When Angels Cry (30 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

ONE YEAR LATER

“There's one big difference between good and
real
art,” Bastian said as he perched on a stool before his students–a diverse group of fifteen who stared back at him.  Among them were a sixty-three-year-old woman who wanted to leave a legacy for her grandchildren, a sixteen-year-old
kid
who had wanted to paint his girlfriend in the nude, and a thirty-year
-
old
woman
who had tried everything to forget the face of the man who
’d
raped her.  Each of them had a story to tell, and it was up to Bastian to teach them
how best to tell it
.

“
Real
art isn’t simply paint on canvas.  It lives
and it breathes
.
  And it does so whether anyone is there to see it or not.  Real art is its own beginning, its own ending, and we become part of it just as it becomes part of us.  It is who we are, who we have been—and what we will become.
” 
He looked at the portrait of Kaylee he’d painted
based on
Denna’s Christmas gift.  Kaylee dressed in an angel’s costume. 

He closed his eyes and almost thought he could feel her tulle wings between his fingertips, her soft breath caressing his cheek, the peals of her laughter ringing out.  He could see the white ribbons and lace of her dress fluttering in the air, her luminous eyes glow
ing
with youthful bliss.  He smiled and opened his eyes.

“Next week we’ll
start painting faces
.
  Perhaps it’s best to start with someone close to you.  Have a good weekend.
” 
His voice thinned
,
  and he clenched his teeth, counting each breath until the tears stopped threatening. 
He looked at the drawing of Kaylee he’d completed just after they’d met
, and a
lump thickened in his throat. 

Bastian began clearing
his desk
.  His throat still hurt from keeping his emotions in check, and he sa
nk into
his chair
,
leaning
forward
, wondering if th
is
pain would ever lessen.

“Bastian?”

He jerked upright and found Denna Renard standing in the doorway. 
“H
ow have you been, Ms. Renard?”

“Some days are better than others.  Did you do all of these?” 
Her pale face and unsure step told him all he needed to know, and her words confirmed it.   As she
moved
to his desk, she looked at the portraits of Kaylee scattered throughout the room.
 
Bastian shoved his hands in
to
his pockets and glanced at his work.

“Yes.”
 
Heels clattering
across
the floor, she
stole about
the room, scrutinizing each one.  She ended up in front of the painting of Kaylee in the Halloween costume, the same one Bastian had always been drawn to.  As she stood there, Bastian noticed her shoulders begin to sag, and she lowered her head.

“Kaylee was my only living child.  The others I miscarried.  Five of them.  She was the last one I could have, and she was a miracle.  Only I didn’t see it.”  Denna lifted her trembling hand and touched her hair as though checking to make sure it w
ere
perfect. 
Sometimes
, Bastian thought,
People
just need something to do to keep
t
he
i
r hands busy.

  
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.
  He looked out the window as dusk descended upon the busy city.  He picked out the headlights of a single distant car and watched
draw
closer.
 
Something to keep me busy,
he thought.

“No, I’m sorry.”  Denna turned to him, her eyes shining with unspent tears.  “I never told Kaylee about the miscarriages, and she thought the charities were for other children because I didn’t love her.  What else could she have thought?”  She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her hands up and down them as though chilled, despite the fur coat she wore.

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Bastian said, staring at the
car
.
  It was a Mercedes, no
t
unlike Kaylee’s, but blue—blue like her eyes.  Bastian winced.

“No, I do. 
I had always wanted a large family, and from the day I conceived each of those children, I had named them, only to lose them.  I...wasn’t ready to let them go, and I thought I had time with Kaylee.  I always thought I had time, but you were right.  I did lose her in the end.”

“I shouldn’t have said that,”
Bastian winced.  He shook his head and kept staring at the approaching car.
  Not a Mercedes at all, then—a Volvo, was it?  There was a couple inside he noted—a man and a woman, and he wondered absently where they’d come from and where they were going.  To the par
k
, maybe, loaded down with bread for a few hungry ducks.  Probably not.  Maybe they weren’t going anywhere at all.

“Why?  Because it was true?  It was so true that I couldn’t sleep for weeks after...Oh
,
God,” she whispered,
walking toward him.  She
plac
ed
one hand over her face as her voice thickened.  Her knees wobbled, threatening to give way, but Bastian caught her by the arm, supporting her.

