The Survivor (10 page)

2:25 P.M. SATURDAY

K
ariss drove her rental car into the covered parking garage of the building where Freedom’s Way housed its suite of offices. She slid in beside a late-model Malibu and breathed a quick prayer for wisdom. The empty area seemed a bit spooky, though it could just be her imagination heading into overdrive after being run off the road yesterday morning. She felt guilty leaving Vicki at home, but Mom was there and Dad planned to stop by.

The excitement of a new novel and compassion for Amy’s horrific experience rose within her. Unusual emotions to feel simultaneously, but they were real. Kariss’s personal goal was for each novel she wrote to be better written than the previous one, which meant a more intriguing plot and deepening characterization. Reaching for her purse and hot-pink computer case, she recalled her last meeting with Amy and how well they’d gotten along. Hopefully that camaraderie would continue long after the novel was written.

Amy met her at the building’s entrance and ushered her inside. “Good to see you. I’ve been looking forward to our getting together all morning.” Odd how once again Amy’s voice and words sounded rehearsed. A quick look into her blue eyes revealed apprehension.

“Are you sure?” Kariss said. “We can postpone this.”

“Absolutely not.” Amy locked the glass door behind them, then turned to Kariss. “I don’t want anyone walking in off
the street and thinking I’m open,” she said. “You know, free counseling.”

Kariss waited while Amy confirmed—four times—that the door was locked. Obsessive-compulsive disorder?

“Excuse me a moment while I inform the security company of your arrival,” Amy said, heading down the hallway.

Maybe if Kariss had survived such trauma, she’d be a little OCD herself. After what Amy had been through, it was a wonder she was able to function on any level. Whoever had guided her through her ordeal had to have been a gentle counselor. Perhaps that person had encouraged her to help others too.

While waiting for Amy to reappear, Kariss studied the waiting area. A pair of contemporary, cream-colored sofas, chrome-and-green upholstered chairs, and a massive philodendron filled the room. An abstract painting above one of the sofas, painted in rich blue, green, and red, looked like something Kariss’s four-year-old nephew had done with finger paint. Magazines were arranged accordion style, ready to distract an anxious client or simply entertain a reader. Ah, a hint of Amy’s personality caught Kariss’s attention. A collection of elephants was artfully arranged in a corner display case. The symbolism curled around her heart.

An elephant never forgot.

Amy reappeared, wearing a smile that complemented her designer jeans and green turtleneck sweater. Green was the color of healing and nurturing.

“Are we locked down?” Kariss said, making sure Amy could read her lips.

“We are. No walk-ins today.”

“Those who’ve abused the women you’ve counseled would be more of a challenge than a suffering client.”

Amy nodded. “Right. They’re the worst.”

“Ever have a problem with hostility?”

“A few.” Amy gestured down the hallway. “Right this way. My office is the last one on the right.”

“Before we continue, I received an email last night warning me against writing your story. Would you know anything about that?”

“No.”

“What about a family member? You said they didn’t support this project.”

Amy startled. “You’re blunt. Is that a writer’s trait?”

“Sometimes it’s simply research. Before I turned to suspense novels, I wrote women’s fiction, and I learned to be straightforward and ask questions.”

“I have no idea who’d want to discourage you.”

Kariss didn’t believe her. “If you did, would you tell me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one.”

“I’m a woman of integrity. You and I have a business relationship.”

Kariss hadn’t seen this condescension in Amy at the coffee shop. “How about friendship?”

“I’m sorry.” Amy’s tensed facial muscles relaxed. “Yes, we all need friends. I’ve been in a rough place these past two days, and I shouldn’t take it out on you.” She pointed to facing love seats in pale green, constant reminders of healing and nurturing. Behind Amy’s desk hung a pastoral scene of sheep grazing under the watchful eye of a shepherd. Kariss recognized the artist, Larry Dyke. She had two of his prints in her condo.

“No problem. Want to talk about it?”

“Not really, but thanks.” Amy smiled.

“So how long do we have this afternoon?”

