“No John. Not like that. Not against you. I—”
“Save it for the cops Cassie,” he said coldly as he reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone. Quickly he dialed Luke, and then hung up. The shit officially was hitting the fan now. Then they waited, silently watching the storm rage around them, and within what was left of them.
****
Cassie saw the red and blue flashing lights, heard the siren even over the storm. She glanced at John, his face now lit eerily with rotating shadows of blue and red. He refused to look at her. His jaw was clenched and his mouth was turned down. She needed him now more than she’d ever needed anyone in her life. She ached for him to reach over and take her hand. She was so cold, beyond the wet shivering of her skin. It was a cold that reached to the very center of her heart. She’d killed a man tonight. And some never saw that as justifiable. No matter what he’d intended to do her, she knew many would think that she, the victim, shouldn’t have had any violent intentions toward her stalker. She should have gotten help, called the police, hidden some more. She shouldn’t have planned on killing him.
But she had planned on just that.
What the outside world didn’t understand fully was that it was her son who was threatened with bodily harm or disappearing one day. It was her life, not John’s. It was she whose entire being had been ruined for several years because of this one man. She had spent years being scared and frightened and alone with a little son. She’d spent years thinking every day could be her last with Tim. That somehow, someway, Tim would be taken from her. And then Marcus had put a face to that feeling. Marcus Leary had nearly succeeded in kidnapping Tim.
What John didn’t understand was that going to prison was nothing to her when compared to the reality of Marcus Leary taking her son, hurting her son, or killing her son. Prison scared her. Marcus Leary, near Tim, left her terrorized. And she could live with prison. She could live with what she had done here tonight. What she couldn’t live with was anything happening to Tim. And no matter what John thought he could empathize with, he couldn’t understand fully just what a mother, a parent, would do for their child.
John believed she had once again betrayed him. She did things, big things that he couldn’t accept. No matter what her reasons, she didn’t consult him, she didn’t ask him. He was right, she went at it alone. Long ago she had taken away his child without his knowledge, and now she’d killed a man while lying and hiding her intentions from John. She knew that there was no way John would forgive this or ever believe in her or trust her again.
That hurt. But not as much as losing Tim would have. She knew that she could live without John; she could not live without her son. And no matter what it cost her, she now knew her son was as reasonably safe in the world as any other kid.
John hadn’t ever been pushed to the brink of morality. He’d never been forced to decide terrible decisions. If she’d given him the chance he’d have made her back down. Ten years ago he’d have stopped her from having an abortion, and today he would have stopped her from meeting Marcus. Neither of which were the right things for her to do. And therein was the crux of what had plagued their relationship. What she needed to do never seemed to coincide with what John needed her to do.
“What are you going to tell them?”
She glanced out the windshield. She shut her eyes, trying to block out the fear. She might have traded one prison for a real one. “Marcus had a knife, and he was threatening to kill me so I stabbed him with an overdose of drugs.”
John was silent as he stared. Then he said softly, “Say it was Marcus’s needle.”
“What?”
“Say it was his needle, or you might end up in prison for murder.”
“But it was self-defense. I can’t lie.”
“He tried to poison you once with Rohypnol. Its believable Marcus would try to poison you again. Say you had no idea what was in the syringe, you managed to get it from him when he was trying to rape you, and you stabbed him with it. You didn’t know what would happen.”
“I can’t. They’ll know there has to be some kind of physical proof to contradict that. Won’t it be worse to be caught in a lie?”
“There is nothing left of that crime scene except his body. It’s been power washed out there. It’s just your word. And if they do find something, then you explain the truth and why you lied, only then taking the chance.”
“I want to quit screwing up and lying.”
“Start tomorrow, where at least you won’t be in prison away from your son. You killed Marcus for Tim’s sake didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then lie about it for his sake too. You’ve come this far, don’t blow it now. You’re almost free of Marcus Leary. Make sure you stay free.”
“You hate lying.”