“There’s not time in this life for guilt, Mrs. Renard.  It’s a pointless emotion
,
anyway.
  Maybe you shouldn’t have listen
ed
to me.  It wasn’t my place to say anything.
”  He wrapped his arm around her
and
led her to a chair, but she refused to sit. 

“
I’m all right,” she whispered.  The color had drained from her face.
  Her fingers latched onto him, and he didn’t have the heart to
pull
away.
  “
You are the
one
person Kaylee loved, and now I finally understand
why.”  She stared at him.  “You
listened to her.  It mattered to you what she thought and how she felt.  I never once heard what she was trying to tell me.”
  She leaned on him, allowing Bastian to support her.

“It still wasn’t my place.”

“And whose place was it?  I loved Kaylee, and so did you.  Who else was going to say something to me?  I was haughty and angry and so sure you were wrong, but the error was mine.  I misjudged you, and I am sorry.” 
Denna finally straightened, and Bastian avert
ed
his eyes. 

“If you ever need something, Bastian, call me.
  Even if you just want to talk.
  Maybe someday you can tell me about the woman my daughter became.
” 
Denna turned and quietly
drifted
to the door. 
She looked back at the Halloween portrait. 

The former haughtiness had vanished, leaving not a woman who held her shoulders square to the world but instead
one
whose body had
been
bowed
by
the sting of grief.  She looked not above him, nor even ahead but instead at the floor.  As much as loving Kaylee had hurt, he knew what not showing that love had cost Denna, and he pitied her.

“I have something for you,” Bastian called as he lifted the Halloween painting from the nails holding it to the wall. 

“I couldn’t possibly
….
”
 
As Bastian walked toward her, carrying the painting, she lifted her left hand.  Tears pooled in her eyes and
glittered
in the fluorescent lighting.

 
“
I insist.”  Bastian smiled and touched her shoulder.  “I was getting ready to lock up
,
anyhow, so I’ll carry it to the car for you.”  He looked back at a portrait he’d painted of himself and Kaylee, standing in front of the ocean as the sun set.  They were both smiling and young, so sure nothing could separate them.  Maybe it wasn’t really either of them.  Kaylee hadn’t been that carefree when they’d met, and he had never seen the ocean
,
but he knew she’d have shown it to him someday.  It wouldn’t be in this life, but that didn’t matter.  As hard as it was for him to imagine never having been to the beach, it was
even
harder still to imagine a life without her, and it helped to think of what she might
have
one day share
d
with him.  No, th
e
portrait wasn’t real, but it gave him hope of what might be possible someday.

Denna walked down the hall, leaving Bastian with the paintings, and he smiled.

“Good night,
Kaylee
.”

Silent Scream

(Sample Chapter)

by

Maria Rachel Hooley

Silent Scream

© 20
10
Maria Rachel Hooley

Cover Image by Stephen Moeller

A
ll rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—except for brief quotations in printed review without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Chapter
One

“The full moon really brings ‘em in, doesn’t it?” Maddie Gilcrest
asked
, pulling off her scrub cap

Yolanda smiled and grabbed a pen from her work space.  “
Yep. 
Y
ou look dead tired.  You should head home and try to sleep.”  She snatched up the last chart, checking to make sure the patient’s vitals had been noted.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”  Maddie strode down the hall and ducked into the physician’s lounge/changing area.  She plopped onto a narrow bench and peeled the scrubs from her chinos and dress shirt.  As she tossed the hat and scrubs in the
l
inen hamper, she reached into her locker and retrieved her coat and purse.  Tension corded her neck and back, bunching the muscles into taut
,
unyielding knots.  She rolled her shoulders, trying to quell the ache.

As she left the lounge and walked past the nurses’ station, Yolanda waved.  “Have a good evening, Maddie.”

“I will,” she replied, fishing keys from her purse.  “Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone.”

Yolanda winked.  “Don’t worry.  We’ll give it all to Ashford. 
All
for you.  And just think
—the
woman in 12 is about to have triplets.”

Maddie grinned, picturing Ashford delivering babies.  For a man in his forties and a doctor to boot, he knew about as much about women and babies as the Christmas cactus blooming in the corner.  He assumed every woman liked the name Sweetie, and had Maddie been able to prove sexual harassment when he’d “accidentally” brushed his hands across her rear, she would’ve.

Maddie buttoned her coat.  “Take down all the details, will you?”

Passing through the emergency room entrance, she stepped out into the November night, where winter’s chill lashed at her.  As she walked through the almost empty garage, Maddie mused that most sane people were in bed at 2 a.m.  Then again, Maddie had never claimed to be sane.

