Read Secrets Amoung The Shadows Online
Authors: Sally Berneathy
His parents had moved to Tyler a few years after his dad retired, and even though they were less than two hours away, he hadn't seen them or talked to them in a couple of months, not since this nightmare began. He couldn't tell them the truth, but maybe if he could talk to them about his childhood, he could find out something of significance. Maybe he could find out why they'd been so dead set against his relationship with Edward.
The phone rang, and he snatched it up before the ring was finished.
"Eliot, I think it's time you let me get you a good criminal attorney. Stockton wants you to come in for a line-up. They have a witness, a neighbor who says she saw someone leaving Kay Palmer's apartment the night of the murder."
Eliot's heart sank.
Of course, there was always the possibility that the witness wouldn't identify him.
But there was an equal possibility—probability—that she would, that he'd be found guilty of Kay Palmer's murder and sent to prison, just as Edward predicted.
The walls started closing in on him. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, something he'd never done in the office before.
But he'd never before felt he was suffocating.
"When?" he croaked.
"Monday afternoon at three o'clock."
"Monday at three. Fine. I'll be there." That didn't give him much time, but if he was a murderer, he shouldn't have much time. He should be behind bars. He should be put to death. The sooner the better.
He thought about the gun he'd given Leanne. Maybe he should ask for it back and take justice into his own hands. That would be better than going to prison.
And then he'd know for sure Leanne would be safe.
"Do you want me to find you a criminal lawyer?" Roger asked.
It took Eliot a moment to comprehend what his friend was asking, to return to the idea of denying his guilt rather than taking care of matters himself. "Thanks, Roger. I'd appreciate that."
Though he wasn't sure if it mattered. If the witness identified him, he wasn't going to try to get out of it, and a death sentence would be preferable to being institutionalized whether in prison or a mental facility.
He hung up and sat for a few minutes staring unseeingly into space.
Monday afternoon.
Three days.
Seventy-two hours.
That could be all the time he had left.
One part of him wanted to run screaming down the street, letting go of everything in a total panic, running so fast and so far none of this could catch him.
He'd carefully planned his life, and everything had been going right on schedule.
Murder, prison, insanity—those items weren't on the schedule.
He bit the inside of his jaw, feeling the pain, tasting his own blood. The pain was real. The blood was real. All those other things that weren't on his schedule were real.
He straightened and tried to take a deep breath in spite of the weight that still pressed against his chest threatening to smother him.
Seventy-two hours. He couldn't afford to waste those hours. He wasn't going to sit around waiting for the guillotine to descend. He'd go see Thurman tonight. He'd drive to Tyler and talk to his parents on Saturday. He'd fight Edward to the last round.
Then, if Edward had to go to prison, to a mental institution, to the gas chamber...if he had to put a gun to his own head, Eliot would do whatever had to be done to stop the monster.
And, like it or not, he had to tell Leanne what was going on. He'd involved her in all this. He'd put her in danger. She deserved to know everything. If his confession caused what she felt for him to turn to disgust—well, it couldn't be helped. Everything would come out eventually. He'd given up on an easy fix for his problems.
What the hell kind of a relationship could Dr. Jekyll hope to have anyway?
He lifted the receiver and dialed her office number.
***
After the way Eliot had brushed her off that morning, Leanne was surprised—and, in spite of herself, pleased—to get his message. After making love the night before, his distant attitude had hurt. However, she'd reasoned that his actions had been natural and to be expected under the circumstances. They'd been foolish, made love in a moment out of time, achieved a closeness they would never dare repeat. So he'd retreated from her—the smart thing to do.
She knew all that. But all her rational logic hadn't eased the pain of seeing him so cold and distant.
She returned his call immediately.
"We need to talk," he said without preamble.
"I have another client due in a few minutes."
"I'm going over to Thurman's tonight. When I'm through there, I'll..."
She sucked in her breath as she waited for what he was about to suggest...come over to her house to talk? She wanted him to say it, she dreaded that he would say it. If he did, she'd have to refuse. What they'd done last night had been impulsive and dangerous. And wonderful, so wonderful she wasn't sure she'd be able to refuse him.
"I could pick you up," he continued, "and we could go somewhere for dinner. Some brightly lit, public place where you'd be certain you were safe. In fact, it might be better if you could follow me in your own car instead of riding with me. Just in case."
She hadn't expected that. "All right," she agreed.
She hung up the phone and stared at it. Eliot had called her and asked her to dinner. When she thought of it that way, it sounded so normal...a man and a woman, attracted to each other, going out for dinner.
In separate cars to a public, well-lit place where she'd be safe in case his alter ego surfaced and attacked her. Not the kind of date a woman dreamed about, no more than her relationship with Eliot was the kind of relationship a woman dreamed out.
