Three (Count to Ten Book 3) Page 7

“What did he look like?” Xavier tried not to hold his breath as he waited to see if the description of Garton and Erica Landers’ attacker matched Ricky Preston.

  “Tall, dark hair, blue eyes I think,” Garton replied. “I'm sorry, I wasn’t paying much attention to him.”

  The description matched Ricky. “What did the man do?” Xavier prodded.

  “He held something sharp to my neck, and he woke up Erica. When she saw me tied up she went to scream, but he told her he’d hurt me if she did. He cut my neck to prove his point.” Garton’s hand strayed to his neck where a white bandage had been taped.

  Xavier waited silently for the man to continue.

  “I wanted Erica to run,” Garton spoke at last. “I didn’t care about me; I just didn’t want him to hurt her. I tried to break free, but I couldn’t. She told me it would be okay, that maybe if we did what he wanted he wouldn’t hurt us. But we both knew it was a lie. We both knew he was going to kill us. He threw her some ropes and told her to tie herself up. Once she’d tied up her ankles, he went to her and tied her wrists, then added some duct tape.”

  Garton’s pause was longer this time. “And then?” Xavier finally prompted when it became clear Garton didn’t want to say more.

  Devastated green eyes looked over at him. “He took off his clothes and raped her. I totally lost it. I just saw red. I tried so desperately to get free, but all I could do was tip the chair to the floor.” One hand absently rubbed his head where a large lump had formed, the other rubbed his shoulder. “Erica was crying, begging him not to do it. I can still hear her voice in my head. When will that go away?” The man’s voice bloomed with childlike vulnerability.

  “I don’t know,” Xavier answered honestly. “I know this is hard, Garton, but I need you to keep going.”

  Garton sucked in a shuddering breath, then continued. “When he was done, he sat my chair back up and picked up an axe. He hit Erica. Over and over and over again. There was blood everywhere.”

  “Did the man do anything in the blood?” Xavier asked.

  “He looked at it like it fascinated him, and he walked around and around the room for ages after.”

  That sounded exactly like Ricky Preston. “What happened next?”

  “He left,” Garton said flatly. “I tried for hours to get free. When I did I wanted to hold her, but…but I couldn’t.” He had that faraway look in his eyes. “I called for help, but what was the point? Erica was beyond help.”

  He needed to keep Garton engaged just a little longer, so he asked, “Had you ever seen the man anywhere before?”

  Garton gave a slight shake of his head.

  “Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt you or Erica?”

  “No, of course not.” Garton looked horrified that he should even suggest such a thing.

  “Why don’t you go back to your parents’ house?” Xavier suggested. The broken man shouldn’t be alone right now. “They want to help you.”

  “But they can’t,” Garton murmured distractedly. “I need to be here. I need to be close to Erica.”

  “Do you want me to stay with you for a while?” Xavier offered. He was meant to meet with the Landers’ next-door neighbor in a few minutes, but he could postpone.

  “Thanks,” Garton shot him a weak smile, “but I need to be alone.”

  “All right,” Xavier agreed reluctantly. “Here’s my card.” He pulled one of his cards from his pocket and jotted his cell phone number on the back. “My number is on here; please call me if you need anything…anything at all.”

  Garton took the card with a shaking hand, then resumed his silent study of the house. Xavier climbed out of the car, and with a last look at the lost man inside, he headed for the house to the left of the Landers.

  Rapping on the front door, it was opened almost immediately by a short lady, leaning heavily on a cane, who looked to be in her late eighties. “Mrs. Ruffus?”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “Detective Montague?”

  “Yes,” he nodded back. “May I come in?”

  She nodded absently, her gaze on Garton Landers’ car. “Is he all right?”

  He followed her gaze, then answered, “As well as can be expected.”

  “Should we leave him there alone?”

  “I think he needs some time to himself. I’ll check on him before I leave,” Xavier assured the old lady.

  “All right.” Mrs. Ruffus took a step back and held the door open wider. “Please come in.”

  Xavier walked behind her down a dark, dusty hallway and into a large, cluttered lounge room. The elderly lady sunk into an overstuffed armchair with a sigh, propping one leg up on an ottoman.

  “Arthritis,” she explained. “I was laid up yesterday when an officer came to the door. Besides, I wanted to talk with the detective who’d be working the case. I didn’t realize they’d send me a cute one,” she winked.

  He smiled back. “Did you know the Landers well?” Xavier asked.

  “Not really.” Mrs. Ruffus picked up a pair of glasses from a small table beside her chair and fiddled with them. “They’d only moved in a few months ago; last August, I think. I'd talk to Erica sometimes while I was out getting the mail. She was a teacher, so she was home sometimes in the afternoon. And Garton would occasionally mow my lawns for me when my grandsons were too busy to do it. They were both so sweet.” Tears misted her eyes. “When we had that big snowstorm a few weeks ago, Erica sent Garton over to check on me to make sure I was okay.”

  Xavier gave her an encouraging smile. “Did you see anything that night, Mrs. Ruffus?”

  “Yes, I did.” She gave him a firm nod.

  He perked up; he was beginning to think the old lady had asked for him to come merely to give her some much-needed company. “What did you see?”

