Into the Light (7 page)

Dylan took my hand and walked me through the building. By the time we made it to the parking lot, I’d tucked Mindy away, to a safe place. “Where’s your car?”

Pointing to the left, he said, “It’s right over there.”

I turned and spotted his unmarked Charger.

“How about when you’re done with work, you come back to my place, instead of going home to that empty apartment?” Dylan leaned closer. “You left in a hurry this morning and besides, I’d like to learn more about that vivid imagination of yours.”

I blushed, liking how he’d twisted my comment. “I’d like that too, but I didn’t go home yesterday, and I don’t have any clean clothes. Oh, and then there’s Fred. I need to check on him.”

Dylan’s eyes sparkled in the warm Detroit summer sunshine. “Fred’s a fish. I think he’ll make it. As for clothes, I have this amazing new technology. It’s called a washing machine. I bought one because I’d heard they were all the rage. I can cook some dinner; you can experiment with the new technology?”

I tilted my head and sighed. “You’re terrible. If I used that
amazing new technology
, what would I possibly wear? I mean, I need
all
my clothes clean.”

“Oh! That’s the fun part. That’s where your vivid imagination comes in. If you need help”—he pulled me close, circling my waist—“I’m sure I can come up with a few ideas that don’t require clothes.”

I reached for his shoulders, stood up on my toes, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for being here. I appreciate it. But I think I’ll take a rain check. The same outfit at work for three days, even if it’s clean, will get people talking, and seriously, you don’t know Fred. He mopes if I’m not there. It’s really sad to see his little blue betta fins all drooped. Bye.”

As I walked away, my phone buzzed, and I opened the text message:

Dylan: FRESH SALMON?

He definitely wasn’t playing fair. Cooking wasn’t my thing.

I started my car and looked in my rearview mirror. Dylan hadn’t pulled away. He hadn’t even gotten into his car. Instead he was leaning against the Charger, his long, jean-covered legs crossed at the ankles, his black, short-sleeved shirt looking too damn good stretched over his chest. I backed my car out and drove toward him. His face lit up, glowing triumphantly from his sparkling eyes to his shiny white teeth.

I came to a stop and rolled down my window. “You’re not playing fair! You know how I am about your cooking.”

He laughed. “You know how I feel about yours. That’s why I offered. I’ll cook some salmon on the grill, with some asparagus, a few cold beers . . .” He pouted. “But if you’d rather hang out with Barney.”

I shook my head. “Give me an hour and I’ll call you. No promises.”

He winked. “I’ll be waiting.”

I rolled up my window, cranked the air conditioning, and headed back to the station.

Even the thought of his cooking made my stomach rumble and growl, but no, I couldn’t go back to his house tonight. It wasn’t that Bernard needed me, though I needed to call him to tell him the body wasn’t Mindy’s. What I wanted to do had nothing to do with work or with the drug distribution happening at the port. What I wanted was to call Dr. Tracy Howell and find out why she’d called me down to the morgue twice, and what she was really trying to tell me.

I reached for my phone to call Bernard and saw my wrinkled slacks. I definitely needed to go home. Turning my car toward my apartment, I decided to call Bernard and do more research from home.

CHAPTER 7

Sara

After I heard Jacob walk Dr. Newton to the door, I expected him to explain what the doctor meant about my training.

Will I be left alone with Sister Lilith? Will Raquel or Elizabeth be there?
For some reason, I suspected that this was a women-only thing.
Do I remember that or do I just suspect it?

Instead of talking to me, however, Jacob resumed his pacing. Back and forth, four steps. Though he was still taking big strides, his shoes didn’t pound the floor with the force and intensity they had last night.

One, two, three, four—turn, one, two, three, four—turn . . .

I lay back and searched for my memories, hoping for something, a clue, a crumb . . . anything. I couldn’t understand how I’d willingly come to this place, a place where shadows of perversion lingered outside my reach. I also wondered why I’d want to do training and if I’d done it before.
Does everyone do it? If I did, why am I doing it again?
I tried to clear my mind, to think about nothing, in the hope that something would come. Nothing did.