“As long as it takes. In answer to your earlier question, there have been times men and women who’ve victimized my clients have sought revenge, which is why security measures are in place and law-enforcement numbers are at my fingertips.”

“Have you ever been assaulted by one of them?”

“No. But it only takes one attack to make sure precautions are always in place.”

“Do you carry a gun?”

Amy crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d never resort to a weapon. It would shatter my ministry to the hurting. Do you?”

“Yes. I’ve learned to defend myself. My motto is ‘Never again’.”

“Ever had to threaten someone with your gun?”

“I killed a man to protect an innocent one.”

“It didn’t make the evening news.”

Kariss forced a smile. “It didn’t make my scrapbook either.”

“If you need counseling, I can recommend one of my other therapists.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it handled.” Kariss pulled out a small digital recorder and her laptop. “I’ll make a copy of our conversation so you can review it later for accuracy.”

Amy nodded. Her wan complexion told more about the woman’s mood than any words could convey. “Fair enough. I want to tell the entire story, regurgitate the past in one sitting. My brother and parents are great, but they fear for my emotional health and the possibility of my assailant coming after me again.”

“I understand. But it’s because they love you.”

“The attack nearly ended my life, and it deserves to be told in a manner that would reach the most readers. I’ve done the research. I know a novel is my best option.”

“Okay, then let’s get started. I’ll type while you talk, and I won’t stop you unless I need clarification. Can you begin by telling me about your childhood, then move on to what happened the day of the assault?”

Amy took a deep breath. She looked poised, but her lips quivered for a fraction of a second. “I may repeat some things from our earlier discussion, but I want to tell the story in chronological sequence.”

“Sounds good. I didn’t take any notes when we met earlier.”

“My family wasn’t and isn’t perfect. But after the attack, they worked hard to keep dysfunction tucked away. My dad is
a commercial real estate investor, and my mother is an account rep for an insurance company. We did the vacation thing. Birthdays and holidays are still special. My brother and I were encouraged to work hard in school and have friends. Our door was open to the neighborhood kids. After the attack, that continued to give me a semblance of a normal childhood.”

“Did your friends treat you differently after the trauma?”

“Not those my own age. But older kids and adults acted as though I were a bubble child.” Amy folded her hands. “Most parents couldn’t get past the horror or the realization that their child could have been the victim.”

Kariss shivered. “What about your brother? Is he married?”

“He was, but it ended in divorce. No children.”

Kariss typed and listened for clues to indicate who may have hurt Amy. Although that aspect of the story had been analyzed by the most experienced criminologists, Kariss couldn’t help but wonder if a new detail in the case could bring a cruel man to justice. “Are you ready to describe what happened?”

The color drained from Amy’s face.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.” Amy laid her hands in her lap. “The day I was abducted from my bedroom is as vivid now as when it happened. It was a Thursday night in mid-May. We’d returned from a school event for my brother, where he’d been a finalist in a science fair and had taken first place. We celebrated with ice cream from Dairy Queen. Mom and Dad were so proud of him. We went to bed like any normal night. I remember looking forward to summer.”

Kariss noted Amy’s clenched fists.

“I was woken by a hand clasped over my mouth. I could barely breathe. The other hand held what I thought was a knife to my throat. I learned later it was a piece of glass from my bedroom window. Neither my parents nor my brother heard the glass breaking.”

Amy paused, and Kariss glanced up from her laptop. A tear slipped down the woman’s cheek. “We had a dog, a golden retriever. Her name was Daisy. The … the assailant killed her. My dad found her before he realized I was missing.”

“Do you want to continue?” Kariss whispered.

Amy nodded. “I simply haven’t thought it through from beginning to end for a long time. This is really good for me, I think. Helps me get in touch with what my clients feel.”

As if Amy needed to feel additional pain. “Did the assailant say anything?”

“Told me to be quiet or he’d kill my parents and brother. He obviously knew a little about me.” Amy moved a magazine on the table in front of her. “He dragged me through my broken window. In the darkness, I never saw his face. Only felt what he did to me and heard his voice.” She paused and rearranged the magazine again. “His voice has haunted me for years, and now I’m going deaf. Rather ironic, don’t you think?”

