he wanted her, and their baby. Their baby. He smiled. Yes, everything would be perfect … once Jesse was out of the way.

When Marti returned home from her shift at Bad Boys, she felt huge and achy. Squatting down, she picked up a piece of paper lying in the driveway and trudged inside. The thought of driving to the Port Charlotte racetrack didn’t thrill her, but Jesse had insisted, in light of Donna’s recent attack. He’d already headed there, along with Caty and Helen, a few hours ago. They were willing to wait, but Priscilla wanted to go up, too; she and Marti planned to ride up together. Priscilla, however, had gotten sick at the end of her shift, worse than Marti’s morning sickness, so Marti let her off the hook.

She changed and grabbed her oversized pillow for sitting comfort. Bumpus tilted his head at her as she made a groaning noise.

“Oh, I’ll live, I suppose,” she said to him. “Only a little while longer, and then I’m out of here.” Bumpus made an internal whining noise. She started to stoop down to pet him but thought better of it. “Will you miss me, boy?” She rubbed his head. “Will your master miss me?” She let out a sigh. “He’ll be happy to move on with his life. And so will I.”

Bumpus didn’t look as though he was buying those last words. Of course, she could be imagining it.

As she gathered her things and readied to leave, she remembered the piece of paper. She leaned over her pillow and read the scrawled writing:

Jesse, meet me behind the old Jenkins place before you go to the races. I want to settle this suspicion thing once and for all.

Paul.

Maybe Paul had left the note on Jesse’s car, and he hadn’t seen it before pulling away. She fingered the note, wondering what to do. If he’d seen it, he would have gone over to the abandoned house north of Helen’s place. What if he had gotten into trouble?

After debating for a minute, she grabbed the note and headed out the door, feeling a great deal of trepidation about going to some abandoned place alone. Once she was heading over, her fears eased. Paul had wanted to talk to her about something, and she had a feeling it was important. He’d seemed scared. Maybe he decided it was safer to talk to Jesse about it instead.

It was bright and sunny, not at all foreboding as she drove down the dirt road and pulled into the gravel driveway overgrown with weeds. Jesse had pointed the place out to her once, telling her a story about how he and Billy had spent the night there on a dare when they were kids. She shivered at the thought of walking into the run-down wood house, much less sleeping there.

She saw Paul’s slick black truck parked over to the side, but no sign of Jesse’s truck. If the two had met here earlier, why was Paul still here?

She knew she should turn around and leave, but her hand put the car in park and turned off the engine. What if Jesse had gone crazy and Paul was lying here hurt? She opened the door, telling herself it was for Jesse as she stepped out. She couldn’t bear to see him go to jail again.

A breeze made the leaves rustle and brushed through the tall grasses all around. A blue shutter, hanging from a corner on the house, scratched against the cracked wood.

“Paul?” she called out, though the wind took her words in the opposite direction.

Marti spotted a well-worn pathway leading around back. Obviously kids still hung out here, probably dared each other to sleep there. As she walked around Paul’s truck toward the path, she noticed the quickened pace of her heartbeat. Jesse would be furious if he knew. Remembering that look on Paul’s face, she instinctively knew he wasn’t a threat. Her shoes crunched softly on the rocky gravel beneath her feet as she walked around.

Her eyes scanned the area as she walked, her ears tuned to pick up anything beyond what the wind caressed. Everything looked serene … until she saw the knife lying in the path.

Oh, crap.

The blade of the pocketknife reflected the sunlight filtering through the trees. She knelt to examine it, and her heart stopped when she saw “J J W” etched on the ivory handle. Her heart tightened, and without thinking, she picked it up to look for signs of blood, then dropped it when she saw faint smears. Dear God, what had Jesse done? Or had Paul done something?

Again she searched the area behind the house, walking farther back. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her steps grew quicker. When she saw him lying by a tree, she fought the black spots that threatened to take her to unconsciousness. Her hand went to her mouth as she pushed through the high grass and choke vines to the body sprawled in the shadows.

Not Jesse. Relief, for a second. Not Jesse but Paul, with his neck twisted and blood surrounding a hole in his shirt. She pushed herself forward to grasp his wrist but didn’t have to check for a pulse. His hand was cold and stiff, and she dropped it with a scream.

“Oh, my God.”

Marti heard her own shock echoed in the voice behind her and spun to find Lyle Thomas standing on the pathway. Relief soared through her as she made her shaky way toward him. His gaze, locked on the body, quickly shifted to her, his hand going to the butt of the gun on his hip.

“Marti, stay where you are. Don’t make me have to use this.”

She came to a slow stop, bewilderment dazing her thoughts. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re under arrest.” He glanced at the body, so obviously dead. “For the murder of Paul Paton.”