So Dark The Night

Colin straightened, scanning the faces of the people standing nearby in a semicircle. “Is anyone a doctor?”

A woman, who had just arrived, stepped forward. “I’m a nurse. Let me see what I can do.”

The middle-aged nurse assessed the damage while removing her sweater and pressing it into the woman’s shoulder to stop the flow of blood. “Has anyone called 9–1-1?”

“Yes.”

“This woman was shot. What happened?” The nurse looked up at Colin.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The sound of sirens mingled with the whispers of the people gathered. Another car stopped and two men got out, hanging back from the crowd around the woman.

“Is either one of you a doctor?” Colin asked the new arrivals, hearing the desperate edge to his words. This woman couldn’t die. Please, God, keep her alive. I’ve seen enough people dying to fill five lifetimes. Memories threatened to swamp him with emotions he never wanted to relive.

The taller of the two said, “No, sorry.”

Colin returned his attention to the woman on the pavement, her petite frame silhouetted by the headlights from several cars. Her dark pants were torn in places as well as her short-sleeved shirt.

She wore only one sandal. He glanced around for her lost shoe. He didn’t see it. He examined the bottom of her bare foot. Cuts and dirt greeted his inspection as though she had been running through the woods without one shoe for a long distance. Red-painted toenails taunted him with the mystery that surrounded this woman.

Who was Derek?

Who had shot her?

Where had she come from?

The shriek of the sirens came to a stop as the ambulance pulled up. Colin moved back to allow the paramedics to examine the woman. A sheriff’s deputy, a member of his congregation, climbed from his cruiser and walked toward him.

“Can you tell me what happened here, Reverend?”

The three teenagers clambered out of the SUV and hurried toward the deputy, all talking at once.

Colin waved at them to be silent. “John, I was driving home from the youth conference when this woman ran out in front of my car. I thought I was going to be able to avoid her until she spun around and lunged into my path.”

Brent nodded. “She came right at us. Someone shot her!”

“Shot? Then this isn’t a car accident?” the deputy asked.

“No,” all the teenagers answered.

“Excuse me. I need to call this in. Get more help out here.”

While the deputy walked to his cruiser, Colin’s focus shifted to the woman being wheeled to the ambulance. He wished he could follow the ambulance to the hospital. If he hadn’t been on the highway, would she have made it safely to the other side? That was a question he was afraid would plague him for a long time. She had been shot, but how extensive were the injuries caused by his SUV? He couldn’t stop the questions from coming. Who was she? Who was Derek? Who shot her? Why?

When the deputy came back, he said, “You all will have to go down to the station to make a statement.”

“Even them?” Colin hated the boys being involved.

“I’m afraid so. Neil’s dad will be out here shortly. He’ll take you in and get your statements.”

Brent, Jamie and Neil looked at one another, their eyes wide.

“Can we call our parents to tell them we’ll be late getting home?” Jamie held up his cell phone.

“Sure.” John Edwards pulled Colin over to the side away from the three teenagers. “Did you see anyone chasing her?”

“No, everything happened so fast.” In his mind Colin could see her frozen in his headlights for a few seconds before she started moving again. Then the awful moment when she spun back toward him, her eyes wide with terror. “John, there may be someone else in trouble. Someone named Derek. Before she passed out, she said something about Derek needing help. At least, I think that was it.”

“Derek St. James? He has a cabin not too far from here. I hadn’t heard he was back in town, though.”

“Maybe that’s who she was talking about.” Colin shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll check it out after this scene is secured.”

“Be careful. Someone in the woods has a gun.” Colin realized he was stating the obvious, but he couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching him. Chills encased him in a cold sweat. He threw a last glance toward the area where he thought someone had hidden and shot at the mystery woman. “Look over that way. I think that was where the shot came from.”

“I thought you didn’t see anything?”

“Nothing like a person or a flash when the gun went off. I didn’t even hear anything with the music on in the car and the windows up. I was too busy trying to avoid the woman. But from the way she spun and fell, that has to be the place. Good cover for a shooter.” He knew more than he wished about guns, cover and death.

