Lynette Eason - A Silent Terror & A Silent Fury

Weariness like nothing she’d ever felt before made her light-headed. She must have sagged slightly, because Ethan’s arm tightened. He turned her to face him and said, “We need to get you home. There’s nothing more you can do here.”

With a grateful heart, she allowed him to lead her toward his car, then stopped abruptly when she remembered the paper.

“Oh, no!”

Ethan looked alarmed. “What? Are you okay?”

“No! He shoved something in my hand. What did I do with it?” She opened both hands, palms up, and there it was, still in her right hand, crunched and crushed into a flat mess. Her fists had been clenched the entire time, she realized, even when she’d used the heel of her palms to wipe her tears and the blood from her face. Dried, dark streaks still stained her skin.

He sucked in a deep breath. “Hold on. Just…don’t do anything with it yet.” Turning, he hollered over his shoulder. “Hey, Henry, you got a pair of gloves and a plastic bag on you?”

Henry hurried over, a frown on his slightly pudgy face, which hadn’t seen a razor in a while. “Of course I do, I’m working a crime scene,” he said, holding the items out. “Why?”

Ethan took the gloves and pulled them on. To Henry he said, “Hold that open, okay?”

Still frowning, the man complied. With one gloved hand, Ethan reached for the paper in Marianna’s shaking hand. Gripping it with the edge of thumb and forefinger, he held it and, with his other hand, unfolded it.

Marianna looked over his shoulder and tried to see what it said, but it was too dark. Ethan moved about ten yards to his right and held it up to the light. She watched his lips as he read aloud, “Keep your mouth shut, or else.”

Exhausted, worried, frustrated by the lack of progress on the case, Ethan had fallen into bed after making sure Marianna was safely ensconced in her family’s care. Her mother had seen Marianna’s cheek and immediately ushered her off to examine the wound. Now, he lay sleepless once again, staring at the ceiling. Slowly, his body relaxed and he drifted.

The bright sun pounded the asphalt, sending heat waves radiating over anyone brave enough to expose himself to it. May wasn’t supposed to be this hot, he remembered thinking .

Then he was in the huge, almost deserted parking lot, waiting for Ashley. Somewhere in his sleep-fogged brain, he knew he was dreaming, yet hope remained that this time the ending would be different .

As he watched his Camaro pull under the lone tree providing the only shade in the entire parking lot, he told himself to park in a different spot. Suddenly, he was behind the wheel, watching, still waiting, clueless. He told himself to crank the car and drive off, move, park anywhere but there .

Instead, he just sat there .

The familiar blue hatchback pulled in and parked about forty yards away. The occupants couldn’t see him positioned as he was behind the tree .

Drive over there! he tried to order himself .

His dream self didn’t hear .

Now, the events started clicking, one after the other, only now he was a spectator watching a movie. One he’d seen before and didn’t like, didn’t want to watch again, not if he couldn’t rewrite the ending .

Ashley stepped from the car and looked around. Two other girls clambered from the backseat. One headed for the building; the other walked backward, signing, talking to Ashley. Ashley finally spotted him under the tree .

She waved to him and he waved back. She turned to say goodbye to her friend .

Engines revved .

The sound caught his attention because it seemed close .

But he kept his eyes on his sister, still walking backward, talking, signing, laughing. Grabbing a few last words .

Tires screeched as the black, low-slung Mustang hurled into the parking lot through the open gate. Its white twin followed seconds behind .

The dream seemed to slow, the camera panning back and forth between him and Ashley and the racing cars. Back to Ashley. Laughing, waving, long hair swinging around her face as she turned to run toward Ethan .

Fresh horror, remembered agony of what was to come screamed at him .

Ashley! Stop!

Still laughing, running toward her rock, the one person she could count on. Her stability in a silent world .

No! Look out! The words echoed in his mind even as he saw himself screaming at her, his shout falling on her deaf ears, sliding away .

Desperately, he tried to wake up .

Screeching tires, burning rubber .

The thud .

Ashley!

He ran to her, grabbed her, looked into her face. But it wasn’t Ashley this time. Marianna’s features mocked him, her eyes fixed on his but empty of the vibrant life that so defined her .

Terror and grief had him screaming out his denial. Once again, he’d failed. It was his fault…his fault... .

Gasping, he sat up in bed, panting, his chest aching, the tears falling, great heaving sobs escaping. And he let them. Even after three years, the dream made the loss fresh, brought back the crushing pain of Ashley’s death… and the guilt that plagued him.

If only…

Only this time, he’d failed Marianna, too.

He rolled off the bed, knelt on the floor, ignored the sweat dripping from his brow and leaned his head against the mattress. Father, please, help me keep my focus on You. I know You don’t blame me for what happened to Ashley, but no matter what I do, I can’t forgive myself. I also know I’ve been a little slack in coming to You with my problems lately. For that I’m sorry. Forgive me, God. Help me deal with what’s going on in my crazy head and mixed-up job. And Marianna…God, that’s a tough call. I’m not even sure what to pray here, except to ask that You watch over her. And please don’t ask that I be the tool You use to do it. I failed Ashley, God. I failed that poor woman who died on my watch.... I can’t go through that again.... Please don’t ask me to .

He didn’t bother adding an Amen to the end of his prayer. He had a feeling the conversation was far from over. The clock read five fifteen. Should he call Mac, the man who’d gotten him through the worst time of his life and kept him from destroying himself and his career? Mac was overseas, working as a missionary now.

Ethan wondered what time zone Mac was in, then sighed. No, no sense in both of them being awake. No need to bother Mac when he couldn’t do anything but worry about Ethan. It would drive the man nuts knowing that Ethan might need his help and be unable to provide it. No, he’d have to deal with this one on his own.

Unfortunately, there’d be no more sleep tonight; might as well work on the case…cases. Suzanne’s murder, Marianna’s attack, the car vandalism, everything. Somehow, when he connected all the dots, he was going to come up with the big picture of how all these separate incidents were related.

Before Ethan had gone to bed last night, he’d called and filled Catelyn in on the night’s events. Her comment had been, “How is it I’m never with you when all this stuff keeps happening?”

“Because it keeps happening after we’re off the clock.”

“So, why do you keep clocking back in?” Her voice had been low, knowing. She’d always been good at reading people.

“Lay off, Cate, she needs help.”

“Hey, I’m not fussing.”

His mind’s eye pictured her pointing a finger at his nose as she said, “But you’d better call if you find yourself in trouble. I don’t care what time it is, on the clock, off the clock, whatever. You hear me?”