Bound by Blood and Brimstone (47 page)

I opened my mouth to tell him I had no desire to be a miracle, but he stopped me with a

raised, long-fingered hand.

“Now, don’t try to talk just yet. I want you to take it easy on your voice for a bit. Your

trachea is still bruised, and the larynx may not come through for you just now.”

Drawing a chair up to my bed, he sat beside me and recited my list of injuries in gentle

tones. My tumble down the cellar steps had cracked five ribs and broken my right hip. My head

had bounced off the bottom step hard enough to fracture my skull, inducing swelling in my brain.

“We had to bore a couple of holes to relieve some of the pressure, so your hair is going to

look funny for a time, but you’re still the prettiest patient in the hospital,” he teased. The head

injury had brought on convulsions, and they’d feared losing me on the operating table.

I’d flat-lined twice, he told me, perfectly understandable under the trauma I’d sustained,

but all laws of logic and science had been defied as I’d come back from the dead. The broken hip

would heal nicely, but the stab wound to my thigh had left me with severe nerve damage.

“I’m afraid that’s one thing we won’t be able to fix,” he said, his voice taking on an odd

tremor. “You’ll have a permanent limp and lots of arthritis in years to come.”

You hear that, Lorrie Beth? A tiny piece of justice for you, Sis.

News of my ordeal had breached state borders, making headlines all across the country,

he told me. They were calling me “the girl who wouldn’t die.” My brutal attack had been the

worst in West Virginia’s recent memory, flooding our tiny town with hordes of reporters and

journalists.

“They’re nothing but vultures,” he declared with a grimace. “Bloodthirsty slime, feeding

off death and misery. But don’t you worry about that, Miss Ember Mae. We’ve run them out, the

lot of them. They shouldn’t be bothering you after all this time.”
All this time? What does he

mean by “all this time?”

“Now, I know you probably have a lot of questions that need answers,” he said, standing

and taking my hand again lightly, “but those will come in due time. All you need to know for

now is that you’re going to be fine. God only knows how. I never would’ve believed anyone

could heal as quickly as you have. I still don’t understand it. But you’ll walk out of here soon.”

I fought to raise my head to look at him squarely. “My family?” I whispered, gripping his

hand hard.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes filling behind his thick lenses. “You’re the sole

survivor. Sheriff Bates found you on the floor of your cellar, left for dead. He rushed you here as

fast as he could. You’ve been here since. In a coma for three months.”

For hours I was left alone, fighting to get my mind around the fact that I’d lost three

months, when my thoughts were interrupted by a shaky voice calling my name. I opened my

eyes to find Sheriff Bates’ lanky frame hovering over my bed.

“I couldn’t believe it when they called me with the news,” he declared, the familiar grin

splitting his pockmarked face. “I never gave up hope, knowing what a little spitfire you’ve

always been, but still, when I found you like that, well, it’s just unbelievable!”

He pulled up a chair, giving me an awkward pat on the arm, his mismatched eyes moist

as they appraised me for damage. He’d aged ten years since I’d last seen him, his face etched in

new lines, his unruly hair streaked with silver. He kept touching me with his big paws, fidgeting

with my blankets, stroking my hair, as if trying to reassure himself I was, indeed, alive.

“Doc says you’re not up to talking much just yet, but you’re going to be fine, long as you

rest up plenty. He told me he’s ordered counseling, too. Got to heal the mind as well as the body,

I suppose.” I nodded, swallowing the lump in my ravaged throat.

“I don’t want to tire you out more than need be, but I had to come see you, Honey. I have

to talk to you about this thing. You know that, don’t you?” He choked up a little, trying to hide it

with a cough.

Interrogate me, you mean.

“First up, I don’t want you to worry none about Sam. Between Wonnie and me, he’s in

fine hands. He’s been staying at the house during the week. It’ll be closer that way, when he

starts back to school. He’s a brave little sucker, that one. If he hadn’t gotten me to the house as

quickly as he did, well, let’s just say, he probably saved your life.”

Oh, Sam, I wish you hadn’t been so fast.

Abruptly, a ragged sob escaped him, and he thrust trembling hands between his knees,

letting the tears spill over to cascade off the long slope of his face, unashamed for me to see.

“I’m sorry, Honey,” he said in a ragged voice. “So very sorry. I wish I could’ve done something

to stop it, something, anything to save them.”

Seeing him break like that got to me. “Not your fault, Sheriff,” I rasped, reaching to touch

his sleeve. “You did your best.”

He took a deep breath to regain his composure and met my eyes with his steadfast gaze.

“I want you to know this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. One way or another, he’ll pay, even if it

has to be by my own hand.”

I shot him a questioning look, praying he would buy it. “What do you mean?” I

whispered, too weak to strain my voice further.

