So Dark the Night Page 3

“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 wo
uld 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.

  “I’m glad you could pull yourself away from the set to visit our daughter.” William St. James entered, making sure the door closed behind him.

  Marlena straightened, leveling a narrowed look at the large man making his way to the hospital bed. “Our daughter? You gave up that right twenty years ago.”

  Colin’s attention remained on Emma, who pulled the covers up until she was almost hidden beneath them.

  “And now that Derek is gone, you want to reclaim what is mine.” Marlena’s voice vibrated with possession.

  Emma averted her face, staring away from her parents. Colin advanced closer, wanting to protect Emma from the two people who should love her the most. They squared off, confronting each other at the end of their daughter’s bed. Marlena, not much over five feet, should have been intimidated by William’s sheer size of over six and a half feet. She wasn’t. She matched him glare for glare.

  “Contrary to when she was a little girl, our daughter is a grown woman now and can make her own choices.” William inched closer to Marlena, his arms rigid at his sides.

  “Not while she’s sick and vulnerable. I won’t let you take advantage of her like that.”

  A sheen shimmered in Emma’s eyes. She squeezed them closed. Colin’s heart bled for the woman in the hospital bed, listening to her parents battle over her as though she were a prize in a dogfight.

  Colin laid a hand on Emma’s shoulder, wanting to convey support. She didn’t shrink from his touch. That in itself told him how distraught she was over the scene being played out in her hospital room.

  “I can protect her. She’s in danger.” William’s hands bunched into fists.

  “I can care for her until she’s well. I’m just as capable of hiring a small army to protect my daughter as you are.”

  Finally, as though she realized he was touching her, Emma shifted away. “Stop it, you two!” Even though the words she uttered were forceful, her hoarse voice came out on a weak thread.

  “For how long, Marlena? Until some man catches your fancy? Or a movie you have to star in sends you halfway around the world? What about the one you’re working on right now?” Oblivious to his daughter’s plea, William uncurled his hands, then knotted them again.

  “Jealous I have an exciting life while yours is only filled with boring—”

  “Stop it!”

  Emma’s words swung both her parents around to face her. Side by side, at the end of the bed, they stared at her. Her mother’s expressive eyes were huge while her father’s veiled his expression.

  “I need you all to leave. I won’t be in the middle of you two fighting. I’m tired,” Emma murmured, her voice growing weaker with each word said. As though to emphasize how exha
usted she was, her eyes slid closed and some of her tension siphoned from her.

  Marlena frowned, glared at her ex-husband, then nodded toward the door. Colin suspected Emma’s mother wanted to resume the argument in the corridor. As she headed toward the door, her jaw set in a determined look while Emma’s father finally exhibited some emotion—hatred.

  The intense feelings that churned the air in the small hospital room rocked Colin. He wasn’t even a member of the family, and he felt weary from the brief skirmish waged in front of him, a stranger. What kind of life had Emma St. James been exposed to while growing up, the daughter of two bitter parents each of whom used her to get to the other one? He’d seen it before, and it often left deep scars in the child caught between two warring parents.

  He peered down at Emma, her face finally relaxed as the silence flowed, chasing away the echoes of her parents’ exchange. She was petite like Marlena Howard, but that was where the similar physical attributes ended. Beneath the scratches and bruises on her face, he noted a beautiful woman with long black curly hair and soft brown eyes that spoke of emotions she wished she could control. How similar were they beyond the physical?

  He’d accomplished what he had set out to do when he’d come into the room. She knew he had hit her with his car. But there was so much more he wanted—needed—to do. And yet, the closed eyes and motionless body told him she wanted him to leave, too. He moved toward the door, his guilt still bearing down on him. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to talk to him.

  He had reached out to grasp the door handle when he heard her say, “Stay, please.”

  THREE

  Emma shifted on the bed, trying to stifle a moan from escaping when pain lanced through her. Her head and shoulder ached and every square inch of her body was sore, as though a herd of elephants had trampled over her. “I’m sorry you had to be a witness to that.”

  “I’m sorry you had to be.”

  The reverend’s voice was a deep baritone, smooth sounding with just a hint of a Southern drawl. What did he look like? She tried to imagine him from the way his voice sounded, but it was useless. He could be twenty-five, forty or sixty. She couldn’t tell by the mere sound of his voice. Frustration churned her stomach. As a photographer, her profession centered around the visual, and she had no idea what the man talking to her looked like.