“Where was your mother during all of this?” She couldn’t imagine standing by while anyone beat her child. Then again, she’d grown up safe and well loved.
“Probably planning her escape.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “Oh, on the few occasions she stood between me and him, he’d beat her unconscious. Then, his rampage would be worse than ever and he’d think of new ways to torture me—or her by proxy, I suppose. He was a master at inflicting suffering. Satan incarnate. And he hated me with a passion I’ll never understand.”
Neither would she. What father wouldn’t be proud to claim a handsome, sweet little boy? To watch him grow into a fine man? Thank God Bentley and Georgie had come along to mend his shattered life.
Her eyes went to the thin scar on his cheekbone. In her gut, she knew before she asked. “You didn’t get that injury from a ninety-three-year-old lady, did you?”
“No, I got it courtesy of my father’s boot.” He sighed, one corner of his mouth kicking up. “We really did save her cat, though.”
Dear, sweet heaven.
“How long have you been having the nightmares?”
“Several months. I didn’t want to admit this aloud, but . . . I think they’re repressed memories, Kat,” he said quietly.
“Of when your father almost killed you?”
He nodded. “At first it was easier to pretend they were meaningless, just dreams. I mean, I’d gone my whole life without being able to recall many details of the night I became an orphan. I didn’t
want
to remember, still don’t. If the curtain lifts, I’m afraid there’s going to be something horrific on the other side.”
“If they are actual memories, I think you’d better be prepared for the worst. They’ll surface eventually. Are they always the same?”
“Mostly. It’s always the same two scenes. They had lots of gaps in the beginning, but the holes have filled in piece by piece. Remember I told you about my mom’s garden? I used to follow her through the rows, begging to help plant seeds. She let me, too. Those are my happiest memories.”
She squeezed his hand in encouragement. “I’m glad you have them.”
“Me, too.” He sighed, letting go of her hand to sit on the side of the lounger, facing her. “In the beginning of the nightmare, I’m in her garden. I liked to hide in there, pretending it was my magical, moonlit forest and the evil troll couldn’t hurt me. Then I hear arguing. A thumping noise. I see . . . something. I don’t know what, but it terrifies me and I run.”
“What you saw is the key. An atrocity the fragile mind of an abused little boy couldn’t handle. And now it needs to get free.”
She had her own idea of what he might’ve seen, and it didn’t bear thinking, much less mentioning. Not with her total lack of experience in the effects of psychological trauma. Plus, the authorities had closed this case long ago, so what did she know?
“I’d just as soon it didn’t.” He clasped his hands between his spread knees. “Next, I’m running fast as I can, and my father is crashing through the woods behind me. I have to get away, or he’ll kill me. I know this, just like I know it’s him even though I can’t see his face in the dream.”
“Does he catch you?”
“Catches me, kicks me, beats me with his fists. Hauls me up by my pajama shirt and snarls that he’s finally rid of me. ‘Die, you mangy bastard.’ His exact words.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”
She rose and went to sit next to him, snuggled into his left side and linked her arms around his middle, laid her head on his shoulder. He tucked her close and they stayed locked together for a few minutes, neither one speaking. Kat tried to absorb what it would be like to carry the burden of such staggering pain for more than thirty years. The huge effort his brain had undertaken to keep those secrets buried forever.
How they might rise from the dead to destroy Howard.
He trembled in her arms, this mountain of a man with an even bigger heart. He needed her so much, wasn’t pushing her away any longer. Had opened all of himself to her.
She couldn’t love him more than at this moment.
“Why now?” she mused aloud. “The nightmares start plaguing you, and now a killer is tormenting you. It’s almost like your dreams were some sort of omen. Can these events be a big coincidence?”
He kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know. My mother hit the road, my father was confirmed dead by the county sheriff, who was always coming out to the house. I don’t think we had any friends. Nobody’s left from back then to even make a connection.”
“Except Bentley.”
He pulled back and looked down at her, startled. “What are you saying? You believe Bentley has something to do with the murders?”
“No, not at all! What I mean is, at the party Georgie said Bentley has been in the Sugarland Fire Department for some forty years, right?”
“Right,” he said slowly. “So?”
“So he was right here in Sugarland before you were born, before he met and married Georgie. Years later, he and Georgie adopted you. He’s the one and only tie to your past. Has he ever told you
exactly
how you came to his and Georgie’s attention as a boy needing a home?”
“No.” Howard’s dark brows drew together as he considered the question. “Not really. Just that they didn’t have kids of their own and when they found out about me, they went through legal channels to be able to bring me home.”
“Why you? I know you were a sweet, beautiful little boy,” she said gently, “but most couples prefer infants, not older children with deep trauma who need special attention. Statistically, it should’ve taken months or years to place you with a permanent, loving family. This was especially true thirty years ago. People just weren’t as accepting of children with special needs as they are now.”
Howard stared at her, processing this. “Do you think Bentley knew my parents somehow?” He shook his head. “No, he would have said something to me.”
“Maybe he knew
of
them, had heard talk in the community. Sugarland and the surrounding communities were a lot smaller nearly forty years ago. People tended to know one another’s business even if they didn’t know each other personally. I’m sure there would’ve been gossip at least, especially with the sheriff’s department constantly getting called out there.”
“Maybe. But I still don’t know why Bentley wouldn’t have told me if that were true. What difference does it make if he knew about my home situation? And how the hell could any of that possibly relate to what’s going on now?”
She wasn’t sure, but there might be one way to find out. A method he wasn’t going to like one bit.
“The old house where you grew up . . . is it still standing?”
“I-I don’t know.” He faltered, eyes shadowed. “The place was a dump. No better than a shack, really. I’ve never driven out there to take a look. Why?”
