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Authors: Nancy S Thompson

Tags: #Suspense, #Organized Crime, #loss, #death, #betrayal, #revenge, #Crime, #Psychological, #action, #action suspense, #Thriller

The Mistaken (29 page)

BOOK: The Mistaken
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I grabbed some gauze pads and alcohol. “Your shirt,
too,” I added.

He eased out of his shirt gingerly. I gasped when I
saw the claw marks crisscrossing his chest and trailing over both
shoulders onto his back. Swallowing hard, I ignored the damage I’d
inflicted the day before and examined the new wound on his arm. I
moaned in distaste, sickened by the gore. It was ugly and bleeding
more than I was comfortable with, but it appeared to be only a
flesh wound, the bullet tearing clean through. As I cleansed it
with the alcohol, I looked hard into his eyes.

“What were you thinking back there, drinking that
entire bottle of vodka? I’m depending on you to keep me alive and
out of the hands of those men,
as promised
,” I stressed,
pulling tightly on a strip of gauze I had wrapped around his
injured arm.

He winced and reached for his shoulder. “Ouch, that
hurt.”

“I can’t count on you if you’re drunk, Tyler. You
need to pull yourself together, for God’s sake.”

He looked at me sheepishly, but his chin jutted
outward. “I think I did all right back there, all things
considered,” he replied as he pulled his shirt back on.

“We were lucky and you know it,” I threw his jacket
back into his face.

A small bottle fell out of one the pockets and
rolled along the ground. Its contents rattled inside the plastic
container. I bent down and picked it up, examining the label in the
light of the trunk.

I sucked in a large breath. “OxyContin?” I hurled
the bottle at his head. “My God, pills
and
booze? What the
hell is wrong with you?”

He looked down and bit his lower lip. I packed
everything back up and walked to the driver’s side where I turned
back to Tyler.

“Hannah, please, let me expl—”

I cut him off with a raised hand. “Just shut the
hell up, Tyler, and get back in the goddamn car.”

Chapter
Twenty
-
Eight

Hannah

 

I found my way back to the highway and turned south
toward California. The eastern sky was just beginning to brighten
as the sun started its lazy ascent. Tyler laid his head back
against the seat with an exhausted sigh and turned his face away
from me.

“Hannah, I’m sorry. I know you find it hard to
understand. I don’t have a good explanation for you. I can only
tell you that, after Jill died, I just…couldn’t handle it. The
loneliness, the grief, it overwhelmed me, and I retreated, into
myself, into the darkness of my own head.”

He paused for a long moment. I had never heard
anyone sound so tired.

“Nick understood what I was going through. Only too
well. I don’t think he could stand to see me suffer, so he offered
me the only thing that ever worked for him. He brought me a bag
filled with bottles of alcohol, and we sat around the house,
drinking, day after day. It dulled the pain enough that I could go
for moments at a time without remembering why I was even drinking
in the first place.”

He peered back over at me. Our eyes met, and when I
saw the pain in his, my resolve to stay angry evaporated.


Look Ty, I feel badly for you,
really. I’m trying to understand where you’re coming from, but
drowning in booze and numbing yourself with drugs won’t make it
better. It just delays the inevitable. And, at least for the time
being, I really need you alive.” I smiled weakly.

He nodded, completely missing my subtle attempt at
levity. “I’ll try, Hannah, but… Withdrawal is hard, even under the
best circumstances.” He turned away again. “I know I’m weak. I’m
embarrassed to say so. I’m in my own private hell, and no matter
how hard I try, I just can’t seem to find my way out.” He sighed
again and his eyes fluttered closed.

I drove for over a hundred miles out in the middle
of Nowhere, Oregon, with Tyler asleep next to me. The lines that
usually creased his brow were erased. I hoped that he could rest
dream-free. In the quiet moments alone, I thought about the last
twenty-four hours. I had not spoken to Conner since I’d dropped him
off at his father’s. I wondered if he had missed me last night, if
he had tried to call to say goodnight. I couldn’t remember a night
in which I had not been there to tuck him in or kiss the bridge of
his nose. I reached for Tyler’s jacket draped over the center
console and rummaged through the pockets until I found my cell
phone. I turned it on and waited for the icons to appear.

