Savage Cinderella (18 page)

She turned to face her mother. "I’m Brinn
now, Mama. Briana is who I used to be."

"I'm so sorry...Brinn." Her mother’s blue
eyes glistened with more tears, her hand quivering on Brinn’s arm.
"I'm so sorry I lost you. And that we couldn't save you," she
whispered.

Brinn swallowed the flood of emotion and
looked down at her feet, "I used to think it happened because I did
something wrong—that I was bad. I should have been
smarter...stronger." Brinn held back the tears that threatened to
surface again. "I blamed myself for a long time, and then I...
blamed you and Daddy for letting him take me.”

Brinn touched her mother’s lips before the
woman could respond. “But then I realized that the only person to
blame was the man who took me away.” Her stomach churned with
disgust. “I still see him in my dreams.” She dropped her gaze to
the floor again as she said softly, “Sometimes I fear my next
breath, as if he might appear and take it from me." She didn’t want
to hurt or worry her mother, but Brinn couldn’t help the torrent of
feelings that poured to the surface.

Soft, warm hands framed Brinn’s face, "When
you’re ready to talk about what happened, I’ll be here to listen.
If you choose to help bring this man to justice, your father and I
will support and protect you, Brinn. But if you don't want to
pursue this, we will understand. Whatever happens, you must believe
that none of this was your fault."

The words washed over her in an unexpected
wave of peace. Maybe everything would be all right. She was home.
Her parents wouldn't let anything bad happen to her again.

And there was Justin. She refused to believe
she could have been so wrong about him. Regardless of his motives,
he’d made it clear that he cared for her well-being. But after what
happened today with the reporters, she needed to reconsider
trusting him so completely. She didn’t need him. She’d been taking
care of herself for most of her life. She’d be fine with, or
without, his help. All the same, her heart ached with doubt. She’d
so hoped he would be someone she could trust and believe in.

She pressed her lips together and firmed her
chin. There was only one way she would ever be able to escape the
fear and mistrust that had ruled her life for so long.

“
There’s a lot I don’t
remember, but if you bring me a sketch pad I think I can draw the
man’s face."

Return from the Grave

"NO! NO, NO, NO, NO, NOOO!" Roy Stockman
glared at the magazine rack, his rage barely contained. He had seen
the news and her father's press conference but wasn’t certain until
now. He grabbed the magazine off the rack and gaped at the cover
picture, a slender girl of about eighteen with long black hair and
sharp blue eyes. "It can't be." He swore and mumbled under his
breath, drawing unwanted attention from onlookers and store
clerks.

He purchased the magazine, left the store,
and drove home to an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town, away
from inquisitive eyes and nosy neighbors. The place was falling
apart but he didn't care; it suited his needs. How in hell had the
girl survived? He didn't really have to ask. She was different from
the others. She’d never been completely broken.

Now she was back and he couldn't let her
start talking. If she talked to the cops about him and what he'd
done, it would cost him everything. Batting a fly from in front of
his face, he settled onto a hard kitchen chair and lit a cigarette.
The smoke snaked through the dimly lit room, streaks of afternoon
sunlight streaming in thin strips through the dusty blinds.

He thumbed through the article in Real Life
Magazine. The girl had survived the elements in the Northwest High
Country eating plants and catching fish bare-handed. He laughed out
loud; entertained by a sense of pride in the one he'd called his
own so long ago. I made her strong, he mused. She never would have
survived if I hadn't thickened her skin.

There was nothing in the article about how
the girl had come to be on the mountain. Could it be that she’d
forced herself to forget him? More likely, she was just waiting to
betray him. Either way, she had to die.

He exhaled a stream of smoke that clouded the
lovely face of the young girl sitting on top of a large boulder,
cross-legged and smiling. He closed the magazine and studied the
front cover. Her blue eyes glared triumphantly back at him. A
chilling rage crept through him.

She had run, and that was not allowed. He
would find her and she would be punished. A niggle of excitement
curled into his gut at the thought of a hunt. His fingers itched
with the idea of taking her again.