“You owe Harry that much too. If you admit you had the drugs there is going to be an investigation into where and from whom you got them. The first place they’ll look is at me, then Harry. You did this thing. Now finish it in the best way you can for Tim, and for Harry. End this thing with you coming home.”
The police were now stopped, three squad cars, six men. Two came over. It was time. John was about to reach for the door handle.
“John?”
“Save your lies for them.”
He glanced at her, and she looked into his eyes, but there was no softening. He’d decided their fate already.
Tears rose to her throat. She nodded as she said softy, “Someday I hope you will understand and forgive what I did here today.”
Then she got out, rounded the hood of his truck, and met the group of police officers standing under umbrellas, flashlights out and scanning the soaked ground. She started talking, explaining in a rush, forgetting to be cautious. Forgetting this could land her in prison. Doing as John said, no matter how un-heroic it made her, ending it now, her past, and her mistakes. Because whatever happened next, she knew she was finally free from all the wrongs she’d ever done.
Chapter Twenty-Six
John walked into the house at two o’clock in the morning to find the entire household awake and alert, nearly feverish with wanting answers while at the same time overcome that John was all right.
Where did he start?
Cassie was alive. Marcus Leary was dead.
Those main facts stuck in his head, turning over and around as he tried to make sense of what had happened and what he felt about it, and where that left him and Cassie.
Then all eyes turned toward the door as Cassie entered behind him. She was surrounded in a barrage of hugs and concern. She fell into the circle of his family as easily as a hurt child falls into a mother’s arms. She was hugged and patted and exclaimed over. She was led into the living room and gently sat down on the couch. While he stood back watching. Cassie sagged from exhaustion, clearly relieved to be home and safe and surrounded by those who were most concerned. Finally his family and Kelly seemed convinced she really was all right and backed off. Then the questions started.
“Where the hell have you been? We’ve been tearing our hair out, you called here hours ago,” Kelly said, glaring at John.
John looked at Kelly as she sat down next to her sister. Her face was still yellowish and bruised. His insides cramped each time he looked at Kelly. Her beautiful face, so out of the ordinary beautiful, was now swollen, colored and painful. Each time he looked at her he’d known the violence they were up against with Marcus Leary. And too, that Kelly was just a warm-up, when compared to what Marcus would do to Cassie. John had been almost out of his mind with worry, and impotent because there was nothing he could do. He’d been doing all he could. But it wasn’t enough, and he’d known it.
But Cassie had known what to do and had the guts to do it.
The compassion and concern that looking at Kelly stirred in him froze. Looking at Cassie now, she appeared anything but strong. Her hair was now dry, but hopelessly tousled, her face free of makeup, but ringed with the stress and exhaustion she’d been through.
Still, she was there and all right. She was safe. And wasn’t that what mattered? Wasn’t that enough to cancel out anything else that had gone on? John wished vehemently for that to be fact. But it wasn’t.
Cassie glanced at him. He looked back, feeling anger build again as he crossed his arms over his chest, waiting to see what she admitted to the crowd that seemed to always be between them. And strangely he got the feeling she liked his family’s concern. She liked Luke and his parents always being there.
Then his mother’s gaze found him, followed slowly by the rest of the room as they picked up on the tension that was so evident between Cassie and him. He sighed, at a loss why suddenly his every private thought was now open to his family’s knowledge.
“Go ahead Cassie, tell them what happened.”
She straightened then and shook off her exhaustion to rise to his challenging tone.
“We’ve been at the police station this whole time. Marcus is dead. I killed him. And they of course, took me into the station to question me. They let me go, I think for good, ruling what happened self-defense.”
“Well of course it was self-defense how could it take so long to figure that out?” Kelly exclaimed, seeming to take it in stride that Cassie had killed a man.
His parents gasped at her announcement.
“Well some people may not think what I did was right,” Cassie said, glancing in John’s direction.
Kelly stood, her hands on her hips. “Meaning John, right? I knew something was up the moment you two came in. I don’t even know what happened, but I do know that Marcus Leary deserved it. Look at my face. And I wasn’t even the object of his obsession. Tell me John, what do you think he’d have done to Cassie?”