It didn’t make sense. Everyone here knew me. Everyone knew my past . . . except me. I wasn’t ready to face the reality that the problem must be me.

Time passed as tears slid silently from beneath the bandages and down my cheeks. Even that felt wrong. I wasn’t a crier. Then again, maybe I was.

I didn’t try to stop the tears. They were my wordless appeal to my husband, my unspoken request for support. I needed more than him fighting for me while others were present. I needed him to help me when we were alone, to explain why this all felt wrong. Mindlessly I wiped away the tears that I’d vowed to let rain free. The longer they fell, the more I understood: my tears didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

“Sara.”

Lost in my own thoughts, I startled at Jacob’s voice beside me. I hadn’t heard his pacing cease. I didn’t move or turn in his direction. It was too late. I didn’t care anymore. If showing weakness was what it took to get his attention, then I didn’t want him or his support.

Instead what I wanted was to get away . . . away to a place where I wasn’t powerless, where I had a voice, where I belonged. I didn’t know where that was. All I knew with increasing certainty was that it wasn’t here. Here, I was trapped.

My dampened face fell toward my chest as my tears morphed into sobs, each one deeper than the one before. The cries didn’t come from my throat but from my soul, consuming me. Each sob thrust deep into my heart, splitting it open, crying out for my stolen sense of self.

Under this onslaught, my heart was unable to beat at its normal rhythm, instead thudding in my chest, a dull repeating sound echoing in my ears. Without its steady rhythm I’d cease to exist. Then I realized . . . it had already happened. I no longer existed.

Whoever I really am is gone.

I gasped, but air wouldn’t inflate my lungs. My heart, my lungs . . . internally I was disappearing.

The bed rail beside me lowered. Jacob lifted my hand, but I couldn’t feel his touch. Even his words were gone. I heard only the sound of my cries. The bed shifted, but where our bodies connected there was no warmth. Mine no longer belonged to me. Jacob held someone else’s hand, his leg pressed against someone else’s thigh. The wails grew louder and louder.

Who was this desperate person?

Sara
.

Jacob spoke to her, to Sara. He called her by name as he tried to calm her. His words were there, but I didn’t listen. His tone was comforting, but I was beyond calming. It didn’t matter, because he wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to the woman on the edge of panic, the woman who willingly lived a life of subservience. A woman who could exist in this strange and terrible place.

That’s not me!
I didn’t want any of this. I wasn’t that person. There’d been a mistake, a terrible mistake. Sara and I were two different people, and somehow I had to make him understand. I didn’t know who I was, but without a doubt, I wasn’t Sara.

With a fleeting gasp, air finally came, finding its way to my lungs. The deep breath momentarily stilled the sobs, though the ringing in my ears continued. My inhalation brought the sharp pain back to my side. It was the hurt that Brother Timothy said was mine to bear for sins I’d committed.

Anger sparked a fire that had nearly died.
I didn’t commit any sins
. Perhaps Sara had, I didn’t know nor did I care. The only sin I recalled was allowing others to determine my future, to dominate my life and body. A cold chill went through me and a sour taste filled my mouth as I remembered Dr. Newton’s recent examination. I hadn’t been able to see their faces, but they had been there, both he and Jacob standing, touching and viewing my exposed body. It felt wrong, almost immoral. These people preached against sin, accused me of transgressions, yet expected me to submit to their violations.

Another jolt of pain in my side reinforced my newfound determination. Whoever I truly was, wasn’t gone, not yet. I needed to fight. But I couldn’t do it alone. Mentally I reached for Sara and she and I united. I wasn’t her, but I needed her body to save me. I couldn’t stay trapped any longer. I wouldn’t.

“Sara, that’s enough.” Jacob’s caring tone was gone. He grabbed my chin.

