Читать книгу It Started That Night - Virna DePaul - Страница 10

Lily was running.

Running from her mother, who’d slapped her.

Running from John, who’d hurt her.

Running but going nowhere.

Suddenly, she stopped. She saw two figures wrestling, each trying to gain control over the other but neither succeeding. The dance continued for minutes. Hours. Days. The entire time, she watched, unable to move, unable to scream. Although she couldn’t distinguish one from the other, couldn’t see more than shadows, she knew who the figures were. A dark-haired woman, dressed in blue silk and heels. And a grizzled dirty man with tangled white hair and vacant blue eyes. The homeless man she’d talked with at the park.

Her mother and Hardesty. Dancing. Yelling. Fighting.

She saw a sharp steel blade, already stained red, sink into flesh, then make a wet, sucking sound as it retracted. Again and again the motion repeated itself, the sucking sounds becoming shrill screams that ended each time the knife withdrew and began once more when it hit its mark.

Then things quieted. The knife and the blood disappeared. Two figures became three. Then four. Then five.

She clearly saw her mother, huddled on the ground. A tall shadow of a man—somehow she knew it was a man—lifted her mother into his arms and carried her away. Her mother reached out to her, pleading with her. “You don’t know, Lily. You don’t understand. He’s not the man you think he is.”

Light flashed and Lily tried to run, but her feet were glued to the ground with blood. Her stomach heaved and she fought the urge to throw up.

A man grabbed her arm on each side.

The first was Hardesty.

The second was her father.

“You’ll be rewarded for your kindness,” Hardesty said. “You’ll be rewarded.”

“It’s all your fault, Lily,” her father moaned. “Remember. It’s all your fault.”

Lily jerked awake, stifling the scream climbing her throat. Sweat drenched her clothes, chilling her. She immediately raised her hand to her face. It was flushed but dry. She turned onto her side and curled back into a ball.

Even in sleep she couldn’t cry. Couldn’t let out the grief inside her. Like a malignant growth that had become a part of its host, excising it would bring death as surely as the disease itself. She needed to hold on to the grief to survive. To keep her from making the same mistakes.

Only why were her dreams back, worse than before? What did Hardesty’s words mean? And was her father’s presence alongside Hardesty a twisted form of self-punishment or a hint of something else? Some repressed memory?

But that was ridiculous.

Seeing John was playing with her head, that was all. How could it not? The guy was threatening the closure she and her family needed. The closure her mother deserved. And as powerful as her attraction had been to him in the past, she couldn’t ignore the way her body had responded to his closeness. When he’d caged her in and towered over her, every nerve in her body had gone ballistic.

It was some kind of chemical reaction, and she wasn’t a young girl to be carried away by hormones. Not anymore. Hardesty was guilty and she’d fight John and the D.A. and the governor himself if they tried arguing otherwise.

Forcing herself to her feet, Lily walked to the kitchen and filled a glass of water from the sink. She drank in desperate swallows, even as she caught sight of the blinking red light on her answering machine. Needing to compose herself, she’d turned the ringer off after John had left. Slowly, she walked over to it, and pushed the Play button.

Her brother-in-law’s voice came on and she sighed with relief that the message wasn’t from John or one of Hardesty’s attorneys.

“Hey, Lily, this is Aaron. Damn. I was hoping you’d be home. Listen, Ivy and Ashley have been fighting like crazy and I’m getting frustrated.”

Frowning, Lily put down her glass. Aaron sounded frantic even though Lily’s sister, Ivy, had always tended to butt heads with her daughter, fourteen-year-old Ashley. Even Lily’s father and stepmother, Barb, had stepped in, spending more time with the girl in an effort to give her and Ivy breathing room.

“I know you two—I mean, I know you’re busy, but I thought you could come over for dinner tomorrow night? Ashley’s going to a dance and I’m driving her, so you’d have time to talk alone. Ivy could really use someone right now and I know you’d want to help her. You have such a big heart, Lily.”

