In Silence

CHAPTER 12

Hunter stared at his computer screen, the things he'd written swimming before his eyes. Mocking him. With a sound of disgust he hit the delete button and watched as the cursor ate one letter after another until nothing was left but the blank page.

How could he write when the words filling his head were ones he had flung at Avery? How could he envision his characters when her image crowded his mind? Her hurt expression. The accusation in her eyes.

She had looked at him as if he were some sort of monster.

Dammit! Hunter pushed away from the desk and stood. At the kitchen door, Sarah whined to go out. The dog had been antsy and agitated all evening-much as he himself had been.

He ignored her and made his way through the apartment and to the office in front. Empty, dark save for the blinking message light on his answer machine, he recalled the space as it had been: filled with the scent and color of flowers. Now it smelled as colorless as it looked. Like blank paper and law books.

He crossed to the front window and peered out at the dark street. From this vantage point he could see Gallagher's roof, one block over. They were all at Phillip's wake, he thought. His mother and father. Cherry. Matt. Most likely the entire town.

That's the kind of town this was.

He had figured Avery wouldn't care to see him. And he sure as hell hadn't wanted to see the Stevens clan. He wasn't certain he would have been able to hold his tongue.

And the last thing Avery needed was a confrontation.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Phillip. What a mess. Dammit.

Hunter dropped his hands, acknowledging grief. Frustration. Truth was, he longed to be there. Longed to pay his respects to a man he had always admired. One who had become his friend. And who he now missed.

Some might have considered their friendship unusual, he supposed. After all, their ages had been separated by thirty years. But they'd had loneliness in common. Feelings of alienation. And a tremendous amount of history.

History that had included Avery.

Yeah, great. Avery. Some send-off for his friend. Ringing accusations at her. Hitting her where she was most vulnerable. Where she was already hurting.

She had called him hateful. And cruel.

Maybe she was right, he thought. Most probably she was.

What was it about him? Why was everything always black or white? Why couldn't he swallow his thoughts? Blur his personal line just a little? And who the hell was he to think he owned the high moral ground?

Everything he touched turned to shit.

Hunter glanced over his shoulder, toward the apartment. He longed for a drink. He needed one. The need clawed at him. He pictured himself walking to the kitchen, selecting the immediate poison of choice and drinking until he no longer possessed the ability to question the course of his life.

Drink to the point where he felt little but cynical amusement when someone he cared about called him hateful and cruel.

He swallowed hard against the urge. Wallowing instead in the pain. His anger and frustration. His feelings of loss. For they were real. Authentic. As much a part of life as breathing.

Never again, he promised himself, fisting his fingers. Never again would he anesthetize himself to life's highs and lows.

Sarah pawed at the kitchen door, then woofed softly. Hunter turned in that direction. She hadn't been out that long ago. Or had she? When he worked, he lost track of both time and the mundane details of life.

He exited the office and made his way to the kitchen. The dog whined. "Okay, girl." He grabbed the leash from the hook, snapped it to her collar and opened the door. She leaped forward, dragging him through the door and into the alley before he got a firm grip on the lead.

When he did, he yanked hard on it. Sarah heeled.

"What's up with you?" Hunter bent and scratched behind her ears. Instead of sinking on her haunches and sagging against him in grateful ecstasy, she stayed at attention, muscles taut. Quivering.

He frowned and turned his gaze in the direction of hers-the narrow, dark alley. "What is it, Sarah? What's wrong?"

She growled, low in her throat. The fur along the ridge of her back stood up.

"Anyone there?" he called.

Silence answered. He squinted at the darkness ahead, working to make out details, differentiate shape from shadow. Wishing for Sarah's acute sense of smell and hearing. He called out once more. Again, without answer.

Wondering at the wisdom of what he was about to do, he eased his grip slightly. The dog charged forward. Or tried to. He held her back, forcing her to proceed slowly, giving his eyes time to adjust to the dark.

As they reached the middle point of the alley, she angled right. Her growl deepened. Hunter drew back on the leash, struggling to hold her. The dog's muscles bunched and rippled as she fought him, digging in with each step.

Produce crates, he saw. A stack of them sent askew. From the Piggly Wiggly around front. And tipped trash barrels, discarded bakery and deli items spewing out into the alleyway. Sarah began to bark. Not a high, shrill bark of excitement, but a fierce one. Deep, threatening.

"Sarah," he chided, "all this over a little spoiled chow?" He bent and thumped her side. "Or is the possum or coon that made this mess still hanging around?"

The sound of his voice did little to comfort her. As he moved to straighten, something peeking out from under the pile of crates and boxes caught his eye.

An animal's tail. No wonder Sarah was going bonkers. The creature that caused this messed had gotten itself trapped under one of the tipped crates. It could be hurt, maybe dead.

He glanced around, looking for something he could use to move the crates. No way was he about to use his hand. Cornered creatures defended themselves ferociously. Especially when hurt.

He spotted a broom propped in the opposite doorway. He retrieved it, then wedged its handle through the crate's wooden slats and tipped it up. His stomach rose to his throat. He took a step backward, Sarah's frenzied barking ringing in his ears.

Not an animal's tail. Human hair.

The woman it belonged to stared up at him, face screwed into a death howl.