Moments later, she pulled out of the garage and headed to a home Yolanda said was too far away for comfort.  Still, Maddie enjoyed the drive and her privacy, even if part of the trip did take her through the country in the blackest part of night.

The full moon glowed in the bluish-black sky and gleamed off the black Lexus Maddie drove.  An unexpected cold front had moved in earlier, and even the steering wheel felt frozen.  Maddie shivered and glanced at the heater.  Most of the windshield was glazed over save for the small patch the wipers had cleared.

“By the time I get home, the heater should blow warm air,” she muttered, shivering.  One hand gripped the
wheel, and the other drew her coat
collar
tighter about her neck.  She ducked low to peer out of the only clear patches on the glass. 

The miles passed, and she plucked the hair clip loose, letting her long
,
brown hair spill over her shoulders and down her back, cascading
free of its
rigid bun.  Covering her neck, it hampered the cold air.  “Damn, it’s brisk,” she
snapped
, switching hands on the wheel and thrusting the other into the folds of her coat.  She’d repeated the process three times
—or 
was it four
—be
fore the turn came at last and found her on the dark country lane that would eventually lead her home.

She double-checked the defroster’s setting again.  The frost coating the glass refused to give up.  When she glanced up again, she saw a brake lights not fifty feet ahead.  

“Oh
,
God!”  Maddie stomped
on
the brakes.  She wrenched the wheel to the left and swerved, but too late–the Lexus slid into a battered white truck.

Thankfully, the collision was mild; still, Maddie gripped her sides as an ache seized her muscles, and she sucked air.  Seconds later the pain abated as she eased open the door.  Stepping out, she wrapped her arms around her torso and scurried from the car to the truck.  Her hood had crumpled into the unyielding wall of the truck’s fender.  “I can’t believe I just did that,” she stammered, staring at the small dent in the primer-spotted truck and the crunched fender of her car.  “I am so sorry.”

“Are you, now?” a flat masculine voice replied as a tall, twenty-something guy stepped away from the driver’s side and walked to where Maddie stood.  She noticed first his crisp
,
white shirt and the moonlight glint
ing
off the ring he wore.  She glanced at his face,
taking in
the hard line of his jaw as he gritted his teeth.  The same rigidity gripped his shoulders and the rest of his body, over six feet of it.  Frowning, Maddie sized him upas she did with a lot of the male patients she saw in the ER.  It was a habit anymore, considering how sometimes she had to move them in a hurry, and as she looked at this man, she knew he weighed at least 240, his broad shoulders revealed that much.  His boots snapped a
mid
the gravel
of the
road as he ambled toward her.  His breath, seasoned with alcohol, sounded like he had been running. He was just a few feet away.

Maddie turned her attention to her surroundings as
she realized just how isolated she
was-a stretch of
road that hardly anyone drove during the day.  No cars.  No streetlights.  No cops.

“I’ll get my insurance card,” she said, thinking of the mace in her purse.

As she turned, he whistled
. 
“
B
aby, you don’t have to do that.  I’ll let you work off what you owe.”  She felt his hand creep between her legs and grab her, pinching.  “I’ll just put a fucking dent in you
,
and we’ll be even.”

She je
rk
ed
away
.
“Stop it!”
She
hurried to the driver’s door
.  Please, God, just let me get inside this car!
  Her fingers curled under the handle, and she jerked open the door.  Half-falling into the driver’s seat, she tried to pull the door closed, but his body blocked it as he reached for her.  She grabbed one of his hands, but the other wrapped around her throat. 
Sh
e dug her nails into his skin until he yelped and she could pull his hand away. 

He grabbed her hair and yanked her back against hi
m
.  “I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” he seethed, reaching to savagely squeeze one breast, kneading the flesh so hard she could almost feel the bruising.

Maddie tried to grab his hand
,
and as she couldn’t release his grip, she raked her fingernails across
it
, gouging his skin.

“Bitch!” he snarled, grabbing her arm, twisting it until it protruded upward just a scant inch from snapping. “You fucked up my truck.  Now it’s my turn to fuck you up!”   He pushed her elbow higher, snapping the bone.

A white pain filled her.  She screamed.  Her body started to fall, but he grabbed her, half-carrying, half-dragging her to his truck
.  He
shoved her inside and climbed in behind the wheel.  “Shut up!” he yelled, slamming his fist across her face, her stomach.

Still, she screamed.