***
Eliot sat back in the chair in Thurman's living room and forced himself to concentrate on the older man's words, on finding the trance he knew he needed to achieve in order to reach Edward. Gradually, slowly, he felt himself relinquishing control, felt the familiar floating, drifting sensation.
"What's your name?"
"Eliot Kane."
"Do you know Edward Dalman?"
"Yes."
"I'd like for you to ask Edward to speak to me."
"Edward isn't here."
"Where is Edward?"
Eliot could almost find the answer to that question, could almost sense Edward's whereabouts...almost but not quite. Edward was getting closer all the time, easier to reach. "I don't know."
"Okay, we're going to look backward at your life. I want you to watch carefully, like you're watching a movie. You'll be able to describe everything you see and everything you felt and knew, but you'll be emotionally detached. Going back now, back to the time when you were thirteen years old. Tell me what you see, what's happening."
"I'm going to the movies with the guys," Eliot answered.
"Where's Edward?"
Eliot squirmed uncomfortably. "He can't go. He wants to, but I can't take him. I've got to quit playing with imaginary friends. The other kids made fun of me. They called me a baby."
"How do you feel about not taking Edward with you?"
"Bad. I've made him unhappy."
"How can he be unhappy if he's only imaginary?"
"He's unhappy," Eliot said firmly.
"Have you ever seen Edward?"
"I see him at night, when I dream."
"But can you see him the way you see the other kids?"
"No."
"How can you take him with you if you can't see him?"
Eliot was silent for a few moments. He knew the answer, but he wasn't sure how to say it. "He can see with my eyes and hear with my ears. It's like we're the same person."
"Okay, Eliot, let's go back further, back to the time you were five years old, before you started school. Tell me about Edward."
"He's my best friend. We do everything together."
"How do your parents feel about that?"
"They don't want me to play with him."
"Why not?"
"They say he's not real."
"How do you know he is real if you can only see him in your dreams?"
Again Eliot hesitated, searching for the answer. "He talks to me."
"You can hear him, the same way you hear me?"
"No, not in my ears. In my head."
"Does Edward ever get mad at you?"
"Sometimes when I spend too much time away from him."
"Why does that make him mad?"
"He's lonely. I'm the only one he can talk to. I'm the only one who can take him places and play with him."
"Why is that, Eliot? Why can't he go places by himself?"
Eliot was quiet for a long time. "He's somewhere that he can't see or hear or run or play without me."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"Okay, Eliot, let's go back a little further, back to your third birthday party. Is Edward there with you?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"I can see him."
"You can see him? With your eyes, the same way you see other people, not just in your head?"
"Yes."
"What does he look like?"
"Me. Like when I look in a mirror."
"Do you spend a lot of time with Edward?"
"We stay together all the time."
"Do you prefer to play with him instead of other kids?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"We always want to do the same things. It's easier to talk, too. We don't have to make words out loud."
"You don't have to talk out loud? Do you talk in your minds? Do you know what Edward's thinking?"
"Yes."
"What does your mommy say about your playing with Edward?"
"She says she can always tell us apart even if nobody else can."
"She can tell you apart?"
"Yes."
Thurman didn't ask another question for several moments, and Eliot continued to watch the scenes of himself and Edward playing together, savoring the carefree world that no longer existed.
"Eliot, you're three years old, quite a big boy. You know who your mommy and daddy are, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Is Edward part of your family?"
"Yes."
"What part of the family is he?"
"He's my brother."
"Your brother? Is he older or younger than you?"
"We're both three."
"Where is Edward now?"
"I don't know."
"Was Edward in the car wreck with you and your parents?"
"Yes."
"What happened to him in that car wreck?"
"He went to sleep like Mommy and Daddy."
Chapter 22
Voices came from the television set on the other side of the room, but Leanne's attention was focused across the street. If she leaned around far enough, she could just see Thurman's porch.
It was after eight, and Eliot should be coming out soon. And in spite of her common sense screaming in protest, she was anxious to see him...the intense light in his golden eyes, the dimple that appeared on those rare occasions when he smiled, his strong hands, the tall, hard-muscled body that she'd explored every inch of last night.
She'd broken the rules—her rules, everybody's rules. She would have to pay the price. What she and Eliot had shared couldn't be undone.
The unfolding events of his life—his illness—seemed to be whirling around them like a tornado, going faster and faster, coming constantly closer, threatening ultimate destruction. Every second she could steal from that certain destruction was becoming more and more precious.
When Eliot emerged from Thurman's house, he stood looking across the street toward her house for a long time before he walked over in a robotic, zombie-like gait. She and Greta met him at the door.
His eyes were bottomless pits of haunted agony. "Are you ready to leave for dinner?" he asked.
"Just let me get my keys." She turned back into the room and picked up her purse. By the time she got to the door again, he was already walking away from her, toward his car.