“I’ll have the crime-scene boys check it out.”

Heading toward the teenagers, Colin took a calming breath, a coldness embedded deep in his bones. Crystal Springs might be near Chicago, but crime rarely occurred in his little corner of the world, one of the reasons he had been so attracted to the town. It had always been a safe place to raise a family. But the shooting of this woman had altered all that. Deep in his gut he felt their peaceful little slice of heaven was about to change. Icy tentacles burrowed deeper. He shook, his hands balled at his side so tightly that pain zipped up his arms.

TWO

Colin paced from one end of the waiting room to the other. The strong antiseptic odor reminded him of what he disliked most about his job—visiting people in the hospital. His wife had died at Bayview County Hospital, and every time he stepped into its corridors, he remembered Mary Ann’s lingering death from cancer. The clean, disinfectant smells, sounds of beeping machines and murmured voices made his stomach clench whenever he came here. He needed to get past his automatic reaction. But even after four years, he hadn’t been able to.

“Reverend, she’s been moved from recovery to her room now,” a nurse at the door said.

Colin nodded, forcing his stomach muscles to relax. Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, he headed for Emma St. James’s private hospital room. Dread leadened his steps. He hadn’t seen her since the ambulance had taken her away from the wreck. First, he had been at the sheriff’s headquarters giving a statement about the accident, then when he had finally arrived at the hospital two hours ago, Emma St. James had already been wheeled into surgery to have her shoulder repaired.

A deputy stood at her door. “Good afternoon, Reverend.”

“Hi, Kirk. How’s your wife doing?”

“Better. She should be at church this Sunday.”

Colin started to enter the hospital room, but Kirk held up his hand. “Sorry, the sheriff is inside questioning the woman.”

Colin leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. The sights and sounds he had come to know so well when Mary Ann had been here surrounded him. Slowly, any relaxation he had achieved dissolved, leaving him tense again. Time crawled by painfully slowly. A doctor was paged. A phone rang at the nurses’ station. An orderly wheeled a patient to the elevator.

The door to Emma’s room swung open, and J. T. Logan left, followed by a tall, slender woman with short brown hair. Colin pushed himself away from the wall, preparing to go into the room.

“Reverend, I hope you can help her.” J.T.’s deep, gruff voice halted Colin’s progress.

“You told her about her brother?”

J.T. gave a curt nod. He gestured toward the woman at his side. “This is Madison Spencer. She’s a detective with the state police. She’ll be assisting me with the investigation. This is Reverend Fitzpatrick.”

“The man who hit her?” Madison angled her head toward the sheriff. “Are you so sure him visiting is a good idea?”

Colin flinched at the bald truth. How was he going to help Emma St. James when his SUV had struck her and he was riddled with guilt?

“If anyone can help her, it’ll be Colin.”

The sheriff’s words fueled Colin’s self-confidence until he saw the woman’s pinched frown and her assessing expression. “Could she give you any information?”

“No. She doesn’t remember much and—” J.T. glanced toward the closed door “—she can’t—” his dark gaze fixed on Colin “—see.”

“She’s blind?”

“Yes.”

“Because of the accident?” Colin’s heartbeat accelerated, his throat dry.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk with the doctor yet.” J.T. started down the hallway. “If she remembers anything, let me know.”

Colin stared at the door, a dull gray color. What had he done? Lord, give me the strength to help this woman.

“You can go in now, Reverend.” Kirk’s voice cut into Colin’s prayer.

He pushed open the door and entered the room. Bright sunlight streamed through the window and a large bouquet of yellow roses, an elaborate arrangement of lilies and a potted ivy plant already graced the window ledge. Colin looked at the small woman in the bed, her eyes closed, the white sheet and a blanket pulled up over her chest as though she was cold. Her arm with the IV in it lay on top of the blue cover across her midsection.

Slowly she opened her eyes. “Who’s there?” she whispered, a raw edge to her voice as though she wasn’t used to talking.