He grabbed her throat and squeezed.

Maddie gasped and slumped against the passenger door.  Darkness danced in her vision.  Despite the fog suffocating her brain and the pain blistering her arm, she thought,
Sweet Jesus, He’s going to kill me.

* * *

“Don’t look at me like that
, Donner—it’s
15 degrees out there and three in the morning
.  I
t’s not going to take that long to get home.” Gabriel Martin
gripp
ed
the
w
heel
tightly
as he navigated the highway
, his
high beams the only thing unsettling the darkness
s
wallow
ing
his truck.  Still he looked at the German shepherd paw
ing
and whin
ing
at door,
its
brown eyes pleading for freedom. 
As Gabriel spoke,
the dog scratched harder
, wagging its tail and
whin
ing
more.

“You’re actually serious,” Gabriel said, shaking his head.  Sighing, he reluctantly flipped the blinker so he could turn
down
a side road.  While Donner was pretty-well trained, he wasn’t taking any chances about getting the fire house mascot hit
—never
mind that the damn
ed
dog had bounded into his vehicle earlier this evening with great expectations. 
N
obody
’d been able to
coax him out, so Gabriel
had taken him along
to see his brother.  “I hate winter,” he
growled
, sliding one arm in
to
a coat sleeve and then the other.  As Gabriel grabbed the leash, the dog darted
forward
and jumped upon him, allowing Gabriel to fasten the leash to the dog’s collar.  Gabriel opened the door and stepped
out
into the cold night air.

“Let’s get down to business,” he said, shoving his free hand in
to
his pocket.  “I’m not standing
out
here all night.”

The dog pulled against the leash and sniffed the trees and shrubs
along
the road
side
.  After checking out two potential bushes, he jerked toward the fence, his tail snapping back and forth.   Barking once or twice, he looked at Gabriel and back
at
the fence.

Frowning, Gabriel wondered what the dog
had
spotted.  “Is there something there, boy?” he asked.

The dog barked twice more and stepped closer to the fence.  The full moonlight cast
its
glimmer
on a dark mass.  Frowning, Gabriel took a step closer.  “What
t
he hell is that?”  Another step.  He spotted a hand protruding from the blackness.  His heart sped up.  Kneeling, he realized the black
mass
was a coat, and he gently pulled it back to find a half-naked woman curled in
to
a fetal position.  Her long
,
dark hair spilled across her face, concealing her features.

“
Damn
,” he whispered. 
Is she dead
?   He touched her arm and she screamed in a low
,
keening whine.  She stirred, her elbow slipped from its normal position, and the broken bone prodded at the skin, threatening to poke through.

Gabriel winced
,
and his mouth fell open.  For a few seconds
,
he stood, listening to the wretched keening she made, like a cat caught in a trap.  Her body convulsed, and thin gulps of air
emerged in thick,
steamy bursts.

“I’m so sorry.” He glanced at  his
vehicle and then at the empty landscape around him.  He was tempted to yell for help
, but n
o one would hear him.  He didn’t want to leave her, but he had no choice.  Gabriel laid the coat back across her body, leaving her face uncovered.  “I’m going to gol for help.  I’ll be right back.”

He sprinted toward the truck with Donner in tow.  As he ran, he thought he heard her say something in the midst of her shrieking.  What he couldn’t tell.  He threw open the door, turned loose of the leash, and grabbed his cell.  He punched 911 and waited
for
an operat
or
to
answer
.

“I’ve found a badly injured woman who needs an ambulance.  I’m on
H
ighway 58 about
fifteen
miles from Lawton city limits.  The woman has at least a broken arm, and she’s bleeding.  My name is Gabriel Martin.  I’m a firefighter with Lawton Station 17, and I’m going to attend to her wounds until help arrives.”  He snapped the phone shut and shoved it in
to
his pocket before shimmying out of his coat and heading back to her. 

As he knelt before her again, her scream died to a whimper.  “It’s going to be all right,” he said.  “I’ve called 911.”  He lightly draped the coat atop her shivering body.  “My name is Gabriel Martin, and I want to help you.”

He leaned over her.  Maddie inched away. 
S
he whimpered, watching him through half-closed slits.  Considering one of her eyes was almost bruised shut, she was lucky to
be able to
open it at all.  Dark bangs
lay
matted against her forehead
amid
dried sweat and blood.  As he leaned closer, she scooted farther away, whimpering as pain closed its vise around her arm and ribs
.  We
re they broken?