The Mistaken (19 page)

I watched Maguire’s house for anyone inside but saw
no one. Peering through the draperied windows, it appeared dark and
empty. A security system control panel was mounted on the wall near
the front entry, unarmed, its single green light holding steady. I
walked all around the rear and sides of the house, keeping from the
front so as not to be seen by the neighbors. I contemplated
breaking in, as much to get out of the rain as to search around for
information on Erin’s whereabouts, but then a car turned into the
long driveway and crept up toward the garage. The wide carriage
door opened automatically, and a black, sporty convertible pulled
in with Erin behind the wheel.

At the sight of her, months of rage and bitter
loneliness blazed to fiery life inside me. It roared in my ears and
pushed from behind my eyes, blinding me to everything else but her.
I fumed, rooted nervously to the ground in panic as the garage door
closed again, cutting me off from her. Blood pumped furiously
through my energized body, rushing through my head with the sound
of a fighter jet taking off. Adrenaline nauseated my gut as my
brain swam with the dizzying effects of the booze and drugs.

This was it, my chance to claim vengeance for
everything that had been stolen from me, for everything that ever
gave me reason to live. Flashes of Jillian flickered in my head,
memories of the day we met, our wedding, the night she told me she
was pregnant. They passed through me so quickly, it left me
breathless and disoriented. I sucked in large gulps of air in an
attempt to still the temblor erupting from within me.

I recalled the last time Jill and I spoke, the fight
we had that night, the words she screamed at me:
“You said
everything would be okay, but it’s not. You told me you wanted a
wife, a child, a home. Well, this is part of that, and that woman
has taken it away, but you won’t even stand up and defend it. You
won’t defend
us
.”

Then I saw Jillian on the narrow table, her blood
soaked through the sheet pulled over her battered body, and the
tube still stuck in her throat. And, in my alcohol-fueled rage, I
steeled my resolve, walked up to the front door, and rang the
bell.

Chapter
Twenty
-
One

Hannah

The house was a melancholy place,
devoid of all souls save my own. I had already dropped Conner off
at Beck’s new apartment for his first overnight visit. He was
staying with his father for the long Memorial Day weekend. I knew
this day
would be difficult, but I was still surprised by
the intensity of it.

Since our separation two weeks prior, Conner had
stayed solely with me. Beck had immediately filed papers to regain
partial custody, and two days ago won limited visitation until the
divorce was worked out in court later in the year. As much as I had
come to resent my husband, he was Conner’s father, and I had no
place coming between them, so I allowed Beck to take him for the
holiday.

I’d been crying off and on since watching Conner
wave goodbye from the front entrance of Beck’s tony apartment
building. When I walked into the house, it felt so empty, so
lifeless. It was difficult adjusting to Beck’s absence. I thought I
would be used to it, considering how often he was gone, but back
then I always knew he would return. Now, on top of being lonely, I
was alone.

I considered getting myself a cat, or better yet, a
large dog to keep me company and make me feel safe, probably not
very practical since I took Beck’s beloved sports car away from
him. I had the convertible BMW M6, a virtual two-seater, and Beck
got the SUV, a more sensible choice since he was now living in
Seattle’s Belltown neighborhood. He caved, admitting the Beemer was
too flashy for his new digs. I couldn’t care less about the stupid
car, one was as good as any other as far as I was concerned, but I
enjoyed the fact that Beck was annoyed with me for pressing the
issue with the lawyers. To be honest, I relished taking his
favorite toy from him, at least temporarily, if for no other reason
than spite. I tried to be an adult, even gave clemency great
effort. I knew I should move forward with my life, but I wasn’t
quite there. Close, but not yet.

I turned on the TV to keep me company in the quiet,
empty house. The rain snapped loudly against the windows in an
irregular staccato as the wind picked up, blowing debris against
the rear siding and making the tall trees sway and roar. The lights
flickered indecisively but remained on. I wiped fresh tears from my
face then jumped at the sudden peal of the doorbell. It was
surprising since very few people ever traveled the long drive up to
the house. The bell chimed again, and I called out, my voice shrill
over the din of the storm outside.

“Just a minute!”