He noted the credit for the story went to a
Justin Spencer, who promised weekly installments of the girl's
experiences. He could use that to track her movements. Yes, he
would watch and wait, and when the time was right, he would have
her again. He'd never taken one this old, but she was just a stick
of a girl. It will be easy, he concluded, as he traced the outline
of her face on the page.

A soft whimper from down the hall drew his
attention. A smile slid into place. He’d have to make room for
another houseguest.

Truth Be Told

Despite the steamy heat of June in the South,
the large house was constantly kept cool by the air-conditioning—an
amenity Brinn wasn’t sure she could fully appreciate. The chill
that resided deep in her bones seemed impossible to escape.

The only relief seemed to come when she’d
found the blessing of a hot shower. Each time she stepped under the
torrents of prickling hot water that turned her skin rosy pink, and
then as red as an azalea blossom, she basked in the feeling of
warmth that seeped into her body—standing there long after any
possible speck of dirt could remain. The smell of grime and the
feel of dirtiness she’d carried for so long sank in swirls down the
drain beneath her feet. She was left with a feeling of freshness
that brought soothing relief to her soul.

Having a soft mattress with clean sheets was
a close second. In spite of all the comforts of her new home, she
was restless and spent as much time as possible out of doors. When
she wandered the woods behind the house, she found interesting
plants to add to meals, and decorated every dish with edible
pansies, nasturtium or citrus blossoms. She sat for hours on the
boulder that edged the woods, enjoying the shade and reading books
from her parents’ vast library—all the while trying to ignore the
two plainclothes guards that patrolled the property. Even the
beautiful surroundings couldn’t make her forget that her life was
not yet her own.

If her freedom felt tenuous, at least she was
well dressed. Simply by picking pictures off the computer screen,
within a few days her closet and dresser were filled with dozens of
new outfits. Brinn never imagined there were so many types of
shoes, shorts, blouses, and underwear. And even though she still
preferred her boots or bare feet, she had to admit that sneakers
were very comfortable. Her mother seemed determined to make up for
all the things Brinn had never had. The clothes were nice, but most
importantly, she had her family back.

In a short few weeks, her ribs no longer felt
hard and hollow, thanks to the abundance of available food. The
refrigerator and cupboards seemed to have an endless supply of new
and interesting meals right at her fingertips. She was beginning to
feel at home, despite the underlying fear that continued to keep
her up at night staring out at the dark woods, waiting and
watching. Her life on the mountain and the safety she felt there
drifted further away as the days passed.

The police had interviewed her several times,
but she’d only remembered the first name, Roy, and had only been
able to describe the house he’d kept her in since it was where
she’d spent most of her time. He hadn’t let her out often. After
repeated attempts to draw a picture of her captor, she gave up,
brought to tears of frustration. Even the police sketch artist had
not been able to stir her memory with questions about his features.
The face that haunted her dreams was now a blank, dark, shadow.

Whenever her parents asked about the man who
had taken her from Piedmont Park on that hot August day ten years
before, she disappeared inside herself.

If you ever tell, I’ll kill you. I’ll kill
everyone you love.

She wanted him caught, but his voice in her
head came back sharp and clear. He would know if she told. She’d
worked so hard to block out his presence in her mind. The memories
were returning in flashes and nightmares, yet the features of his
face eluded her.

Whatever information she’d given, it wasn’t
enough. The investigation was stalled and Brinn’s father was
getting impatient. He kept pushing her to remember more details. He
needed her help to identify the man and put him away. Her mother,
in contrast, held her and told her it was okay. She didn’t have to
talk about it if she wasn’t ready. The therapist, Dr. Carlson, said
it would take time. She recommended that Brinn see her once or
twice a week for a little while. Maybe it would help to talk to
someone who wasn’t family.

When her mother had to return to work as
Chief of Pediatric Oncology, Brinn could see the struggle in her
eyes. Her parents had tried to hire a full-time bodyguard, but
Brinn refused. The perimeter guards were bad enough. Uniformed
officers knew to keep a subtle distance from the house but cruisers
would pass by the house every hour. To appease her parents, Brinn
agreed to keep the security system activated whenever she was home
alone.