You’ll be rewarded for your kindness, Hardesty’s voice whispered in her mind.

Lily instinctively covered her ears. She bit her lip but heard her panicked whimper anyway. Slowly, she lowered her hands.

“—can call me at work. The number’s—”

Lily lunged and pressed the Stop button. She knew the number and she wasn’t a fool. Aaron’s message had to be some kind of sign. Despite how her sister had pulled away from her after their mother’s death, Ivy needed her. And Lily needed her, too.

Seeing John had shaken her to the depths of her soul, and not simply because of the investigation.

She was too afraid of the memories.

Too afraid of the panic coming out of nowhere.

Too afraid of suffocating in the darkness when she lay in bed, trying to hold off sleep but knowing eventually the dreams would claim her.

Most of all, she was afraid of how John had made her feel. He’d shattered the control she’d fought so long to achieve. Made her feel things she hadn’t felt for years.

Lust. Longing. Recklessness.

Those feelings scared her most of all.

Even though it wasn’t quite 7 a.m., Lily knew Aaron would already be at his law office. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.

“Aaron Bancroft.”

“Hi,” she said, feeling more grounded just hearing Aaron’s voice. “It’s Lily.”

“Hey, Lily! You got my message?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And it’s perfect timing. I’d love to come to dinner. Have you already asked Ivy—”

“That’s awesome, Lily!”

Lily chewed her lip. “But are you sure it’s going to be all right with Ivy?”

Aaron gave a strained laugh. “Come on, Lily. You’re family. You know you’re welcome to come over any time. Ivy’ll welcome the company.”

If she felt better, she might have called him on his blatant lie. “Still, I’ll call her. After work—”

Once again, he interrupted her, an impatient edge to his voice. “Don’t piss me off, Lily. Please.”

She felt her brows lift. She’d known Aaron since before her parents split up. He’d never used that grim voice with her before. “But—” She hesitated, remembering his atypical request for help. Even if Ivy didn’t welcome her with open arms, Aaron and Ashley would. “Okay. Thank you. And—well—my father and Barb, they won’t be there, will they?” Despite how she’d threatened John with going to her father, she didn’t think she could handle seeing her dad. Not when she was already feeling so shaky from seeing John.

“No. But he misses you, Lily. You might want to give him a call.”

Hearing the slight reproach in Aaron’s voice, Lily didn’t bother to respond. She knew it was unfair, but she couldn’t change how she felt—she’d never forgiven her father for leaving them for another woman. Or for failing to save her mother.

And she’d never forgiven herself.

Wearily, Lily sat on her couch. She smoothed her finger over the binding of one chenille pillow. She forced her voice to sound cheery. “See you tomorrow night.” She pulled the phone away from her ear just as Aaron spoke again.

“Ivy feels helpless—like she’s losing her daughter. You being here will help.”

There was nothing Lily could say. She was the last person to give parenting advice, but she’d try almost anything to feel close to her family again.

Don’t hope too much, Lily. Don’t let yourself be hurt again. A pleasant dinner wasn’t going to erase fifteen years of tension and distance.

Lily showered and dressed for work, but didn’t bother with breakfast. She’d grab something on the way. At the door, she studied the picture hanging on the wall. It was of the four of them—her father and mother, her sister and herself. Arms around each other. Smiling. Happy. Reaching out, Lily traced the shape of her mother’s face.

She remembered the gruesome dream, how sharp the knife had looked, how loud the screams had been, how she could almost feel the gush of blood escape from her mother’s body and onto her clothes and the floor.

It was her greatest heartache. She couldn’t think of her mother, couldn’t look at her picture, without imagining her being hurt. Without feeling guilt for hurting her, as well.

The same thing happened whenever she saw or thought of John.

Resolutely, she straightened her shoulders and did what she always did when leaving the house. She kissed her fingertips, touched them to her mother’s image, then said, “Be back soon,” before heading outside.