Forgotten (Shattered Sisters Book 2) (22 page)

"You can stand," she whispered. “There’s room.”

He straightened slowly. She led him forward, deeper into the darkness, and he went, telling himself over and over that it was necessary. That the danger was outside in the sunshine, not here in this dank, black well. He didn't need to reach out to feel the narrow walls of stone on either side of him, or reach up to know the cold ceiling was inches above his head. He hated the closeness, hated the sensation of there being no air, hated that his breaths came short and quick as she pulled him behind her at a slow, uneven pace.

He steadied himself, clenching his hand around hers, trying to concentrate on her pain instead of his own. She was hurting. She must be, after that uphill run. He couldn't let her see what this place did to him. He prayed she wouldn't feel his hand shake or sweat. It was the damned darkness! If only there was a light, even a faint glimmer, to break the pitch. He thought of his cellphone--there was a flashlight app. But that might reveal their hiding place to the menace outside. So there was no light, and the memory began swirling in the pit of his mind.

There had been darkness then, too. And the feeling of four close walls looming around him, closing in as he crouched on the floor with his knees pulled tight to his chest. No silence, though. His little cell's walls had been thin, and he could hear the sounds that came through them. His mother's sounds. Animal sounds. As if she was hurting, dying. And if she died, he would remain in the closet forever, behind the locked door, a prisoner of the darkness.

He stopped walking. Joey's hand tugged at his, but his feet refused to move. He fought the misery, the sudden certainty that Joey and the Slasher and the cave were just a dream and that he was still that little boy. He turned as if to look around him, but saw nothing. He took a step backward, retreating from the horror, only to come up against a cold stone wall. He closed his eyes and sank to the floor.

"Ash?"

"No." He didn't want her to see him this way, didn't want her to touch him, didn't want her anywhere near him right now.

She knelt in front of him, her hands running over his face, over the dampness of sweat and, if he was honest with himself, perhaps a few tears on his skin.

"It's all right." Her breath warmed his face, dried it. Her arms encircled his shoulders and she held him.

Get away from me, dammit.

But his head obeyed when she urged it onto her shoulder. His body surrendered to the feel of her warmth, her fingers moving through his hair in soothing rhythm. God, he didn't want her to know....

"I already know." She shifted position, sitting down and pulling him down with her, holding him with a strength that surprised him. Her arms were silken steel and they wouldn't let go. "There are no locked doors here, Ash. We can walk out any time we want to. We’re in a big section of cave, here. There’s plenty of room. You could park a car in here. And you're not alone. Not anymore."

His head came up and he faced her, not seeing her at all, only feeling her there. He stroked her arm, her shoulder, squeezed it. "I'm sorry."

"You're hurting." Her lips touched his face. "So am I. You don't want to let me in, Ash, but I'm already there."

His breathing had calmed. In her arms, the old terror had evaporated. The little boy inside still cried, but this time someone was listening. He relaxed slightly, leaning back against the wall. He felt her turn to sit tight beside him, her body touching his. She gripped his hand.

"It was your mother who locked you in the little room."

He nodded, though he knew she couldn't see. "She was a whore. I was bad for business."

Her hand clenched. "You were afraid for her."

"I hated her."

"How old were you, Ash?"

He tensed. Bitterness coated the inside of his mouth and his voice came out thick with it. "Four, the first time."

She settled her head on his shoulder. "Four-year-olds don't know how to hate."

The child inside him cried harder. Ash ignored it, focusing instead on his anger. "This one did."

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

From somewhere deep inside him, the cries became words, pleas.
I just wanted her to love me. Why couldn't she love me?

Ash went rigid, shaking himself. "Maybe we'd better move on."

But her hands cupped his face and held it close to hers. Her lips touched his, and he tasted her salty tears on them. Her arms crept around his neck. "You're not alone anymore." Her lips moved and she kissed his face, his neck, his ear. "I won't let you be...not ever again."

He snagged her waist and pulled her closer, kissing her with an urgency that surprised him. Then he brought her head to his chest and held her there, against his thundering heart. God, he wished he could believe her. It would be so easy to let her in, let her warmth, her love, heal the old wounds.

But he was all too aware that none of it was true. There was no love between them. It was all a farce, one he still didn't understand. And for a moment he wished his pretend amnesia was real, so he could relish this moment, believe in it. It would be easy. It
felt
real.

He pushed her away and got to his feet, gripping her hands and pulling her with him. He shouldn't have talked about his past with her. It made him feel vulnerable, weak. He'd deal with his own problems in his own way. Alone. He would piece together the puzzle of Joey Bradshaw, and he would see the Slasher pay the price. And then he would go his way, resume his search for a life, a family of his own. He would find a woman, one he could build something with, one he could trust. He would have children and give them everything he'd longed for as a child. Everything he'd been denied.

But there would never be love. He hadn't realized that until now. There was a big hole inside him where love should have been. It had never been filled, so there was none there to give.

He cleared his throat and his mind. "Let's go back to the entrance. Maybe the Slasher gave up and left by now."

She stepped nearer, her hands on his shoulders. "Ash, I—"

"No, Joey. No more. It was a brief lapse. I'm fine now."

He thought she nodded. He was glad he couldn't see her face, read whatever was in her eyes, or misread it. He turned the way they'd come, but her hand caught his again.