∞∞∞

"Are you sure Justin is coming over today?
Will you be all right here alone until he comes?" Her mother
fretted and fussed, not wanting to let Brinn out of her sight. Her
parents had given her a cell phone with their work and private
numbers programmed in, so she could reach them anytime, anywhere.
“Make sure you lock the doors and set the alarm.”

"Yes, Mama, I'll be fine. I won't be alone
for long. Justin will be here by lunchtime." She grinned and kissed
her mother’s cheek. Calling her “Mama” was getting easier, but it
made her feel like a child, and she did it more for her mother’s
benefit. The name never failed to bring a happy smile to the
woman’s face. As much as she was enjoying getting to know her
parents again, Brinn felt suffocated and lost. She missed the
freedom of the mountains.

Being with Justin was entirely different. It
had taken a few days, but his repeated apologies and genuine look
of contrition were enough to make her realize he hadn’t intended
her harm. He’d made a terrible mistake and was determined to make
it up to her.

“
You forgive him because
that’s what friends do.” Talking with Abby had reminded her how
important friendship was. She too, had begged forgiveness for her
terrible error in judgment. Brinn didn’t want to lose her two
closest friends because of stubbornly holding on to mistrust. And
Justin was a true friend. At least that’s what her heart kept
saying.

There was a calm about him that attracted her
like a bee to a flower. His familiar scent and gentle touch never
ceased to give her comfort. Whenever sadness threatened to ooze up
from down deep, Justin’s smile warmed her in places she hadn’t
known existed. Her heart grew bigger, her stomach fluttered, and
her body heated to combustible temperatures. He drew her out of the
protective shell she’d clung to. She thought back to a conversation
they’d shared a few days before.

She ran her finger along the small white line
that split his dark brow. “How did you get that scar?”

Justin’s expression went blank and then his
face darkened. “I was twelve. I was trying to pull my father off of
my mother and he shoved me. I fell and hit the edge of the counter.
It was worth the eight stitches to stop him.”

Brinn frowned and touched the faded crease
along his right cheekbone. “What about this one?”

“
That was a fist.” He
smiled ruefully. “I was sixteen, then. I tried fighting him like a
man. He knocked me on my ass.”

“
I’m sorry,
Justin.”

He took her hand in his and met her solemn
gaze. “Don’t be. I survived, and it’s made me who I am today.”

“
I wish I could feel the
same way about what happened to me.”

“
You will. Give it time.”
He kissed her cheek tenderly and for that moment, she believed
there could be a life beyond her past.

Her feelings for Justin grew stronger each
day. Being close to him made her want to open up to him and feel
his strong arms around her. Though desire brought a confusing mix
of fear and shame with it, she couldn’t deny the overpowering pull
to spend more time with him. Justin had stopped his daily visits
since Charlene had added to his workload with new assignments.
After a day or two apart, Brinn missed him terribly. He said he
wanted to give her time to adjust to being home with her family,
but each time they parted, she was left with a hollow ache in her
heart.

She looked at the clock again. Justin was
bringing Cody to have lunch with them. The two had become friends
when Cody and Justin’s brother Steve served together in the
Marines. Cody had been in Afghanistan with Steve, and was home on a
medical leave for a while. Justin didn't confide the details, but
Brinn had the feeling that Cody had been through a bad time too. He
had come for dinner with Justin on a few occasions, and other than
the smoky smell of him, Brinn had come to like the young man and
his sarcastic wit. He made Brinn laugh, and was therefore, a
welcomed addition to the family.

Remembering that her mother had mentioned her
old things up in the room above the garage, Brinn stared at the
electronic keypad next to the kitchen door. Justin would be here
any time. She was safe here, she reminded herself. The man wouldn’t
dare try to get to her with the house guarded so closely. And her
therapist told her that being around her old things might help her
deal with her memories. Brinn let out a slow breath. Seeing her
childhood things might give her comfort or they might stir more
memories. Either way, the past was waiting for her at the top of
those stairs.