Down the Darkest Road

31

Did you miss me?

Lauren clutched the note so hard her hands began to tremble. She couldn’t breathe. Her emotions were like a trio of whips striking her, one, then the next, then the next. Over and over and over.

She was upset. She was angry. She was frightened.

Did you miss me?

It upset her that he could so easily reach out and, with four simple words, make her blood run cold. It made her angry he had that kind of power over her. And it frightened her that there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

What was she supposed to do? Call Mendez? And tell him what? Someone had left a note in her mailbox? She couldn’t prove Ballencoa had left it. It was ridiculous to think he would be so foolish as to leave something with his fingerprints on it. And what if he had? It wasn’t a threat. What could Mendez do? Arrest him for not using a stamp on the envelope?

She could call Greg Hewitt and hire him back to watch over her. An idea she rejected immediately, mortified at the idea of facing him again.

She was upset. She was angry. She was frightened.

Did you miss me?

How had he found her here? Only a few people had this address. She had been vague with the few people she had told about the move to Oak Knoll. She had said they needed a change of scenery, but that they hadn’t settled, didn’t have a permanent location, weren’t sure when they would be coming back. She had alienated so many of her former friends, none had pressed her for details. For a certainty, they had been relieved to have her gone.

How had Roland Ballencoa known? When had he seen her? When had he followed her? Had he followed her home from the shooting range? How could she not have known? How could she not have seen him? How could she not have sensed he was there? There was one road to this property. If someone had followed her . . . Mendez had followed her that day and she hadn’t noticed.

He was out there. For all she knew, he was watching her this minute. It was one thing for her to know where he lived. It was quite another for him to know where she lived—where she and Leah lived.

Did you miss me?

She dropped the note as if touching it was somehow making a connection to him, as if the card was made of his skin.

She felt desperate in every way she could imagine.

And she was on her own to deal with it.

Once again she thought of Lance. The pain of not having him with her was like a knife to her heart, but instead of blood, hot fury boiled out of the wound.

How could you leave me to this? How could you leave Leah? You should be the one dealing with this evil monster, not me.

“God damn you, Lance,” she whispered bitterly. Doubled over, elbows on her thighs, she put her head in her hands. “God damn you. Why couldn’t you stay and fight? Why couldn’t you fight for us?”

The tears that came burned her eyes like acid. The pressure of them made her feel like her head would burst. She was too exhausted to try to hold them back. Now was when she would have given anything to have a pair of strong arms around her, to have a broad shoulder to lean on, to have someone tell her she would be safe and Leah would be safe, and he would take care of everything.

She was so tired of having to be strong.

Now was when she was supposed to ask for help. Now was when she should have called Mendez and let him fill the role of protector. Now was when she could have called Bump Bristol and allowed him to ride over the mountains to her rescue. Now was when she might have once again made use of Greg Hewitt, the only man she’d slept with in two years—if she could have brought herself to face him.

She was so tired. She couldn’t remember the last decent sleep she’d had this week. It was taking a toll on her mentally and physically. Yet she knew there would be no rest tonight either. An overwhelming sense of despair and panic crashed over her at the thought.

As futile as it was to ask, the question still pounded at her: Why? Why? Why?

Why Leslie? Why their family? Why her? Why did it never end? Why could she not let go? Why did she have to feel so guilty for wanting to be done with it?

She was so tired of being upset and angry and frightened. It was exhausting physically, mentally, emotionally. The weight of it pulled on her. Every cell in her body felt filled with lead. She didn’t know how she was able to get up and move around. She didn’t know why she didn’t just fall to the floor.

Because she couldn’t. Because there wasn’t anyone else to do her job. She had to get up. She had to do what she had to do. She had to make sure the house was secure and they were safe from their unwanted watcher.

Did you miss me?

She got up and went to the console table, to her purse, and took the Walther out. The gun felt unusually heavy in her hand. She didn’t know if she had the strength to raise her arm with it, yet she went to the kitchen door with it to check the locks again. She checked the locks on the doors, the locks on the windows.

She almost expected to see Ballencoa staring in at her through the glass. In her mind’s eye she could see him standing right outside, his long narrow face expressionless, his heavy-lidded eyes as black and empty as the night.