  “I saw a man,” she told him. “He was tall, with dark hair, and he looked like he was wet.”

  Confused, he asked, “How could you tell he was wet?”

  “There was a bright moon that night. His skin was too…” She seemed to search for the right word. “Too shiny,” she finished.

  “His skin?”

  “He was naked,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “In January?” Xavier couldn’t help but shudder. It was ice cold out during the day, let alone at night.

  She chuckled. “Only telling you what I saw, sonny.”

  “What time did you see him?”

  “Mmm, around four,” she replied. “I couldn’t sleep. Insomnia. I was in the kitchen making some warm milk. I was staring out the window while I waited for the kettle to boil. Gave me a shock when I saw that man walking through Erica and Garton Landers’ backyard.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  She hesitated, and her wrinkled face turned bright red. “I thought he was an invited guest.”

  “An invited guest?” he repeated, puzzled.

  She avoided making eye contact. “They like…sex, those two. I hear them sometimes. Our houses are close together, and sometimes they leave the window open. I thought maybe they were into something kinky.” Her devastated brown eyes met his. “It was the killer though, wasn’t it?”

  He was unable to lie to her even though he was desperate to ease the old woman’s guilt. “Yes, I think it was, Mrs. Ruffus. Do you think you could work with a sketch artist and give us a better description of him?”

  “I don’t see too good these days, and it was night.” She looked doubtful. Then she straightened her spine, “But I’ll do my best.”

  “Was the man carrying anything with him?”

  She thought for a moment. “A bag, I think.”

  “Did you see him get into a car?”

  She shook her head. “He disappeared into the garage, but I didn’t see him leave. The kettle boiled and I made my milk and took it up to bed. I assumed he’d parked in there so no one would see him leave.”

  He probably had, only not for the reason Mrs. Ruffus had assumed. “Had you seen this man, or anyo
ne else, hanging around the Landers’ house recently?”

  “No, nothing unusual, and I'm always here. Too old to go out these days,” she added ruefully.

  “I'm going to have an officer come and pick you up and take you to the station to work with a sketch artist. Is that all right?”

  “If he’s as good-looking as you are, then it’s fine by me.” Her grin was back.

  “Can I get you anything before I go, Mrs. Ruffus?”

  “No, thank you, dear; I’ll be fine. I’m just going to take a nap while I wait for your officer to come and get me.”

  He passed her his card. “Please call me if you think of anything else.”

  “Of course.” Her hand lingered on his. “When you find this man…” She trailed off. When she looked back at him, her eyes were fierce. “He doesn’t deserve to live.”

  Xavier couldn’t agree more.

  * * * * *

  2:57 P.M.

  Annabelle left the bathroom light on as she walked back into the bedroom. The bedroom light was on, too. Practically every light in the house was on even though it was only three o'clock in the afternoon. And despite the fact that she hadn't left the bedroom since Xavier went to work.

  As soon as Xavier had gotten a call about a case and left her, albeit extremely reluctantly, she had headed straight for bed. Xavier had wanted to call someone to come and stay with her, but there was no one to call. She didn’t have any friends, only acquaintances, and none that she’d spent time with since her family was killed.

  Xavier had tried hard to slot her into his life, encouraging her to spend time with his friends; in particular, his ex-partner Kate. But Annabelle wasn’t comfortable with Kate. She liked Kate and her husband and their adorable baby, even if she’d only met the baby once. But being around people was too hard right now. She’d never been good with anyone over the age of five before she’d been assaulted and nearly killed; but now, even just the thought of being around people brought on a panic attack.

  What was wrong with her?

  Was she ever going to get better?

  Could she ever learn how to trust people?

  Xavier was positive that she could. But that was probably just wishful thinking on his part.

  Annabelle didn’t think she’d ever trusted anyone. At least she hadn’t since she was four years old. Something had happened to her when she was four. She couldn’t quite remember what it was. She knew she’d been hurt, but all she remembered was a dark room, screaming, and a man with a scary face.

  After the police had taken her home, everything had been different.

  Her parents had been different.

  They’d become cold and distant, and she’d thought it was her fault—her fault that they didn’t love her anymore.

  Xavier kept telling her that it was probably because they felt so guilty about her being hurt that they hadn't known how to deal with it and emotionally pulled away.

  Annabelle didn’t believe him, though.

  And there was no way for him to prove it to her by getting her parents to say it because her parents were dead now.

  Some days Annabelle wished she was dead, too.

  Some days she wished that Ricky had killed her along with the rest of her family. And some days she wished that Xavier hadn't found her in time and she’d died in the basement.

  It was so hard. Moving on. Moving forward. Continuing with life. Making herself climb out of bed each morning. Making herself go through the motions. While all the while she was waiting. Waiting for the fear to recede to a manageable level. Waiting for her nightmares to stop plaguing her sleep each night. Waiting for panic to stop plaguing her every waking second. Waiting for her life to get better.

  Sometimes she thought of killing herself.

  She didn’t really want to, but it seemed like the easier option.

  Surely death would be better than this living nightmare she was trapped in.

  She’d nearly attempted it once.

