Amanda Stevens - Fade To Black

“That was your first mistake,” she muttered. Sharon’s daughter, Allie, had just acquired a new kitten, a white fluff ball named Snowflake, that attracted five-year-old Max like metal to a magnet.

Jessica grimaced, envisioning the conversation that would ensue with her son as soon as he returned. “Allie’s not even as old as I am, Mom, and she has a pet. Why can’t I have one?”

Jessica knew the routine by heart because they’d been through it every afternoon for the past four days, ever since Sharon had taken Allie to the animal shelter to pick out a kitten. Explaining to Max that Allie’s mom didn’t work outside the home and, therefore, had more time than Jessica did to help take care of a pet did no good.

She knew Max already felt cheated because he had to go to the baby-sitter’s after morning kindergarten while Allie got to go home and spend the afternoon with her mom. Jessica knew Max thought it also unfair that Allie had a daddy to take her to the zoo on Saturday mornings and work on special projects with her on Sunday afternoons.

Allie had a real family, with a mother and a father. Max didn’t.

Jessica suspected her son’s penchant for superheroes was his own way of trying to make up for the lack of a male role model in his life. Superman and all the other comic-book characters that Max loved and tried to emulate were substitutes for the father he’d never had.

Sometimes Max pretended that his own father was a superhero, off fighting bad guys. That’s why he couldn’t be here with them now. In spite of the fact that Jessica had told Max his father was dead, she knew that deep down, her son had never really believed it.

Sighing deeply, Jessica wiped a stray lock of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand as she stared out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of Max’s red cape as he came through the hedge. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she reached for the phone just as she heard the screen door on the back porch slam shut. Without turning, Jessica picked up the spoon and began stirring the brownie mix again.

“What took you so long, sweetie?” she asked over her shoulder, trying to hide her impatience. She knew full well what Max’s explanation would be.

“You’ll never believe what happened.”

The deep, masculine voice that responded shocked Jessica to the core. A chill shot up her spine. She whirled to see a tall, dark stranger emptying a bag of groceries into her freezer.

Scream! she commanded. But to Jessica’s horror, not a sound escaped her throat.

Run! she ordered, but her feet remained rooted to the floor.

The man stood with his back to her, but even in her terror, Jessica saw that he was tall and lean with dark, unkempt hair. The blue jeans he wore looked old and threadbare, and the cotton shirt was shredded at the hem, as if it had been caught on something sharp.

“It was the weirdest thing, Jesse.” He closed the freezer door and opened the refrigerator. “Have you ever arrived somewhere without knowing how you got there? I mean, I left the house, and the next thing I know I’m in front of the ice-cream freezer at Crandall’s, and I have no idea how I got there.” He chuckled softly as he shook his head. “Anyway, once I finally found the ice cream, I remembered we were out of milk, and then I saw the grapes, and one thing led to another. I forgot the whipped cream, though.”

He folded the sack and turned, smiling.

Jessica’s knees threatened to buckle. “Dear God.” Her hand flew to her mouth. It couldn’t be! It couldn’t be possible! She clutched the counter for support as she stared at the man, at the darkly handsome face that seemed so familiar and yet so strange.

The brown eyes stared back at her in confusion. “What the devil’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“You are a ghost,” Jessica whispered in horror. “You must be.”

He started toward her, but she shrank away, her hands still frantically gripping the edge of the counter. “Don’t touch me,” she pleaded. Then he seemed to look at her, really look at her, for the first time, and he stopped dead in his tracks, as if he’d just been struck by lightning.

For one breathless moment, they eyed each other in utter disbelief.

“Jesse?” His voice was a hushed question. The confusion in his eyes deepened to horror as he continued to stare at her. His gaze roamed over her long black hair, scrutinized her face, studied her slender figure. Then lingered on her flat stomach. “What…what’s going on here? Your hair…your face…dear God, the baby….” His voice trailed off as he scrubbed his eyes with his hands. “I must be dreaming,” he muttered.

Jessica cowered away from the apparition before her, denied the vision that stood not four feet away. It couldn’t be him. It wasn’t possible. Not after five years. Five years!

She’d long ago resigned herself to the possibility that her husband had met some tragic death because the other alternative—that Pierce had simply tired of their life together and walked away—would have been, in many ways, harder for her to accept. She’d had so many losses in her life. So many abandonments.

But if Pierce had died all those years ago, there was absolutely no explanation for the specter that stood before her now. No earthly explanation.

Jessica had the slightly hysterical notion that if she reached out and touched him, her hand would pass right through him. A shiver crawled up her spine as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Almost reluctantly she let her gaze move over him.

Whether ghost or man, something about him was different, she realized. He looked older and leaner and…hurt. There were lines on his face she didn’t remember, but the scars were the worst. Pierce’s face had been so handsome, so perfect. This man was a dark, frightening stranger.

That’s it! she thought suddenly. This man was a stranger. A stranger who was a dead ringer for Pierce. A new wave of fear washed over her as she stared at him. She began edging toward the door.

“Who are you?” she demanded, but her voice trembled with terror.

He looked at her incredulously. “For God’s sake, stop it. You’re scaring the hell out of me, Jesse. Is this some kind of sick joke? How can you look so different?” He paused, letting his gaze roam over her again as his eyes clouded in confusion. “My God, I hardly recognize you, but how can that be? How the hell can that be? I’ve only been gone half an hour.”

Jessica could feel the color draining from her face. “Half an hour? My husband has been missing for five years,” she whispered.

“Five years?” He gaped at her in horror. “What are you talking about?”

Jessica put trembling hands to her face. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“Please tell me your name,” she begged. “I have to hear you say it.”

Slowly he crossed the tile floor toward her. The knees of his jeans were ripped and his ragged tennis shoes were muddy. A long, jagged scar creased his right forearm, drawing Jessica’s gaze for a second longer before she lifted her eyes to his.

The brown eyes were shuttered now, completely unreadable. She didn’t know him. He was a complete stranger to her.

He said slowly, “My name is Pierce Kincaid. Now kindly tell me who the hell you are. And where is my wife?”

* * *

A stunned hush fell over the room.

It was the kind of silence that always follows some mind-boggling revelation. But why that should be, Pierce couldn’t imagine. Why his appearance in his own home should shock anyone was beyond him, but he had the oddest feeling that he’d walked into the last few minutes of a movie, and though the climax was exciting, he had no idea what the hell was going on.