Was he there? Or was she imagining things and telling herself they were real? Or was he really there, and she was trying to convince herself she was imagining things? How would she know either way? Her mind swam in the conundrum.

Her heart beat faster as she made the rounds of the house again, checking every door, every window. He might be circling the house. He might be circling the house one door ahead of her. He could be standing inside the last door as she came to it.

Did you miss me, Lauren?

She could hear his voice as if he was right beside her, whispering the words in her ear, his mouth so close the heat of his breath scalded her skin.

She bent her head and shrugged her shoulder against her neck, trying to wipe away the moisture.

Did you miss me, Lauren?

“You bastard.”

No?

“No. I didn’t miss you. I miss the beautiful daughter you took away from me. I miss the husband I loved like he was a part of my own heart. I miss the family I will never have again because of you. I miss me.”

You missed me. You want me. That’s why you’re here.

“I didn’t miss you,” she said bitterly. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

She wanted him to be gone. She wanted him to be dead. She raised her arm, pointed the gun at his chest, and pulled the trigger.

The explosion she should have heard sounded like her daughter’s voice crying: MOM!

“MOM!”

Leslie. Leslie was calling for her. Her daughter needed her.

“Where is she?” she demanded. “Where is she, damn you!”

He looked past her with his blank eyes as a slow, reptilian smile turned the corners of his mouth. Was it a trick?

She turned suddenly, arm still raised, gun in hand.

“MOMMY, NO!!”

Leah.

The look on her daughter’s face was horrified, stricken, lost. Her own mother had just turned on her with a loaded weapon.

Leah woke to the sound of her mother’s shouts—I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!

Terrified, she came awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, her heart banging against the wall of her chest like a huge fist.

Who was in the house? Who was her mother fighting with? What was she supposed to do? Should she call 911 ? Should she get out of the house? Should she run downstairs and try to do something ?

She ran to the head of the stairs and listened, straining to hear over the roaring of her pulse in her ears. She held her breath, her hands pressed over her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.

She expected to hear another voice shouting. She expected to hear a man’s voice. The man who had taken Leslie, maybe. But Leah couldn’t make out the other voice. Then her mother shouted again: “Where is she?”

Where is who? She had to be talking about Leslie, and that meant she had to be yelling at Roland Ballencoa.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!

The tears spilled over her lashes and down her cheeks. She still didn’t hear another voice. Maybe they were on the phone. If her mother was on the phone, then they weren’t in any danger.

There was only one way to find out.

Fighting her fear, Leah made her way cautiously down the stairs. The sun was coming up, giving everything in the house a strange gray-yellow cast. Her heart was in her throat.

“Where is she, damn you!” her mother shouted.

No one answered. Who would she be on the phone with at this hour? That didn’t make sense.

“Mom?” she asked, her voice tentative and not loud enough to be heard in the next room. Her mouth was dry as dust as she tiptoed across the dining room.

Boom, boom, boom her heart throbbed in her ears.

She peered around the doorway into the great room. She couldn’t see anybody—not her mother, not Roland Ballencoa. The room was empty.

Confused, she took a step into the room, then another.

“Mom?”

Suddenly her mother came up off the sofa like some fierce wild animal, the look on her face terrifying, one arm outstretched in front of her. She stared at Leah like she had never seen her before.

Leah screamed and jumped back. “MOMMY, NO!!”

As if she was coming out of a spell, her mother blinked several times quickly. At first she looked disoriented, then suddenly aware of her surroundings.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. She looked down at her hands, expecting to see something that wasn’t there. “Oh my God,” she murmured again, pressing a hand to her chest. She was breathing hard. Tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Leah moved toward her then. Her heart was still fluttering like a trapped bird beneath her ribs. “Are you all right? I heard you yelling. I came downstairs. I didn’t know what to think.”

“I guess I was dreaming,” her mother said. She looked sick. She was pasty white and sweating. The loose gray T-shirt she wore was soaked down the chest as if she’d been working out for hours. She raked her hair back from her face with both hands and sank back down on the sofa in a way that made Leah think she didn’t have the strength to continue to stand.

“Are you okay?” Leah asked again.

Her mother nodded and tried to smile, and patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit, sweetheart. I need to tell you something.”