  About a month after she had moved in to Xavier’s house, he’d been out at a counseling session and she had been home alone. She was so tired of jumping at every tiny noise—so tired in general. All she wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep. But sleep was no good, either. It was just reliving everything Ricky had done to her repeatedly. She had taken out her bottle of sleeping pills and contemplated swallowing the entire lot. She had even taken them out and held them in her hand. She had been about to start taking them when Xavier had arrived home.

  It terrified Annabelle that she didn’t know what she would have done if Xavier hadn't come home when he did.

  There had been no more attempts since that day.

  But Annabelle knew she couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t be tempted to try it again.

  If it wasn’t for Xavier, she would probably have done it already.

  Xavier was her lifeline.

  He was literally the only thing that kept her sane.

  She loved him so much.

  She just wished she could be sure that he loved her the same way.

  It wasn’t Xavier’s fault that she couldn’t truly believe that he could love her forever. It was hers. She believed he loved her. It was just that she was sure that he would have to get tired of her eventually. She doubted him because of his complicated relationship with his ex-wife, Julia. And that niggling little bit of doubt annoyed her.

  Annabelle hated herself for doubting Xavier when he had done nothing but help and support her every step of the way. He had opened up about himself and talked about how his childhood had left him feeling alone. Xavier’s parents had both been married to other people when he was conceived. And while they had shared custody and he had had two families to shower him with love, he had still always felt alone. Knowing that she was self-conscious about her unusual eyes, he had stopped wearing the hazel contact lens over his green eye, so that his heterochromia was now obvious to everyone who met him. And he’d admitted to her that his real name was Romeo Montague, and that he’d started going by his middle name Xavier around the time he entered high school because he hated all the Romeo and Juliet jokes. He talked to her about himself to try and make her feel more comfortable about opening up about herself. And yet she still held back.

  She knew Xavier’s love for her was unconditional, so why couldn’t she shake that niggling doubt?

  Xavier kept telling her that there was no timeline for recovering from trauma. However, that wasn’t what Annabelle wanted to hear. She wanted Xavier to give her a date—a date when she would magically recover and be able to live her life like a normal person. She could deal with anything if she knew it wasn’t forever. If she knew, she just had to hold on until a certain date, and then all her pain and fear and lingering doubts would all just disappear as though they’d never existed in the first place.

  Because what Annabelle was most afraid of was that this would be how she would live the rest of her life—stuck in an endless nightmare with no escape route.

  She wasn’t sure she could do it.

  * * * * *

  4:08 P.M.

  Xavier couldn’t take his eyes off the picture he held in his hands.

  It was Garton and Erica Landers on their wedding day. Erica was dressed in a simple white cotton dress; Garton in a white shirt and black pants. Their arms were entwined around each other’s necks, their beaming smiles aimed directly at the camera. They were young and in love with their whole lives ahead of them. Until someone had decided to cut those bright futures short.

  The smiling couple in the picture contrasted so violently with the couple now. Visions of Erica’s destroyed body ran through his mind. The unnaturally white skin, the vacant eyes, the tape over her mouth, the limp blonde hair stained dark red with blood. There was no resemblance between the dead woman at the Landers’ house and the beautiful woman in the photo. If Xavier hadn't known they were one and the same, he would never have believed it.

  Garton, too, looked nothing like the grinning man holding his new w
ife on his wedding day. He had grown old in the last forty-eight hours. Old and drawn. The man Xavier had sat with in the car hours earlier seemed thinner; his skin more wrinkled. His eyes, which had once shone with life and excitement, were now extinguished. They were lifeless. Just like his wife’s. Garton may have survived the attack, but he would never recover from it. He would always bear the scars. And emotional scars ran so much deeper than physical ones.

  Unfortunately, Xavier knew all about that.

  Annabelle still bore the scars of what she’d been through.

  The physical scars from whatever happened to her as a child, and the new one on her shoulder from Ricky’s attack eight months ago, had faded. But her psychological scars were still bright red and angry. It was rare for Annabelle to sleep through the night. She still jumped at every little noise during the day. She lived in constant fear that Ricky would return for her.

  What hurt Xavier the most, though, was that she still didn’t completely trust him. She trusted him to keep her safe. She trusted him to look after her. She trusted that he loved her. But try as she might, or try as he might to convince her, she couldn’t trust that he would never leave her.

  He knew that, in part, it was his fault. Admitting that part of him would always love his ex-wife, Julia, had allowed Annabelle to believe that his feelings might return if Julia were ever to come to him needing his help. It still hurt, though. He had been right beside her, holding her hand, every step of the way. He so desperately wanted her to believe in him. To be able to let go of the doubts that she had. To just clear her mind and allow it to trust him. To allow him to help her carry the load of emotional baggage that she seemed determined to shoulder alone.

  Annabelle’s parents had messed her up. He was sure he was right when he kept telling Annabelle that the distance they’d created between them and her after her childhood abduction had more to do with them and their guilt than it did anything to do with her. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to convince her of this, since her parents were dead. Maybe it would help if Annabelle could remember what had happened to her. But she had locked the memories away so tightly it was like they didn’t even exist anymore.