Did I do this to her? The question kept playing over and over in Colin’s mind as he stood frozen a few feet from the bed. She looked so vulnerable with her face bruised and scratched, a bandaged shoulder peeking out from the top of the covers.

“Who’s there?” Panic laced her words. She fumbled for the call button.

Colin stiffened, aware he had caused her undue tension. “I’m Reverend Colin Fitzpatrick.”

Her hand relaxing her search, she turned her head toward him, her brow creasing. “I didn’t ask for a clergyman to visit.”

The defensiveness in her statement firmed his resolve. He would be here for her even if she didn’t think she needed his help. That was the least he could do. “I know.” He moved closer. “I thought you might like to talk to someone about your brother.”

She shrank away from him, her hand clutching the blanket. Her eyes slid closed for a few seconds. “How do I know you’re a reverend? For all I know, you could be a member of the press. I’m sure they’re having a field day over this.”

“If you want, I can get the nurse on duty to vouch for me.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t have anything to talk about.”

But her expression told Colin otherwise. The sheen to her brown eyes and the trembling of her hand as she ran it over the blanket indicated her distress more than her words. She bit her teeth into her lower lip and looked away.

Colin pulled a straight-backed chair close to the bed and sat, wanting to tell her how he came to be in her room.

“You’re wasting your time, Reverend. I’m beyond saving.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Don’t you know who I am?”

“Emma St. James.”

“The daughter of Marlena Howard. For as long as I can remember my mother has been the screen goddess of America. I can’t say that my life has been church bazaars and Sunday school classes.”

“So I shouldn’t waste my time talking to you?”

“I don’t think God even knows I exist.” Her hands knotted the blanket.

“Why do you say that?”

“That man who left told me my—” she swallowed hard “—my brother was murdered. He thinks I know something about it. I don’t remember anything after pulling up to the cabin. I can’t even help—” She squeezed her eyes closed. A tear leaked out the corner and rolled down her cheek. Then another.

The sight of the wet trail robbed him of words. He pushed down his own rising emotions and tried to think of something appropriate to say, some way to offer comfort. But what played across his mind was this woman, paralyzed in the middle of the highway, watching his car coming at her.

“Please leave,” she whispered, swiping at her tears.

“Sometimes it’s good to talk to someone when you’re troubled.”

Her lower lip quivered. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

The vulnerability in her voice tore at his heart. “How about the beginning?”

Another tear coursed down her face. “Too long a story. Not enough time.”

“I’m a good listener. And I have the time.”

She shook her head slightly, then winced as though the movement had caused pain. “I want to be left alone.” She settled back on the pillow and closed her eyes.

He rose, hovering over her, a part of him hoping she would change her mind and use him as a sounding board. But the other part needed to leave. The space in the room seemed to shrink to the size of a coffin. His breathing became shallow gasps. The last time he had been responsible for someone being hurt was during the Gulf War. After piecing his life back together, he’d promised himself he would never harm another human being. And he hadn’t. Until now. He pivoted toward the door.

He pulled himself together enough to present a calm facade to the people in the hallway, but guilt plagued him all the way to the chapel. Inside the small, dimly lit room, a peace washed over him as he sat in the pew before the altar, clasped his hands together and prayed.

She stumbled, her knees hitting the hard-packed earth first. Pain blasted through her as though a gun had gone off inside her. Hands braced in front of her, she scrambled to her feet and kept moving forward. Every part of her hurt, from the frantic beating of her heart to the soles of her bare feet. But she couldn’t stop. The sounds of her pursuers grew closer and closer until she felt talons grip her and swing her around. Two hideous faces loomed in front of her.

Emma bolted up in bed, the sudden motion causing pain. Black. An inky curtain taunted her as she scanned her surroundings. Where am I? Why do I hurt so much?

Why can’t I see?

Then the memories flooded her. The accident. Her brother. The police visiting. The continuous blackness.

She sagged back against the firm mattress, the darkness still there even though her eyes were wide-open. From all the sounds outside her door, it had to be daytime.