I walked to the front door, rested my hand on the
lever, and looked through the peephole out of habit. I gasped when
I caught sight of the strange man standing a few steps from the
door. He was soaked through, even his heavy leather jacket. With
both hands stuffed into his pockets, he shifted from one foot to
the other, an angry scowl on his haggard face.

I didn’t know him, but even if I had, I wouldn’t
have opened the door. He looked mean and quite incensed with his
mouth pressed together in a thin line and his hawkish brow drawn
down low over his eyes.

Alarmed, I pulled my hand away, jiggling the handle
as I retreated. I backed a couple paces away from the door just as
it exploded inward. The jamb splintered, and the door swung open,
crashing violently into the wall. It ricocheted off the doorstop
with a loud crack and bounced back toward the stranger who held out
his hand to stop it.

I screeched in panic and jumped backwards, tripping
on the steps directly behind me. The intruder pushed through the
open doorway and pursued me to the foot of the stairs. Terrified, I
scrambled to run, but he grabbed me from behind and yanked me back
by my hair. I collided into his hard chest, crying out in pain. His
mouth slid to my ear, his breathing labored and ragged. I smelled
the sharp tang of alcohol on his breath. It was tequila,
reminiscent of the nights Beck had come home late from business
trips.

“Shut up,” the man growled as he gave me a vicious
shake.

Cold metal slid along the side of my face, and the
barrel of a gun dimpled my cheek. I struggled against him. I kicked
back at his legs and reached wildly for his arms as his fingers
tangled in my hair. Fear crushed me. I screamed again.

“Shut the fuck up!” he roared.

But my fear was too intense. I continued to wail and
fight against him.

A sudden pain and bright flash of light exploded
through my head as he smashed my temple with the gun. Dazed, I
slumped to the floor, his fingers tugging against my scalp before
releasing their hold. Waves of nausea rolled through me as I
crawled across the foyer. With the waterlogged sound of his
footfalls behind me, I turned around and pushed my back against the
wall. Warm blood trickled down the side of my head and dripped onto
the wood floor. My bare feet smeared through it, sliding
ineffectively as they sought purchase. I cringed against the wall
with no visible path of escape.

The man reached down and wrapped his cold, wet
fingers around my throat. He pulled me up along the wall. The
length of his body pressed against me. His face lingered mere
inches from mine. I stared at the cold anger that festered in his
eyes. They were a startling shade of clear blue, made even more
intense by the redness surrounding them. They bored into me with
acute hatred of something familiar yet despised, confusing and
terrifying me at once.

I opened my mouth to scream then flinched as he
raised his hand. A loud snap cracked off the walls as he slapped me
across the face. I fell back down to the floor, my blood
splattering in abstract patterns across the gleaming hardwood
beneath me. I clawed toward the door, an inch at a time, until the
man pushed my backside with his booted foot. I sprawled face down.
The tip of my nose grazed the small puddle of blood pooling beneath
me.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he warned, “so don’t
even try. You’ll only piss me off more than I already am.”

I struggled onto my side and stared up at him.
“Please, I haven’t done anything. You have no reason to be angry
with me.”

He leaned down, grabbed me by the arm, and hauled me
to my feet. He was calm and quiet as he whispered close to my ear.
“I told you to shut up. I won’t tell you again. Now, close that
fucking door.” He shoved me away.

I wiped the blood from my nose with my sleeve,
turned for the door, and, with a trembling hand, pushed it shut, as
commanded. The man walked up from behind and thrust me face first
into the closed door, leaning into me with one knee pressed between
my legs. His hand banded around my throat. He shook me hard once
and murmured softly in my ear, his tone menacing in its
warning.

“Consider this is a reckoning for everything you’ve
stolen from me.”

Though his voice was barely a whisper, I recognized
a soft burr, an accent I couldn’t quite place. It alarmed me and
sent chills down my spine. I cried and raised my hands to my face.
Warm, sticky blood congealed in my knotted hair, matting it against
my head.

“Oh God,” I cried.

The man laughed in my ear, jagged and harsh.

“You’re calling on God?” he asked in disbelief. Then
he snickered. “Forget it. There’s no fucking way God can help you
now.”