Leah was instantly afraid all over again. That sentence never came before good news. It was always followed by something terrible.

We need to tell you something: Your sister is missing. We think somebody took her . . .

I need to tell you something: Daddy had a car accident. It was really bad . . .

It seemed to take her forever to get to the sofa. Her knees didn’t want to bend so she could sit down.

“Leah,” her mother began. “The man who took Leslie . . . He’s here.”

Leah’s stomach did a backflip. She jerked her head around, expecting to see him.

“Not here in the house,” her mother corrected herself, patting Leah’s hand. Her fingers were like icicles. She was still breathing hard, as if she had been running. “He’s here in Oak Knoll. He’s living here.”

Leah didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know whether she should be afraid or angry or what. Why was he here? Had he followed them here? Why couldn’t he just fall off the earth? Why couldn’t he just die? She would never understand why the police couldn’t have put him in prison. Everyone believed he had taken Leslie. Most everyone believed he had killed her.

“I’m telling you because I want you to be aware, sweetheart,” her mother said. “I want you to be careful. If you see him, don’t go near him. Go to the nearest adult and tell them. Call me. Call nine-one-one. The sheriff’s office knows about him.”

“Why is he here? Why does he have to be here?” Leah heard herself say. “It’s not fair!”

She sounded stupid, she thought. She sounded like a stupid little kid, but she couldn’t help it. Roland Ballencoa had ruined their lives in Santa Barbara. Leslie was gone because of him. Daddy had died because of him. They had left Santa Barbara because of him. Now he was here.

“I don’t know, honey,” her mother said.

“Did he follow us here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does he know we’re here?” she asked.

Her mother glanced down at something on the coffee table. Leah’s eyes followed, going wide at the sight of the gun lying there on top of a pile of mail.

“Why is Daddy’s gun here?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.

“I took it out last night,” her mother said. “It needs to be cleaned, but I fell asleep.”

“You’re lying.” The words were out of Leah’s mouth before she even realized she was going to say them. She jumped up from the sofa. “You’re lying! I can tell. Don’t lie to me! I’m not a baby!”

“Leah!”

“You think you’re protecting me, but you’re not!” Leah cried. “All you do is make me feel like I’m some stupid child, like I can’t understand anything that’s happening, and if you lie about it, I’ll just pretend nothing is wrong. But everything is wrong! Everything ! You can’t protect me from that! Leslie’s gone and Daddy’s dead, and—and—you drink too much, and now you have a gun! And you’re scaring me! You scare me! And you don’t care about me at all!”

“Leah, that’s not true!” her mother said. She was on her feet now too. She looked hurt, like Leah had reached out and slapped her. Leah didn’t care.

“Yes, it is!” she argued as all the pent-up emotion came boiling out of her like hot lava. “All you care about is what happened to Leslie, and how terrible life is without Leslie, and now you have Daddy’s gun, and you’re going to kill yourself like Daddy killed himself, and what’s supposed to happen to me? What about me?!”

With that, the last dam burst and all the grief came in a flood of tears. Everything she’d been holding inside her for all this time came crashing like waves dashing themselves on jagged rocks. She fell on the sofa and buried her face in a pillow, sobbing like she might die of it.

She cried for the little sister she had been when Leslie went missing. She cried for the little girl she had been when Daddy had died. She cried for who she was now—a lost, frightened, angry young woman who felt like the only thread holding together what was left of her family was fraying down to nothing.

She would be left alone, with no one. She would be the one punished for what Leslie had done that day when she was supposed to have been grounded and she went to the softball game anyway. She would be punished because she hadn’t called Mom to rat her sister out. She would be punished because she had watched Leslie go and hoped she would get in trouble.

“Leah.”

She heard her mother’s voice. She felt her mother’s hands on her shoulders.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” her mother whispered. “I’m so sorry. I won’t leave you, sweetheart. I promise I won’t ever leave you. I love you so much. I’m so, so sorry.”

Leah turned and buried her face against her mother’s shoulder, sobbing. They held each other, both of them crying, both of them miserable.

Leah wanted to feel comforted, but she didn’t. She wanted to feel safe, but she didn’t. And she still felt alone, and that scared her most of all.