Every inch of her hurt. The pounding in her head overshadowed the deep ache in her shoulder, the throbbing in her foot. She touched the bandage, remembering the searing pain that had ripped through her just seconds before…Before what? She couldn’t remember. Everything after she had climbed from her T-bird at the cabin was a blank except the pain piercing through her shoulder like a red-hot poker.

The swishing sound of the door opening alerted her to someone entering her room. She automatically looked toward where she believed the door was even though her world was dark, no face materializing before her.

“Who is it?” She hated the need to ask, but she hated even more knowing someone else was in the room seeing her like this. She felt so vulnerable, so alone.

“Your dad, Emma.”

The deep baritone of her father’s voice sliced through her fragile control, causing every muscle to tense, a different kind of hurt, buried for years, surfacing. She tried to visualize on the black screen in her mind what her father looked like. All she could recall was the last picture she’d seen of him in the newspaper a year before. Grainy, his features vague. The photo of him was at a distance. Like their relationship.

“I’ve come to take you home.”

Her hands curled around the covers. “Where’s that? Your home? Mine? Mother’s?”

“Mine.”

He said it with such force and confidence that Emma blinked. “No.”

“What do you mean, no? Your life may be in danger. You’re—” He paused as though he couldn’t think of a word to describe the condition her life was in. “You’re injured. I won’t accept your answer.”

His powerful voice bombarded her at close range. If she reached out, she could probably touch him. She balled her hands into tighter fists even though the action caused her more pain. She concentrated on the pain streaking up her arm to take her mind off her reeling emotions. “You have no choice. I am not leaving with you.”

“You need special care. You need to be protected.”

Where were you when I was growing up? She wanted to shout the question at him. Instead, she pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything because she knew it was useless to argue with the man. He was a force to be reckoned with, and right now she had no strength to fight anyone.

“You aren’t thinking clearly, Emma. Someone murdered Derek. Someone shot you.”

That much she knew. It was all the space between those two events that was blank—like her view of the world through her eyes. Dark. Nothing.

He touched her arm. She winced and tried to pull away, but his fingers clasped around her. She thought of her dream, of the talons gripping her.

Frustration, mixed with hopelessness, swamped her. Tears welled up, but she choked them back. Not in front of this man who didn’t have a heart. Never again. Those years long ago crying herself to sleep had taught her the uselessness of tears.

He removed his hand from her arm. “That woman has filled your mind with lies for years.”

“It wasn’t your choice to divide the family down the middle?”

“The past has nothing to do with the here and now. I have hired a bodyguard for you.”

“No. I don’t want anything from you. Don’t you get it? I can’t see. I don’t even remember what happened. I’m certainly no help to the sheriff. I’m not a threat to anyone.” She searched the covers for the call button. She couldn’t take another moment with the man who had given her up and never had anything to do with her after her mother divorced him, except an occasional call on her birthday or during the holidays.

“I’m not walking away this time, Emma.”

He must have moved from the bed toward the door. There was an odd sound to his voice, a thickness, but she didn’t want to dwell on what it could be—probably frustration at not being able to control her. Control was paramount to her father. Wasn’t that one of the reasons her mother had left him?

A bone-weary exhaustion compelled her to close her eyes, to relax the taut set of her body. It took too much energy to remain on guard. “I don’t want you here. Please leave,” she murmured through dry lips. She needed water, but she didn’t want him to see her try to find the pitcher and plastic cup the nurse had left on the beside table. She couldn’t appear helpless in front of him. Strength was the only thing he related to.

“For the moment. But I’ll be back, Emma.”

The sound of the door closing drew a breath of relief from her. She waited a few minutes, gathering her energy before attempting to get a glass of water. She tried lifting her uninjured arm, but her confrontation with her father had sapped more of her strength than she had thought. Parched, she lay helpless in her bed.

Why is this happening to me?

She wanted to scream and hide at the same time. She wanted to sleep but was afraid the nightmare would return. She wanted to be in control of her life. She wanted her big brother to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. Over the years she had wanted a lot of things, but that didn’t—

“Miss St. James?”

