Beverly Barton - Silent Killer

“You’ve got to know that I don’t want to hurt you,” he told her, his voice low and husky. “I heard somebody say once that when a man wants to fuck a woman and wants to protect her at the same time, then he’s in love. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it sure is how I feel.”

She whipped around and faced him, her eyes wide, her expression filled with longing. “I haven’t been with anyone. Not since Mark died.”

“If you’re still not ready…if the time isn’t right, I’ll understand. But I swear, honey, I’m about half out of my mind wanting you.”

“Oh, Jack.”

She all but flung herself at him, flying straight into his waiting arms. “I don’t care anymore if it’s the right time, if I’m ready, if I’ll regret it in the morning, if all you want is sex. I just plain don’t give a damn.”

Her face glowed with the brightness of her smile, and that beautiful smile lit up his whole world, a world that had shrunk to include only the two of them.

Jack lifted her off her feet and up into his arms. He practically ran toward her bedroom. The door stood wide open. A single bedside lamp glowed dimly. The covers had been turned down, and her bed welcomed them.

When John Earl went into the kitchen for a late evening snack, intending to cut himself a piece of Ruth Ann’s homemade pecan pie, he was surprised to find his mother-in-law sitting at the table, a mug of hot tea cupped in her hands. She glanced up at him as he entered the kitchen, and they exchanged weary smiles. Faye knew that he tolerated her presence in their home for Ruth Ann’s sake. He tried not to blame her for what had happened to Ruth Ann, but if Faye had stood up to her husband…If, if, if.

“You’re up late,” John Earl said.

“I was restless,” Faye replied. “Those sleeping pills don’t help much any more. I thought some tea might help. What about you? I thought you and Ruth Ann went to bed right after we got home from church.”

“She did. She’s been asleep for more than half an hour. But I couldn’t get that delicious pecan pie off my mind, so I sneaked back down here for a piece.”

“Why don’t you sit down and let me get you some pie and fix you a cup of tea to go with it?” Faye suggested.

“Thanks. That would be nice.”

Just as Faye downed the last drops of her tea and scooted back her chair, the sound of agonized screams echoed down the back stairs and into the kitchen.

“My God, that’s Ruth Ann.” Faye started toward the stairs.

John Earl moved quickly and dashed ahead of her. He took the steps two at a time and reached the partially open bedroom door before Faye was halfway up the stairs.

John Earl flung open the door and ran into the room. There in the semi-darkness he saw Ruth Ann thrashing about in their bed, her eyes closed, her dark hair disheveled, her arms flinging back and forth as if she were fighting off an attacker. Dear Lord, help her. His poor, sweet Ruth Ann could not escape the nightmare that had haunted her all their married life. It had taken years for the nightmares to subside from a few times each week to only occasional unwanted visits. But recently, with two more clergymen murdered-burned to death-those old dreams had resurfaced.

John Earl hurried to his wife, called her name as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to pull her gently into his arms. “Wake up, Ruth Ann. It’s all right. You were only dreaming.”

She beat on his chest, whimpering incoherently.

“It’s John Earl, sweetheart. Open your eyes. You’re safe. No one can hurt you.”

When he heard movement behind him, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Faye standing just inside the doorway. He shook his head.

“Can you understand what she’s saying?” Faye asked, a concerned look in her sad eyes.

“No, not this time.” He gave his mother-in-law a warning glare, silently cautioning her. The three of them knew the truth, knew what Ruth Ann had endured at the hands of her cruel father. If not for their daughters overhearing her and asking questions, it wouldn’t matter what she said in the throes of her subconscious nightmare memories.

“I’ll go to my room and leave her to you,” Faye told him. “In the past, whenever I’ve tried to calm her, I’ve only made matters worse. She needs you. Only you.”

He ignored Faye’s final comments and focused all his attention on his wife. It took several more tries, with him saying her name and reassuring her that she was safe, before she opened her eyes and recognized him. When she did, she gazed at him like a lost child, tears trickling down her cheeks.

“I’m having those dreams more often,” she said. “They’re getting worse. And they seem so real. It’s as if I’m reliving what happened over and over again.”

He took both her hands in his. “I wish there was something I could do. But I can’t change the past, and I can’t stop the Fire and Brimstone Killer. Even the police seem unable to stop these brutal murders.”

She squeezed his hands. “Oh, John Earl, don’t you see? In my heart I know that I’m as guilty of murder as the person who killed Mark Cantrell and the others.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, sweetheart. There is no comparison whatsoever. You were the victim, not the perpetrator.”

Ruth Ann closed her eyes as if she could block out the memories by shutting out the light. “He didn’t scream, you know. He didn’t make a sound. He was asleep, a drugged sleep. And the house burned down around him.”

“I know. I know.”

She opened her eyes and stared right at John Earl. “If I had it to do over again…That’s the terrible part. I don’t think I would do anything different. I would still let him die. God forgive me.”

A soft, quiet voice calling to him alerted John Earl that Ruth Ann’s screams had awakened their elder daughter.

“Daddy, is Mama all right?” Charity asked.

“Oh mercy,” Ruth Ann whimpered. “Go talk to her, explain that it was just a stupid nightmare.”

John Earl eased her backward until her head rested on the down pillow. Then he rose to his feet and turned to face his daughter. Correction, his daughters. Felicity stood directly behind her older sister, both girls peering into the room, their eyes filled with questions and concerns.

He walked out into the hall, shooing them back as he closed the bedroom door. “Your mother had a nightmare. She’s all right now.”

“She’s been having a lot of nightmares lately,” Felicity said.

“She used to have them all the time when we were little,” Charity said. “You just don’t remember.”

“You two go back to bed. Everything is all right,” he told them as he moved in between them and placed one arm around Charity and the other arm around Felicity.

“She’s worried about something bad happening to you, isn’t she?” Felicity asked. “She’s afraid the person who killed all those other preachers might try to kill you.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” he agreed. “You know what a worrier your mother is.”

“You need to convince her that nothing bad is going to happen to you, not like what happened to those other men,” Charity said. “You’re a good man, Daddy. God will take care of you.”

He leaned over and kissed Charity’s forehead. “Yes, He will. And He’ll take care of your mother, too. So stop worrying. Go to bed and get a good night’s rest. Everything will be better in the morning.”

John Earl wanted to believe what he’d said, but if Ruth Ann continued to have the old nightmares, things would get worse instead of better.

Jack set Cathy on the edge of her bed, leaned down and slowly pulled her pajama top up and over her head. She lifted her arms, closed her eyes and savored the moment as the cool air touched her nipples and hardened them to tight buds. When she heard his indrawn breath, she opened her eyes and found him kneeling in front of her, his gaze on her throbbing breasts. She wanted to scream “Touch me,” but she couldn’t get the words past the knot in her throat.