Authors: R.L. Mathewson
maybe she shouldn’t be too surprised that he hadn’t noticed that anything was wrong. As
far as Tristan was concerned, she was just having a little trouble going to sleep. He didn’t
know that she was probably going crazy.
As the whispering became louder, she wondered how she was going to explain this one
to Tristan. She could lie to him and tell him that she was freezing, but that would only end
with him cranking up the heat and her struggling not to pass out from heat exhaustion. Then
again, she could try playing it off like she was being playful, but that would just end with
them making love all night.
Not that making love to her husband all night was an unpleasant thought. It wasn’t. If the
circumstances were different, the idea of spending the night between the sheets with Tristan
until the alarm forced them apart would have sent shivers of anticipation through her instead
of making her feel like she was going to be sick.
She couldn’t do this any longer. She just couldn’t. Since the voices started haunting her,
she’d lost too much sleep to be healthy, lost weight, her nerves were fried and, for the past
week, she hadn’t been able to hold anything down. The only time she’d managed to get any
sleep was when Tristan drove her to work, but most mornings that wasn’t nearly enough to
help get her through her day. It was only thanks to her frayed nerves and the fear of
experiencing more of those heart-wrenching dreams that kept her from falling asleep at
work.
Every time she felt her eyes begin to close she forced them open and if that didn’t work,
the voices that would suddenly scream in her ear usually did the trick. Once the voices
started, they usually didn’t stop. The only time that she could escape them was if she was in
a car or another voice, a man’s voice that from what she could tell so far was obsessed with
Gilligan’s Island
, porn, and harassing Tristan, which was odd, appeared.
Then again, was there really anything about this situation that was normal?
She was married to a man that had spent more than a decade pretending that he didn’t
know she’d existed and then made her life a living hell once he was forced to acknowledge
her. Tristan was an equal opportunity asshole, she thought with a small smile that quickly
disappeared with a grimace as her stomach chose that moment to perform somersaults.
Clamping a hand over her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut and willed her too sensitive
stomach to calm down. There was no way that she was going to leave the safety of her
comforter when she knew that something in the dark was waiting for her.
As her stomach began to settle, she couldn’t help but will a certain voice with an
Irish brogue to come to her rescue and yes, sadly enough she did think of that voice as a
protector of sorts. He seemed to be able to handle the voices and make them go away. In
her book that made the man’s voice a godsend. The only problem was that he normally
didn’t come around unless Tristan was with her.
She should be comforted by the fact that her hallucinations liked Tristan, but oddly
enough she wasn’t. It probably had something to do with the fact that she was going crazy
and wouldn’t be able to hide it for very much longer. No doubt by this time next week
she’d be fitted for a straight jacket while Tristan filed for divorce. Her stomach rolled
violently with the thought of never seeing Tristan again.
This wasn’t right. After everything they’d been through, they deserved a better ending
than this. They deserved a real chance. They should get a chance to celebrate anniversaries,
have babies and grow old together, but none of those things were going to happen now.
When Tristan had finally managed to convince her to take a chance on him, mostly by
exhausting her with sex until the point where she would have done or said anything to get
some rest, she’d been afraid that Tristan would quickly regret marrying her and leave her.
Never in a million years would she have ever thought that she would be the reason why
things ended.
She loved him so much and it killed her to hide this from him, but what choice did she
have? Whether Tristan decided to stay with her or not, she’d already made her own
decision about their marriage. She was going to leave him. It would be the hardest thing that
she’d ever done, but if Tristan tried to be noble and stick it out with her, she would be
forced to do what was right.
She knew from her studies and internships what most likely waited for her. If she didn’t
spend the rest of her life in and out of institutions then she’d live her life completely
dependent on pills and therapy, hoping, hell, praying that she didn’t have another setback. It
wasn’t an ideal life. She knew that a lot of people with mental illness managed to lead
somewhat productive lives and that she’d most likely figure out how to do that with time
and help, but she just couldn’t put Tristan through that.
If he stayed with her, they would always be waiting for the day when her medication no
longer worked or her problem escalated to the point that medication no longer helped her. It
wasn’t the kind of life that she wanted for Tristan. She wanted him to have a real chance at
happiness and if he stayed with her, he would never get that chance.
How sad was it that she wished that those tests she’d taken when the voices first started
had come back differently? she wondered with a choked sob. At least a tumor or a blockage
would have explained why this was suddenly happening to her. It would have also been a
lot easier to tell Tristan.
She would have been terrified to tell him, but she would have been more terrified by the
news and would have needed him. He always made her feel better and she knew that once
he found out that she was losing it that he would do everything that he could to make her
feel better. Just the thought of Tristan’s arms wrapped around her as he whispered in her
ear that everything was going to be okay had her reconsidering holding off on telling him
until she received an official diagnosis.
Maybe she should—
Any thoughts of confiding in Tristan evaporated when a rough, callused hand that
definitely was not Tristan’s, suddenly clamped down tightly around her ankle. It was also at
that point that she realized that perhaps she wasn’t crazy after all.
-
-
-
“Are ye sure that ye can’t hear that?” Shayne demanded, letting Tristan know that the
night of bullshit was far from over.