“Sweetie, maybe your past has squat to do with the monster who’s making your life miserable, but I think there’s something we might try to at least put the nightmares to rest.” She heaved a deep breath. Cupped his cheek.
“I think you need to go back to where it all began.”
19
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Why don’t we do this next weekend?” Howard sounded like a pouty little kid.
Kat, sitting on the edge of his bed in those snug jeans cupping her marvelous ass just so, was bent over tightening the laces on her hiking boots. Thanks to the V in her cotton shirt, he had a fantastic view of “the gals,” plump and swaying to and fro, begging for his hands and mouth.
“Because if we wait, you’ll come up with five more excuses not to go by then.” She straightened, cutting short his ogling. “There’s no reason to be afraid. Bentley said it’s just an old, overgrown ruin. The place probably won’t even resemble what you remember.”
“I’m sure he’s right.”
So let’s forget the whole thing.
No point in denying he was already shaking in his boots. He’d never had the slightest inclination to visit, had avoided the dark, tree-lined county road leading to his childhood home every time he drove to Clarksville. He’d pass it by, feeling an odd, horrible pull, knowing he couldn’t go there or something truly evil would befall him. Like a hapless hero from a Stephen King novel, he’d disappear down the road and into the waiting arms of death, never to be seen or heard from again. Or a fate worse than death, tormenting him for eternity, making him wish for oblivion.
Kat stood, shrugging on her jacket. “I’ll drive your truck. You’ll be more comfortable than in my Beamer.” Taking in his expression, she put her arms around his neck, biting her lip. “You look like you’re going to be sick. Listen, forget what I said. We don’t have to do this, honey.”
Great. Now if he took the out, he’d look like a wimp. “I can handle it. How hard can it be to stomp around in the weeds and look at a rotted pile of boards?” His attempt at a smile came out lopsided.
“Only if you’re sure.”
“I am. Let’s go.”
She gave him a soft kiss on the lips and they were on their way. He eased into the passenger’s seat with a grunt of pain, studying Kat from the corner of his eye, thinking how strange to have a woman drive his truck. The huge vehicle dwarfed her, and he was surprised she could see over the steering wheel. She looked so darned cute with her white-blond ponytail bouncing, wrestling the mammoth hulk of machinery, he felt proud she belonged to him.
He’d also love to bend her over the tailgate, show her all the creative new functions of four-wheel drive machinery.
As they neared their destination, any ideas of a secluded country rendezvous vanished like smoke. His hands shook, his stomach churned. The temperature outside was in the high fifties, yet his body was as cold as the dead of winter.
At his direction, Kat turned onto the county road. With every passing foot of the last two miles, it became harder to breathe. Like suffocating after the explosion, except slower and more excruciating.
“Pretty isolated,” Kat observed. “Only a couple of old farmhouses around for miles. Bet it’s creepy out here at night.”
“Actually, night was my favorite time. My father would pass out drunk, and I was free to roam without fear of his wrath, for a little while.”
She cut a quick glance at him, and her voice was edged with sympathy. “Your magical forest.”
“Yeah.” For all the protection it gave him. He pointed at a weed-choked drive just ahead. “There it is.”
“Ugh.” She grimaced, turning into the lane leading to the abandoned lot. Which wasn’t much of a lane at all. Fallen dead tree limbs snapped under the tires, and an assortment of tall grasses and brush scraped the undercarriage. “It’s probably chigger city out there.”
“In November? Let’s hope not. Now, the ticks, on the other hand . . .” He grinned at her, teasing to dispel the queasiness.
“Well, thanks for the lovely thought.”
“Any time. But hey, I’ll help you look for the little critters later, like the song says.”
Kat laughed, and he let the sound wash over him. Prayed it would overtake the oppressive weight settling on his chest, stop the trembling in his hands.
It didn’t.
“There’s not much to see, that’s for sure.” Kat arched a brow at the sagging, rotted heap of lumber he used to call hell. The house squatted in the undergrowth, weeds and bushes sprouting from the windows and front door, looking for all the world like an ancient, hairy, butt-ugly witch gaping at them from a stand of trees.
“Charming, huh?” He curled a lip in disgust.
“Doesn’t appear we’ll be going inside.”
“Best news I’ve heard all day.” In truth, no one could’ve forced him at gunpoint.
Together they walked toward the collapsed front porch, boots crunching in the dry foliage. He halted a few feet from the structure, a flood of awful memories assailing him. Ghosts everywhere, film reels of terror that would never die. The stress must’ve shown on his face.
“What are you remembering?” Kat linked her arm around his waist, hugging him close.
He draped his left arm over her shoulders, nodding at the porch. “Our dog used to hide under there when my father started yelling. He’d slink off when the bastard wasn’t looking, crawl underneath to the darkest corner and wait out the storm. Chex was smart. Smarter than me.”
“Chex?”
“His favorite snack. Mom and I would sneak squares of Chex cereal to him on the sly.” A rare good memory, and those few always involved his mother.
Why did you leave me?
“How was he smarter than you?”
“Because he knew exactly how to live in a war zone and stay under the radar. If it weren’t for me, he would’ve fooled the old man for years.” His larynx seemed to shrink to the size of a pinhole. Even after more than three decades, God, it still wrenched out his heart.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“During one of my father’s drunken rages, I decided Chex’s hiding place would work for me, too. But he caught me. I thought I was in for another beating.” A bitter, hoarse noise escaped his throat.
“Instead, he broke my dog’s neck while my mom and I screamed. Nothing he ever did to me, even that last night, ever hurt so damned much.”
That’s not true,
a voice whispered.
He destroyed you in the garden.
Removing his arm from Kat’s shoulders, he pressed trembling fingers to his throbbing temple. Where had that stray thought come from?