"There's another exit. This way."

It was as if he'd slammed a door in her face. Joey wished she could understand why, but she couldn't. She'd felt his thoughts so clearly only moments ago—his anguish, the rush of memories that had engulfed him. But now there was nothing.

She consoled herself that it was good he'd stopped her when he had. She had been about to tell him that she loved him, just to ease his aching heart. Where the impulse had come from, she had no idea. She'd just been overcome with the need to take away his pain, and the words had bubbled up in her throat like some living thing inside her, desperate to escape. She'd let herself get so caught up in wanting to help him that she'd forgotten to protect herself. If she'd blurted out something so blatantly false, he'd have known, or he would find out, as soon as his memory was restored. And then he'd have all the more reason to hate her.

She ignored the recurring urge to hold him close again. She focused on finding the right passages. She knew the cave well, but always before, she'd had a light to guide her. This time all she had was her memory, and it had been a long time. She'd avoided this place and its happy memories after her stepfather had let her down. She hadn't thought she could ever enjoy coming here again...until she'd come with Ash.

He didn't say a word as they walked. His palms were dry, his breathing normal. Maybe she had helped him, then, just a little.

Finally she saw daylight filtering through an opening ahead. She walked slowly, careful not to make a sound. Ash did the same without her warning, just in case the Slasher knew about this cave and was waiting. She honed her senses, opened her mind, sought the prickling sense of danger she feared would come. But she felt only fresh air bathing her face, brilliant sunlight warming it as they drew nearer.

They emerged on a grassy hillside overlooking a farmhouse, a red barn, a cluster of cows. Ash pulled out his phone, held it up, moved it left and right. “No bars.”

“We’ll go down there. They’ll have a phone.”

She didn't take her hand from Ash's and he didn't release it until they started down the hill. But then he stopped her, turned her and then scooped her into his arms. "I couldn't help you in there. Too dark not to bash you into something. But I'll be damned if you're walking on that leg anymore today."

She leaned forward and kissed him. He stared at her for a second, and she saw her own confused feelings mirrored in his dark eyes. Then he started off, carrying her down the hill to the farmhouse.

While Joey spoke to the farmer's wife, Ash used their phone to call the police.

“This proves Joey isn't the Slasher." Ash said it for the fourth time as he paced Radley's office. It had been three hours since they’d been in the cave. Between talking to the police, filing a report, and then making the drive back, the day was about shot.

"It only proves that,” Rad said, “if you can be sure the woman you saw
was
."

"Well, who the hell else would have been slinking through the woods with a knife in her fist?"

Rad's hands came up in front of him. "I didn't say I doubted you, I'm just asking if you're sure."

"I'm sure." Ash stopped pacing and stared at his friend. "What I'm not sure of is how the hell she knew where to find us. You're the only one I told, Rad."

"Whoa, whoa. Are you saying you think
I
had something—"

"Of course not. Jeeze, Radley. I'm asking if you told anyone else."

Rad shook his head as he rose from his chair. "What do you think, I'm an idiot? Of course I didn't tell..." His words trailed off. He pushed a hand over his graying hair and swore under his breath.

"What?"

Rad sighed. "Bev Issacs. She was in my office when you called to tell me you were going down there. Freaking grilling me about that cigarette butt Harris lifted from her ashtray." He grimaced. "Dammit, Ash, I jotted the location down in case I needed to reach you." He turned, searching his desk, moving file folders aside. "The note's gone. She could've taken it. I’m an idiot.”

As he said it, Joey reentered the office. He'd tried to get her to stay off the leg, but she couldn't seem to sit still. Her wide eyes met Ash's. He answered her unspoken question as she handed him a mug of coffee. "There's a chance Bev Issacs knew where we were."

Joey's tongue darted out to moisten her lips. She obviously wanted to say something, but hesitated.

"Go on, Joey. What is it?"

"I think...I think Ted might've known, too. I mentioned this morning that we’d been there fishing last night, and that we might go back there." She crossed the room, putting her back to both men, and stared out the window between the white slats of the blinds. "I don't think it was him, though. I really don't. Not Ted."

"I thought you said it was a woman?" Radley's voice conveyed confusion.

"She—the
person
—was wearing a skirt. I never got a look at the face. It could've been a man in drag, I guess." Ash stepped up behind Joey, placing his hands on her shoulders. "It would explain a lot. Ted's late-night calls, the things he's been keeping from your sister. And he was in Vegas during that other string of murders."

She whirled to face him, and his stomach tightened when he saw the dampness in her eyes. "It wasn't Ted. And suspecting only the people who could have known where we were is a mistake. There's always a chance we were followed."

"She has a point there, Ash."

Ash heard Rad's words, but kept his eyes on Joey's face. He suddenly understood what she'd meant in that cave, when she'd said she felt his pain. Because he felt hers now. It would tear her up if Ted turned out to be the Slasher. And it would tear Ash up to see it. He felt close to her, too damn close.

He blinked at the unexpectedness of that thought. Sure, he was growing fond of her. But he knew they'd go their separate ways in the end, and he knew he wouldn't wither and die because of it. Even if he might wish he could. Damn, there he went again, exaggerating his feelings. What was wrong with him, anyway?