She gasped, totally taken by surprise. That thought sent panic through her. So exposed. Alone.

“Colin Fitzpatrick.”

“The reverend? Why are you back?” Please leave me alone. Can’t you see I don’t want visitors? Can’t you see I’m barely holding myself together?

“I couldn’t leave without telling you why I visited in the first place.”

There was a long moment of silence that heightened Emma’s feeling of vulnerability. She had no idea what was really going on around her.

“I was driving the car that hit you.”

“Hit me?” Emma murmured, her forehead wrinkling.

“Last night my SUV struck you on the highway.” As that sentence tumbled from his mouth, Colin’s guilt prodded him forward toward the woman who looked lost in the hospital bed, as though she was unraveling before his eyes.

“You were there?” Her frown deepened.

“I tried to avoid you. I thought I had. But—” His words died on his lips.

She touched her shoulder where the bandage was. “I thought I was shot.” Closing her eyes, she buried her face in her hands.

“You were.”

With a shake of her head she looked in his direction. “I’m confused. I wish I remembered what happened. I was shot but you hit me, too?”

Colin nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him and said, “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? What kind of game are you playing? Who are you, really?”

The questions lashed out at him, and he took a step back. “I’m exactly who I said I was. I’m a minister. I was driving home from a conference with some members of the youth group at my church when the accident occurred.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

The confused look on her face spoke volumes to him. He wondered about the cynical expression as he said, “I want to help you. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love. I told you earlier that I was a good listener. If I—”

“Please,” she interrupted, turning her head away from him. “I just want to be left—”

The door opened. Emma stopped in mid-sentence, the sound prompting her to glance toward the person entering. Colin didn’t need any introductions to the older woman making her entrance. Her honey-colored hair fell to her shoulders in thick, lustrous waves, not a hint of gray. Her beautiful, flawless face held no wrinkles, as though time had stopped for her at thirty or she’d had the use of a good plastic surgeon. Her wide, cobalt-blue eyes were full of concern as Marlena Howard walked toward the bed where her daughter lay.

“Emma, I got here as fast as I could, darling.”

“Marlena?” Emma blinked. “I thought you were on location.”

“Yes, but for you I left. I told the director I would be back when my baby was better.” Marlena leaned over and kissed Emma on the cheek. “Just as soon as you can leave, I’ll take you home where I can pamper you.”

“You know about Derek?”

Tears sprang into Marlena’s eyes, slipping down her well-preserved face. “Yes, baby. What you must have gone through.” She took her daughter’s hand and clasped it between hers. “I don’t understand any of this. Who would want to hurt him—or you?”

Emma’s lower lip quivered.

“We talked right before I left to shoot the movie. Everything was great.”

Colin felt as though he was watching a performance by an accomplished actress and he didn’t like that thought. The dutiful sorrow was in the woman’s voice, the tears in her eyes, but something was missing. He stepped forward. “I’m Reverend Colin Fitzpatrick.”

Marlena focused on him for a few seconds, then shifted to her daughter. “Emma, is there something you aren’t telling me? I was assured by your doctor that you would be all right in time.”

“I can’t see!” A hysterical ring entered Emma’s voice. Her teeth bit into her lower lip to still its trembling.

“I know, baby. But the doctor told me there wasn’t any physical reason, that with time you’ll be as good as new.” Marlena glanced around the room. “I can’t believe you got the flowers I sent you already. I know lilies are your favorite. I told the florist to fill your room with them.”

Colin watched Emma cringe when her mother talked about her blindness. She withdrew further as the older woman chatted as though what had happened to her daughter wasn’t that big a deal.

“Those aren’t from you, Marlena.”

“They aren’t? Then who sent them?” A rare wrinkle creased the older woman’s brow.

The nurse said the card read “Brandon McDonel.”

“Derek’s friend?”

“We’ve dated in the past.”

“Who sent you a potted plant?”

“My assistant.”

“And the yellow roses?”

“I did.”

The deep, booming voice drew everyone’s attention toward the door. A tall, commanding figure stood in the entrance, filling it with his powerful presence.