There were six missed calls: five from Conner and
one from Beck. They both left messages asking me to call them back.
Conner sounded worried while Beck seemed rather irritated, which
told me they had remained at his Seattle apartment. No way he’d be
that calm if they’d seen the house the way I’d left it. I was
relieved that Conner had been spared the anxiety of knowing his
mother was missing, but frustrated that I hadn’t yet been missed.
It was probably best though that nobody else was involved or in any
danger. I turned the phone back off and slipped it into my purse,
vowing to call Conner at my first opportunity. I didn’t think Ty
would mind, but I also didn’t want him around when I talked to my
son.

I glanced over at Tyler and wondered about him,
especially what he was like before the nightmare of his wife’s
death had robbed him of his happiness. That kind of pain can change
a person, both physically and emotionally. Had he once been a
carefree soul? Did he smile easily and often? Was he warm and
affectionate with his wife?

I was curious about Jillian, too. I knew his wallet
was in his jacket, so I rooted around hoping I might find a
photograph of her. Keeping an eye on the road, and Tyler in case he
woke up, I pulled out his small photo holder and held it up to the
early morning light. The first picture was an old family portrait
with Tyler and Nick, and with who I assumed were his parents and
their sister. Ty looked about seventeen or so, while Nick was
perhaps seven or eight. Kim was a tiny infant in her mother’s arms.
They all looked happy and at ease.

Flipping the plastic page over, I found a photo of a
much younger Ty—just barely a man—and his adolescent brother. It
was a candid shot of the two of them with their arms locked around
each other’s shoulders. They were both smiling or perhaps laughing
in playfulness as they hammed it up for the camera. I sighed,
imagining the moment.

The next picture was of a stunningly beautiful young
woman with long dark hair and enormous eyes fringed with impossibly
long lashes. She had a radiant smile with lips shaped liked Cupid’s
bow and perfectly straight, white teeth set between two dimpled
cheeks. She was at once both a sultry beauty and the wholesome
girl-next-door. Every man’s dream come true.

I was dazzled by the spark in her lively eyes, a
mischievous glint. This had to be Jillian. What man wouldn’t be in
love with a woman like this? I sighed and turned to the last
photograph. It was a portrait of both Tyler and Jillian. They
looked happy and in love. I stroked my thumb across Ty’s face,
noting how striking his eyes were, azure blue flashing in the
camera’s light. His every emotion was written in those eyes. They
were both beautiful and made a remarkable couple. I could only
imagine the children they would have borne had she lived. It was a
tragedy. Erin had ruined so many lives.

As I returned the holder to Ty’s wallet, I found two
more photographs slipped in behind his cash, both worn and frayed,
as if they’d been handled often. The first was a grainy black and
white image, nearly unrecognizable until I rotated it around.
Jillian’s name was typed at the bottom, along with the date it was
taken. It was an ultrasound snapshot. I gasped softly, the photo
shaking in my hand as I realized I was looking at an image of Jill
and Tyler’s baby, likely the only one ever taken. I wiped at the
tears blurring my vision and carefully slipped the photo back where
it belonged.

The last picture was actually a series of black and
white photos running vertically down the narrow cardstock. It was
the kind taken in one of those booths often found at cheesy tourist
attractions. Jill and Ty were fashioned around each other in
various animated poses. They looked playful, at ease, and committed
all at once. It was as if I could see into their connected soul.
They could have been entwined in their bed and it would not have
been any more intimate. Just looking at it made me uncomfortable,
like I was intruding on their private moment. I blushed and quickly
returned the photo to its proper place.

I sighed deeply thinking of Ty’s loss, of the woman
he loved, his soul mate, his very life. I missed loving and being
loved that way. I wondered how much more both he and I stood to
lose in the coming hours and days. I understood him a little better
after seeing his pictures, and I appreciated a measure of his pain
and loss. And I felt awful that he should have to live every day so
overwhelmed by it. There was no way I could ease any of it, but the
urge was there, nonetheless. I was still angry at what he had done
to me, as I was still fearful of his unstable nature, but I
understood what drove him, and I trusted that he truly wanted to
make things right again.