The only way Amy would ever be able to identify him was his voice, and she was being robbed of her hearing. Incredibly unfair.

“Are you ready to go on?” Kariss said.

She nodded. “He carried me to a grassy field behind our house. Told me to be still or he’d go back and kill my family. I remember his breath reeked of onions. I’ve never been able to tolerate them since. Briars scratched my arms and legs, and I heard a siren in the distance. I thought it was someone coming to rescue me. But it wasn’t. He talked to me. Told me he’d thought about this for a long time. Said I was a good girl, and that’s why I was chosen. He said strange things. I had no idea what he meant. When I was older, I recognized lines from Truman Capote’s novel
In Cold Blood.
”

Kariss remembered the story about two men who’d murdered a Kansas family. Maybe it was time to reread it. Realization rippled through her. “He could read this, Amy. Do you realize this could force him into a face-off? You could be killed.”

“You’re overreacting. The man who assaulted me wouldn’t read a novel written by a former women’s fiction author.”

Kariss studied Amy’s face. Not a muscle moved. “How can you be sure?”

“If he wanted me dead, he’d have done it a long time ago.” Amy stared at the empty hall, then turned to Kariss. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of, and neither do I.”

Kariss had seen enough danger in the past year not to risk going there again, not for herself or Amy. What would Tigo say? She shoved the thought from her mind and focused on what her heart was telling her. She wanted this project. She believed in it. “When the book is released, we have to involve law-enforcement authorities to keep you protected. Agree or I back out.”

Empty moments ticked by while a myriad of emotions crossed Amy’s face. “That’s your stipulation?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s do it. We’re running out of time for today.”

Kariss hoped and prayed Amy would be safe. “All right.

We have more work to do.”

“Are you a fast writer?”

Kariss smiled. “Just watch me.”

“Okay … in the field, he slapped me so hard I blacked out. At least I think that’s what happened. Being unconscious was a blessing, because he raped me and slit my throat with that piece of glass from the window.”

Kariss’s stomach curdled. She focused on the positioning of her fingers on the keyboard to gain control.

“I guess he assumed I’d bleed out, because he left me there. I lay awake, drifting in and out of consciousness. I wanted to go home, but I was too weak to move. God’s good, Kariss, because I didn’t feel any pain. So I waited and thought about my parents. How much I loved them. And my brother. I prayed, too, and repeated Bible verses in my mind, the ones I’d learned in Sunday school. Strangely, I wasn’t afraid. Sometimes I
thought someone sat beside me. Maybe an angel. God was certainly there.”

Kariss glanced up at Amy, her throat tightening. “I felt God was with me during my ordeal too.”

Amy nodded. “This is tough for both of us.”

Kariss blinked back tears and typed in rhythm to her rapidly pounding heart.

“The next morning, a couple of neighborhood boys found me. Doctors claimed my survival was a miracle, but I knew God had a special plan for me. I spent the next two months in the hospital having surgeries and learning to talk again. Then years in psychiatrists’ chairs.” Amy rubbed her palms. “I’m such a bad host. Would you care for something to drink? A Coke or a bottle of water?”

This had to be too much for Amy. “No, thanks. Do you want to call it quits for today?”

“I thought you wanted the whole story. Is there enough material for you to begin?”

How could Kariss talk about plot points, a climax, and story resolution after this painful accounting? “This will be powerful, an inspiration to others. You are a true survivor.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“And you give me permission to write a climax and resolution?”

Amy leaned back against the love seat. “Use your best judgment in how you end it.”

Kariss released her tight shoulder muscles. “As we proceed, I’ll need to probe deeper into heart-wrenching areas.”

“Bring it on.” Amy’s lighthearted tone failed to reach her eyes.

Testing time. “What were your thoughts while he carried you to the field?”

Amy swallowed hard. “Before I blacked out, I felt paralyzing fear. I couldn’t fight him. But I believed my dad would save me.”

“Did you pray about being rescued?”

“Not exactly. I’d argued with my mother about spending the night with a friend. I hadn’t—”