“You look good, girl.” He shook Rob’s hand. “Congratulations, son. Welcome to the family.”
Rob looked at the house and the other two men turning the corner. “Any problems?”
Steve shook his head. “Nope. Just wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be.” He introduced the men, Bob and Pat, and something clicked in Laura’s brain.
“They’re your brothers.”
Steve smiled. “Yep. Just wanted to check the place out for you.”
That’s when Laura spotted the bulge of the revolver in a holster under Steve’s shirt. “You came prepared.”
“You’d better believe it. You’re not the only one with a concealed carry permit now.”
The men helped them unpack before leaving them alone. Laura went to the fridge. When she opened the door she startled. “Sir!”
He came running, scared by her tone of voice.
Someone had stuffed the fridge full of food.
“Did Steve tell you he was going to do this?”
He shook his head. “No. Surprise to me.”
“Remind me to make him a red velvet cake, okay?”
Rob nodded before they realized what she’d said and hugged each other.
One more memory recovered. Another small victory.
Rob knew that next to the memory loss, the hardest thing for Laura was the actual piecemeal recovery of information. Like a jigsaw puzzle that was impossible to assemble because she didn’t have a picture to guide her. There were interconnected memories with no clues between them to attach them, which gave them no more significance than space junk orbiting the earth. Unless something spectacularly large happened to survive the descent through the atmosphere, it was barely a blip on the radar screen of recognition.
Later that evening before they went to bed, Rob wanted to talk.
“I think we need to have a discussion.”
She didn’t like his tone. “What, Sir?”
He took her hand. “No, not like that. Equals.”
She sat up. “Okay.”
“Don’t you think we ought to wait to have a baby until we get this settled?”
Laura pushed down her rage. One more aspect of her life on hold because of the madman. “Is that what you want?”
Rob knew from her clipped tones she was close to breaking. “Honey, it’s not what I want. I want us to have a family and be happy. It’s hard enough for me to risk your life. It wouldn’t be fair to risk a child. And if you get pregnant now, that’s going to make you that much more vulnerable.”
Finally, she said, “All right, Sir. Whatever.”
“No, not ‘whatever.’ I told you, this is Laura and Rob, not Sir and slave. Laura, look at me.” She finally did. “Honey, what happens if you get pregnant and then this guy sees you pregnant? It could set him off. The next time he tries he could kill you. And that would be more than I could handle, knowing that not only did I lose you and a baby, but that it was my fault.”
“What happens if they don’t catch this guy for months, years? What then? Do we never have children and live in fear hoping this guy will get caught? We put our lives on total hold and never break free? I live the rest of my life with a gun strapped to my hip and watching families take dive classes and wishing we could have kids? Or we go back to Montana and start over there, giving up everything we have just because this maniac’s still on the loose? Dammit, that’s not fair.”
Rob wrapped his arms around her. “It won’t take years. I know it won’t. I have a feeling you’re going to find the missing journals and the answer’s going to be there. If not that, then he’ll slip up and the cops will find him. Either way, they will get him.”
They curled up together. Exhausted, Rob soon fell asleep.
Laura lay awake and an hour later turned on the TV. Her body was worn out but her mind raced. Not for the first time, she wondered if there wasn’t some key clue she had overlooked because she didn’t recognize its importance.
And where were the journals?
For once, she wished Rob had been nosy and knew where and how she wrote her journals.
The enormity of the situation hit her and she broke down and cried, first upset but then angry and finally enraged.
Who the fuck is this guy to think he has a right to interrupt my life? Why does he think he has the right to torment me like this? And why the fuck is he picking on me?
There was no doubt of the crossroads before her. Either she hid until MedicineMan got bored and left her alone, or killed her, or she needed to fight back.
Rage stewed and boiled and finally bubbled over. Storming out into the living room, she opened her laptop and turned it on. Her fingers flew across the keyboard and she quickly re-read her message before punching the send button. Going to bed didn’t feel like a good idea, and there was nothing good on TV. After a few minutes she checked her email.
Nothing.
Of course he probably wouldn’t reply tonight, if at all. It was late and whoever—wherever—he was, it wasn’t likely he’d seen the email yet.
I hope I didn’t just screw up.
Whatever happened, she would go down fighting. It felt clichéd, it scared her to death, but to fully reclaim her life meant facing this madman down and she was tired of running.
When the yawning started she finally felt satisfied enough to try sleep again.
The dream centered on the condo once again, different than the ones she’d had before. It felt more like watching a TV show than living through a memory or a creation of her own subconscious. There was no way to tell if this was recall or simply terror spilling over into her imagination, but unlike the Montana dream, she recognized it as such and let it play out even though she knew it would scare her.
She watched from above and to the rear, like a camera on a boom, as her dream self toured the condo. Dark stains streaked the walls, pictures were knocked askew or broken on the floor, the back door stood open. A coil of rope lay tangled on the floor near the sofa.
Her dream self turned, looking around. The condo lay empty except for her and the mess. A dark shadow crossed the threshold in the back hall and stopped short in the doorway. Facing it, dream Laura shouted, “I’m not afraid of you!”
The shadow settled there, motionless, silent, more like a dark fog than an absence of light. A vague outline of a person coagulated somewhat, nothing recognizable.
The coil of rope slithered toward her and she kicked it, sending it skittering across the carpet back toward the shape.
“You already attacked me. What do you want?”
The shadow made no noise as it faded out of sight. Then the rear door slammed shut.
She woke with a start, breathing heavily. Next to her, Rob still slept and Doogie lay undisturbed on the floor. Nothing. Outside the sky lightened slowly with dawn approaching, and there were only fifteen minutes left before the alarm was set to go off.
No more sleep for her. Coffee sounded good and she walked out into the kitchen. Then she remembered the email message and did an about-face for the living room. The laptop was still set up on the coffee table and she checked her email.
Nothing.
The wait was worse than anything. What if he didn’t reply at all? There was a gap of several weeks before. He might be tired of the game. Or with her replying he might get scared off and decide not to play the game anymore.
Or she might have enraged him and he was plotting his attack at that moment.
Coffee. She finally got the pot going and a few minutes later Rob stumbled into the kitchen.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he greeted her. She kissed him and he hugged her. “How’d you sleep?”