Whether he would be able to do so was another matter
entirely.

Chapter
Twenty
-
Nine

Tyler

 

The sun had risen considerably when I woke up to
Hannah parking her car at a roadside café. I jumped in my seat and
reached for the gun in drowsy confusion.

“Sorry. I need a bathroom break,” she explained as
she pulled up on the brake.

I wiped the sleep from my eyes. “Right. Good idea,”
I agreed then yawned.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “Is your arm
bothering you?”

I rotated it around, testing it. “No, it feels
okay.” I gave her an appreciative smile. “You’d make a good
nurse.”

She rolled her eyes. “First a shrink and now a
nurse.”

She did return the smile though before she eased out
of the car. She walked into the café and back to the ladies’ room
while I held back to scour our surroundings. Satisfied we were safe
for the moment, I walked toward the men’s room and reached into my
pocket for my mobile.

I’d put both of our phones in my pocket, so I was
surprised when I only found mine. Since I was sure I hadn’t dropped
it, I could only surmise that Hannah had removed hers while I
slept. I retreated a few steps and stood just outside the ladies’
room door. As a patron walked out, pulling the door wide, I spied
Hannah inside with her cell in her hand and her fingers working the
display. I pushed through the open door and entered as another
woman was coming out of a stall. She threw me an annoyed look.

“Excuse me,” the woman grumbled. “I think you have
the wrong room.”

Hannah, who had her back to the door, spun around.
“Ty!” she exclaimed.

“Hannah,” I said dryly, my eyes locked onto
hers.

The woman’s attention was drawn back and forth
between the two of us. I could only imagine what she was thinking
as she examined the bruising on Hannah’s face. I continued to hold
Hannah’s gaze, my brow raised with an unasked question.

The woman looked concerned for Hannah and seemed
reluctant to leave us alone together. “Is everything okay here?”
she asked.

Hannah stood there staring back at me with a
devilish spark in her eye. “I don’t know. What do you think, Ty? Is
everything all right here?”

I wasn’t sure whether she was being humorous or
warning me not to interfere with her phone call. I kept my eyes
trained on her and returned her exact grin.

“Yep,” I said, my lips popping at the end, “it’s all
good.”

The woman kept peering back and forth between us as
she walked out of the restroom, finally leaving us alone.

“What do you think you’re doing, Hannah?” I
asked.


Calling my son. You have a problem
with that?”

“No, though I question why you felt the need to hide
the fact.” I took a step closer and held out my hand. “It’s safer
to use the pay phone out in the hall. If they’ve identified you
through your license plates, I don’t want them to have another way
to track you down.”

She huffed at me and turned her phone off then
placed it in my hand. I slipped it into my pocket, turned, and
walked back out into the hall. A few minutes later, Hannah
followed, stopping to use the pay phone. I stood on the other side
of the wall and listened in on her conversation, just to make sure
she didn’t volunteer any important information or call the cops.
Sure enough, Hannah dialed her son and explained why she hadn’t
called him earlier, that she was out of town and her phone had died
and she’d forgotten her charger.

It was a plausible excuse, and I was glad I didn’t
have to intervene. She told him how much she loved him and to
behave, all the things a good mother tells her child. She whispered
a bittersweet goodbye before she replaced the handset. Wiping away
her tears, she walked around the end of the wall and spied me
leaning against it with my arms crossed over my chest. I gave her
an embarrassed smile though I was unconcerned she’d caught me.

“Hungry?” I asked.

She sighed, her own smile a forgiving one.
“Starving.”

We sat down and shared a pleasant breakfast
together. The food was hot and decent, and made up for all the junk
we’d been snacking on. We both worked to keep the mood light.
Neither of us brought up our current situation. She was curious,
and I was happy to answer her many questions, if for no other
reason than to prove I wasn’t always the miserable bastard I now
appeared to be.

“So where exactly are you from?” she asked. “You
have a weird accent I can’t quite place. Is it English or
Australian?”

BOOK: The Mistaken
12.94Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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