“Kelly,” Cassie admonished gently. “Stop. It’s too late for this.”
“What happened then?” Luke asked.
“Marcus left another note, in the house this time. It was Tim or me. So I went.”
“Oh dear God you must have been terrified,” Nancy said softly.
“I was. The whole time. But I had to go. He was there waiting for me in the open right where he said he’d be. He ranted on about what he thought I’d done to him. Then he tried to rape me. He had a knife. He—”
“He had a syringe which Cassie managed to get away from him while he was busy trying to get his pants down to rape her. The syringe had poison in it, or an overdose of medicine, whatever it was; it killed him, as he intended to kill Cassie.”
Cassie’s gaze flew up to his. It was a lie. The same one they’d repeated over and over at the police station. They had already lied to the police, why not his family and Kelly too? He didn’t want them to ever be put in the middle of their lies. The less they all knew the better. They hadn’t discussed hiding it, but he didn’t see any other choice.
Stunned silence met John’s announcement.
Cassie stood. “Now all of you know everything. And I really don’t care what your opinions are about what I did. I’m tired, and I’m going up to my son now.”
With that she crossed the room, past John with little more than a glance and disappeared up the stairs.
John was tired too. But all eyes were now on him.
“What happened between you two?” his mother asked.
“For once can I have some privacy?” John grumbled before he went upstairs, ignoring the hordes of questions and opinions awaiting him in the room. He was sick and tired of living his life as an open book to Kelly and his family. He was sick to death of having all this chaos and drama and being judged on how he reacted to it. He was tired of being the one who didn’t handle it right.
****
Cassie woke up the next morning and felt inexplicably good. She stretched feeling the sun slant across her, warm and life affirming. She should be exhausted or guilt stricken from the night before, but she wasn’t. She was set free. She was safe and normal and glad to be facing the day, a stronger feeling than she’d ever had.
Tim wasn’t awake yet. Cassie snuggled him close. She’d slept with him. Breathing in his safety, his softness, and knowing that today, her son was finally typical. He could go to school and go play and be like every other little boy. Because she’d killed the man who threatened to hurt him.
Someday she’d tell Tim about last night. Someday when he was old enough to understand it, and even judge it on his own, someday she’d have to tell her son she’d killed his father. And hope that he saw it as she did.
But for today, all Tim needed to know was Marcus was gone and could never hurt them again. And that they were free to go on with their lives, wherever they wanted, doing whatever they wanted. And today, she was going to figure that out.
She went downstairs thinking she should feel like she had when she’d first moved into the house. But she didn’t. Because for once she wasn’t ashamed of her actions or motives behind them. John might judge her. But hell if she was cowering to him anymore.
John froze when she entered the kitchen. He probably thought she’d sleep long and late.
“Good morning.”
He eyed her stonily.
She passed by him and poured some coffee then turned and leaned against the counter. Finally he lowered the newspaper.
“So are we going to talk about it or just end it and walk away without a word like we did last time?”
“End it? I can’t end something that never really started. We’re like those people who go through a traumatic event together, when it’s over—”
“It’s just over right? It wasn’t real? If that’s the case then why are you so angry at me? How does that fact fit into your theory?”
“I’m tired. That’s all I am.”
“No, what you are is wounded. I finally figured out what has you so furious. You’re damn pride is wounded. You’re not angry because I took a weapon to meet Marcus. You’re angry because I didn’t tell you about it. You brought a gun there to save me didn’t you? What’s so different about what you did? You didn’t tell me there was a gun in the house any more then I told you I had poison with me. You’re not mad because I could have been killed, you’re mad because you think I don’t need you.”
“You don’t. When have you ever needed me? That’s not what has me angry at you. Ten years ago I couldn’t handle your problems. And now? You do the same thing to me. I’m five years younger than you, but I’m sure as hell not eighteen anymore. But you still think I can’t handle anything. You decide what I should or should not know like I’m still some kind of teenager to you.”