I pulled away from his grip.

My freedom was short-lived as Jacob recaptured my chin, his hold stronger than before. “I’m your husband. You’ll show me the respect—”

Shaking my head violently, I broke free. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have realized the futility of my protest, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was done living someone else’s life.

“Don’t touch me!” I screamed, blindly pushing against his unmoving chest with a new jolt of strength. Speaking came so effortlessly that I didn’t think about his warning or the consequences. The words spewed forth, louder and louder. “Stop! I’m not Sara! I’m not your wife! I don’t know you!” Each statement lifted the weight of helplessness from my chest. “I don’t belong here! You’ve all made a mis—”

My right cheek stung with the force of his slap.

Stunned back into silence, I covered my cheek and turned away. The hurt faded as I waited for Jacob’s next move. My earlier misjudgment was suddenly clear. No matter who I was, in my current condition, I was at his mercy—their mercy. With my lower lip tightly held between my teeth, new tears flowed, burning my eyes and leaving a trail of shame. For the first time, I welcomed the bandages that covered my eyes. I’d use them to my advantage, hide behind them and block out the world around me. I’d try to block him out.

But I couldn’t. I felt his strong hold, pinching my chin, pulling my face back to his. The lunch I’d eaten earlier solidified in my stomach.

“You. Are. Sara. Adams.” Jacob spoke each word staccato, as if saying them slowly made them true. He continued to hold my face painfully close to his as he took a deep breath. His exhalation skirted across my dampened cheeks. “Your speaking restrictions will resume, but first, since you apparently are capable of talking, repeat after me”—
What the hell?
—“‘My name is Sara Adams,’” he continued.

The stone my lunch had become in my stomach moved to my throat. I didn’t speak, keeping my lip securely between my teeth. His grasp on my chin moved behind my head, forcing my tender neck forward.

His tone morphed into a menacing whisper as he spoke through clenched jaws. “‘My. Name. Is. Sara. Adams.’ Don’t make me repeat your instructions.”

My teeth released their captive and my breathing stuttered. “M-my name is Sara Adams.”

Though his hand remained, the pressure eased.

“‘I am the wife of Jacob Adams.’”

I swallowed my tears, tasting the salty liquid. I’d say his words; that didn’t mean I believed them. “I am the wife of Jacob Adams.”

He released my neck, and he moved to brush away my tears. Though his intent may have been gentle, I flinched at the contact.

“Sara, do
not
pull away from me. I don’t want to punish you. Hurting you has never been my goal.”

I stilled, holding my breath and concentrating on remaining motionless as he wiped my tears.

“Our roles are clear. As your husband, I’m the head of our household. With that title comes responsibility. You’re my responsibility. Your behavior reflects on me. How do you think it looks when a man can’t control his own wife? When we said our vows, you promised to honor and obey.”

Though I didn’t mean to respond, involuntarily my head moved ever so slightly from side to side. Had he not been holding my cheek, he might not have noticed, but he was and he did. With increased volume, Jacob said, “Sara? You’ve already disobeyed me by speaking. Explain why you’re shaking your head.”

“It’s nothing,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“Nothing?”

“I didn’t mean to shake my head,” I lied. I didn’t remember vows, and if I’d said them, I couldn’t imagine having said those.
Do people really still say
obey?

“But you did. You meant to shake your head, and now you’re lying. You realize that lying is a sin, don’t you?”

Oh my God!
I nodded, not wanting to have this conversation. Suddenly I didn’t want any conversation. I wanted to go back to not talking, to both of us not talking.

“No, Sara.” He was again speaking slowly and calmly. “Right now we’re talking. You may respond verbally.” When I hesitated, he added, “You
will
respond verbally.”

Is he serious?

“I’m very tired. I think maybe that when I hit my head in the accident it affected my memory. Things are fuzzy.” I lowered my chin again. “Please, let me go back to sleep.” I needed to use the restroom, but I wasn’t about to ask for his help. Maybe Raquel or Elizabeth would return, or the nurse who’d brought my lunch. Deborah.