With his hand still at my throat, he stepped back.
He spun me around to face him and pushed me at arm’s length. My
back was pressed against the door. His brow was drawn into deep
furrows as he peered at me with his fierce eyes, evaluating me
somehow. Between the hostility and hatred, I could have sworn I saw
a flash of uncertainty, a moment of doubt that clouded his focus.
It was brief, and when I blinked it was gone. I shook my head. My
tears and blood mingled and fell to the floor.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice cracking under
the pressure of his hand.

He snorted with a brittle smirk that pulled up at
the corner of his mouth.

“What does it matter? You can’t give back what
you’ve already destroyed.” His voice was quiet, but it seethed in a
feral anger.

“I…I don’t understand. What are you talking about?
What have I destroyed? I…I don’t even know you! Please—”

My words were cut off as his hold tightened around
my throat. I reached both my hands up and grabbed hold of his
wrist, trying with all my strength to break his grip. I looked into
the man’s eyes and saw a change, like something within him had
broken, and the light that blazed in anger burned out. It turned
into something else altogether. But it was too late for me to
decipher what that was. My eyes fluttered shut. Blackness began to
close in from all around, as if I were falling in slow motion down
into a deep well. I believed it to be the moment of my death. I
thought of Conner and what it would do to him if he were to find
me, my body beaten and blood smeared across the floor and
walls.

Just as my hands fell from his wrists and my knees
began to buckle, the man released his grip on my throat. He grabbed
my arm and pulled me with him as he surged toward the stairs. His
gun nudged sharply against my ribs. I clutched at my throat,
gasping for breath as pinpricks of light exploded behind my
eyelids. I shook my head to clear my vision while he dragged me up
the steps, stumbling, a trail of bloody footprints in our wake. His
blows left me stunned, and my lungs labored to recover. I hadn’t
the strength to fight him as he forced me up the stairs then down
the hallway.

He pushed me through the first set of doors, kicking
them closed behind him. He released his hold on my arm and shoved
me into my bedroom. I fell against the side of my tall poster bed
and spun around to face him. My hands gripped the edge of the
mattress behind me. The man stepped back and stuffed his weapon
into his pocket then removed his soaked leather jacket. I stared at
him, terror choking back my questions.

The man sneered at me and kicked off his boots. He
pulled his t-shirt over his head then wiped it across his dripping
face and hair. I sobbed, unable to tear my eyes away as he stood
half naked in front of me. My entire body trembled. Now I knew what
he wanted. This was the light that had changed in his eyes. He took
a step in my direction. I backed away into the bed, cornered. No
way to escape. My heart pounded and skipped. I felt sick. Another
step closer.

“Are you afraid?” he asked quietly.

He took one more step. So close. I felt his heat.
His expression grew even more intense. He scrutinized me, his
hatred once again firm. Unmistakable.

“Tell me you’re afraid.” His voice was calm, hardly
more than a whisper.

I shook my head. “Oh God, no, please don’t do this.
Please.”

Begging didn’t move him at all. I clutched my hands,
drawn into fists, tight against my chest. I pressed them under my
chin in a futile effort to protect myself from what I knew was
coming.

His eyes swept over me, sizing me up, then locked
onto mine. “You are, aren’t you? You’re afraid.” A shadow of a grin
played at the corners of his mouth. “That’s good. You should
be.”

I held my hands up between us, as if that would
protect me. “Please, don’t. Please.”

The hawkish scowl disappeared, and he laughed, but
it was bitter and sharp, like a blade ripping across my soul. He
sounded like a defeated man with nothing left to lose. A dangerous
omen.

“I tried that, too,” he said. “Begging, praying to
God, pleading for mercy.” He dipped his chin, and his brow shot up.
“It doesn’t help, I can assure you.”

I stared at him, trying to discern his meaning. An
odd mixture of emotions ran across his face. Uncertainty mingled
with hatred, twisting together along his otherwise attractive
features. I wondered how someone with such God-given beauty could
choose such an ugly course. Surely someone so attractive would have
many who offered freely what he was intent on taking from me
forcibly.