With a resigned sigh, he turned around and headed back downstairs. If he was going to
be forced to hear Shayne bitch, then he was going to do it with an ice cold beer and leftover
pizza. Hopefully Marty would be able to fall asleep in the meantime.
He’d go check on her in a little while and if she was asleep, he’d leave her alone. He’d
get some work done and then crash on the couch. He hated to do it, but she really needed
some sleep and if she asked, he’d tell her that he’d fallen asleep by accident. It was a pretty
believable lie since he was barely getting an hour of sleep a night, but he couldn’t
completely blame the spirits for that.
Those damn dreams on the other hand….
They were driving him out of his fucking mind. Every time he fell asleep those damn
dreams tormented him, making his heart ache and leaving him with a sense of loss and
longing that left him on edge all day. On more than one occasion he’d actually found
himself in the bathroom, vomiting, the sense of grief too much to bear.
“Let it go, Shayne,” he said as he strolled past Shayne and made his way to the kitchen.
“It’s a quick thumping sound,” Shayne said, obviously set on bugging the shit out of him
so he simply tuned him out as he grabbed a beer and the aluminum foil covered plate of
pizza left over from dinner and headed for the living room, hoping that Shayne would be
too focused on his little noise obsession to notice.
“This is bugging the shit out of me,” Shayne whined as he followed after him.
“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Tristan said dryly as he placed his food on the coffee table and
sat down on the couch.
“I know that I’ve heard it before, but I just can’t remember where,” Shayne said as
though Tristan cared.
He didn’t, so he focused on the stack of folders in front of him.
“I can’t believe that ye can’t hear it,” Shayne grumbled.
“Believe it,” Tristan said absently, taking a sip of his beer.
“Ye know, lad, I’m beginning to think that ye don’t care,” Shayne said with a putout
sigh.
“That’s probably because I don’t”
“That hurts, lad. I’m being tortured by a phantom sound and ye-“
“Don’t care,” Tristan said, cutting him off.
“Ye’d care if ye had to listen to this damn thumping day and night,” Shayne said and
Tristan didn’t need to look up from the folder on his lap to know that the man was pouting.
“Stop being such a baby and man up,” he said, barely looking up from the file in front of
him as he reached for his beer.
“I’m not being a baby! I………..,” Shayne’s words trailed off before he let out a
chuckle. “I’m a fucking idiot, lad.”
“Agreed,” Tristan murmured, all of his attention on the latest kidnapping case.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Shayne with a satisfied sigh.
“Uh huh.”
“Ye don’t want to know what that sound is?” Shayne asked, sounding amused.
“Not really,” Tristan said, frowning down at the detective’s field notes and trying to
decipher scribble.
“Then maybe I shouldn’t tell ye.”
“Then don’t.”
“It involves Marty,” Shayne said after a slight pause, grabbing Tristan’s attention in a big
way.
“What about her?” Tristan asked, looking up, folder forgotten as all of his attention went
to his grinning friend.
“Looks like ye got a babe on the lass,” Shayne announced proudly seconds before his
own words seemed to sink in and when they did, his pleased expression turned horrified.
Tristan was too stunned to respond at first, but when Shayne let out a vile curse and
suddenly disappeared, he found himself frozen on the spot.
Marty was pregnant?
He was having a little difficulty processing that thought when the screams for help
started.
Chapter
26
“Open the fucking door!” Tristan shouted, panic taking over as Marty’s screams for help
abruptly stopped and the sounds of men fighting grew louder.
“Marty!” he shouted, slamming his bad shoulder into the bedroom door, barely aware of
the sharp pain shooting down his shoulder and into the tips of his fingers.
After a few more failed attempts, he swore as he stepped back and slammed his foot in
the door. The door gave way after two kicks. Before the door had the chance to bounce off
the wall, Tristan was making his way inside and ready to kill whoever had broken into his
house with his bare hands.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Tristan bit out in disgust when he spotted
Shayne fighting with the spirit of a large man by the bed.
He shook his head in disgust as he looked around the room for his wife. When he spotted
her in the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet, looking pale, he wanted to kick his own
ass for not taking better care of her. She was running herself ragged and it was starting to
take its toll on her. She couldn’t keep going like this, not with a baby on the way.
A baby…….
They were having a baby. It didn’t seem real, not at all. Only a month ago he was
prepared to step back and allow her to go on with her life and now they were bringing a
child into this world and starting a family. He honestly didn’t know what to think about that.
It didn’t seem possible that someone like him could be this blessed.
The only thing that he was certain of was that it was past time that he took better care of
his wife. After shooting one last glance at Shayne as the man took the intruding spirit down
with an impressive chokehold, Tristan moved to go help Marty.
“Baby, are you-“
His words were cut off when a large man stepped in front of him and struck him in the
chest, sending him flying across the room before he could get a good look at the bastard’s
face or react. The air was forced from his lungs as his back slammed into the wall, his bad
shoulder connecting with the edge of the windowsill as his head slammed back into the wall
with a sickening
crack
.
“Tristan!” he heard Marty scream as he fell to the floor, the plush carpet doing little to
protect his battered body.
His vision blacked out as he struggled to get to his feet. It took several attempts before he
could manage it. His legs gave out on him several times before he accepted the fact that he