“Not yet. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Your question?” I couldn’t remember his question.

“Lying. You remember what lying is, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know lying is a sin.”

“What happens to sinners?”

“They go to hell?”

“Was that a question?” He took my hand. “If it was, yes, when sinners die they go to hell. I’m talking about before that. I’m talking about what happens when sinners are still alive. As my wife, it’s my responsibility to keep you from sin. How do I do that, Sara?”

The dryness of my mouth made speaking difficult. I truly didn’t know what he wanted, but at this point I’d say whatever it was to make him go away. “Jacob, I’m sorry. I won’t sin.”

“That’s a big promise. One that isn’t your burden to bear. It’s mine. It’s my job to see that you live a virtuous life. It’s my job to correct you when you fail. That’s why I slapped you. It was punishment, punishment for disobeying, correction for your outburst.” He again caressed my cheek. “It’s up to you, Sara. It always has been. If you obey my rules and those of Father Gabriel, there’s no need for correction. The rules keep you from sin. You don’t want to be a sinner, do you?”

I shook my head, not understanding why his words affected me. “No, I don’t.”

Jacob lifted the end of my braid and his tone lightened. “We have a lot to discuss, and you said you’re tired, but first.” He paused. “It’s nearly three in the afternoon. Do you need to use the restroom again?”

Damn.
I hated that I needed him or anyone for such basic things. I nodded.

“Sara? We’re speaking, so speak.”

“Yes, I do.”

The bed shifted as Jacob released my hand and stood. His footsteps moved to the right side of my bed. By the tugging, I figured that he was fumbling with my IV.

“I’ve watched them hook and unhook this many times,” he said. “But I’m not sure how they did it.” Things clanked. “This pole is on wheels. I think I can carry you and move it at the same time.”

I considered offering to hold on to it, but I didn’t know how the speech restriction worked. Would he tell me when it had been reinstated? Instead of talking, I waited until he pulled back the blankets. The cool air reminded me of Dr. Newton and his exam, and I shuddered.

“Jacob?”

“Yes?”

“May I tell you something?”

He smoothed my hair away from my forehead. The repetitive motion was beginning to remind me of someone petting a dog or a cat. “You’ve always been able to be honest with me.”

Always? How long has that been?
I raked my lower lip between my teeth.

“Why are you doing that? Were you not planning on being honest?”

“No, I was. It’s that it’s about Dr. Newton, and I don’t know if I should say anything.”

“You asked to speak. There must be something you want to say.”

I contemplated my words. Finally I replied, “I don’t remember him. That’s all. Should I?” My pulse raced. I
didn’t
remember Dr. Newton or anyone else, but that wasn’t what I’d wanted to say. I’d wanted to say that Dr. Newton gave me the creeps, that I didn’t like him, or Brother Timothy, or Sister Lilith, but could I? Could I be that honest?

His arms moved behind my back and under my legs. “I’m going to lift you.”

I started to nod, but changed my mind and replied, “I’m ready.”

As he lifted, I inhaled, clenching my teeth. By the time I exhaled through the pain from my rib, Jacob was speaking, his chest vibrating with his deep voice. I’d missed some of what he’d said.

“. . . for years. I’m not sure why you wouldn’t remember him. What other things don’t you remember?”

He lowered me to the floor, and directed my hand to the handle. I’d learned before that the handle slid across the room, supporting me from the shower, to the sink, to the toilet.

“May I have some privacy?”

“No.”

What the hell?
My shoulders tensed as I searched for an appropriate response. Oh, I had a response—I just didn’t think my husband would appreciate it. The words on the tip of my tongue were probably a sin too.

“Sara, you’re not strong enough to move on your own. I told you that it’s never been my goal to hurt you and that I’m responsible for you. Do you remember me saying that?”

“Yes.”