He looked like he’d just followed Alice down the rabbit hole. Bushy eyebrows shot up

and his mouth gaped. “I mean Reese Watkins, of course. What do
you
mean?”

I tried for a shocked expression and shook my head. He waited for something more, and

when nothing came, fire lit his eyes. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t remember what

happened to you? To Lorrie Beth and your Momma and that little boy?”

Joshua! Oh, dear God, not Joshua, too!
Knowing how important it was not to avert my

eyes, I met his gaze unwaveringly. “No. I don’t remember anything,” I managed.

He began to sputter, stood, sat, and stood again. “No! I don’t believe it! You have to

remember something that horrific! Why, it has to be there somewhere in your head.” He waved

his arms, his hands flopping like wounded birds, his words broken by half sobs.

“The man butchered your family, Ember Mae. Cut their throats! Your mother was

stabbed fifty-six times. Fifty-six! Sweet little Lorrie Beth was cut clear through to her vertebra.

Nearly decapitated, left to drown in her own blood like a hog in the slaughter pen!”

I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work. You won’t break me or make me cry.

You’ll never know what I know! I continued to stare at him as he ranted.

“And that little boy. Just a little kid. Left in a bloody mess on your mother’s bed, his

throat opened up like a rusty tin can!” I bit my lip hard and hugged myself to keep from

flinching, but the shakes had me in their grip so hard the bed started to rattle.

Alarmed, he choked back the next word and swooped on me with abject apologies and

soothing promises. “It’s okay, Honey, calm down. I’m sorry. I had no right to upset you like that.

Poor lamb, you’ve been through so much, you’re no doubt in some kind of shock, still. I’m sorry

to upset you. It’s just driving me insane knowing what that monster has done to Will Roberts’

family. He had this whole town fooled. But don’t you worry. I’ll take care of him or die trying.

And don’t you fret one second that he’ll come back for you. He might be gone now, but I’ll find

him.”

Three months gone, and you haven’t found him yet, Sheriff. My guess is you won’t ever

find him.

“There’s no statute of limitations on murder, you know,” he said, as if he’d read my

mind. “A massive manhunt is underway as we speak. The biggest in the state’s history. And even

if they do give up, I won’t. You can take that to the bank.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. “What will happen to him?” I whispered. “If you

do find him, I mean.”

He faltered. I dreaded his answer and braced myself for what I already knew. “Justice is

not always served in a court of law. My guess is that they’ll either lock him up in a hospital or let

him go free on temporary insanity.” When I didn’t respond with the shock he expected, he felt

the need to enlighten me.

“Ember Mae, listen to me. I’m about to tell you something you can’t ever tell anyone. It’s

privileged information, you might say. Information I could lose my badge for having. If it ever

comes out, and Reese comes to trial, he’ll walk away a free man.”

I waited, holding myself together with sheer force of will. “I’ve been on Reese’s trail

since the day I found you like a broken doll in your cellar. I was able to locate a doctor near

Chicago. A doctor Reese has been seeing for a couple of years.”

“A doctor?” I asked, trying to dampen the dread swamping me.

“Yes. He’s been treating Reese, but Reese isn’t going to get well. He has syphilis, Ember

Mae. You know what that is?”

“Of course. It’s a nasty disease.”

“That’s right. Very nasty. Reese is in the third stage of the disease. He’s probably had it

fifteen years or better. The doc told me it attacks the central nervous system. Completely

destroys the brain. Turns it to mush. He told me Reese probably doesn’t have long to live. But it

doesn’t matter, Ember Mae. My plan is to get to him before this disease takes him out. And it’ll

be before any court gets hold of him.”

Sheriff Bates hadn’t fooled me for a second. Handling me with kid gloves, backing off,

declining to demand an explanation for Joshua meant he was just gearing up for another attack. I

was still pondering this dilemma three days later, when Doctor Wakefield rushed in during my

lunch to announce a visitor.

“There’s a very worried lady out in the hall waiting to see you,” he said, smiling. “She’s

been out there crying her eyes out. No matter how many times staff has told her you’re doing

well, she says she won’t believe it ‘till she sees for herself.”

“Does the lady have a name?” My voice, like my body, had everyone marveling at its

rapid healing.

“She won’t tell us. Just says she’s the mother of the little boy Sheriff Bates found in your

house, and that she’s a friend of the family. I guess you could say she’s the answer to a mystery,

since nobody’s claimed to know who the child was.”

He waited for my reaction as I busied myself with my bland meatloaf. “Anyway, I

thought talking to her might jog your memory a bit, so I agreed to let her in.”

I only nodded and gulped a mouthful of milk. “Don’t talk too long, though. I don’t want

my best patient wearing herself out.” I nodded again before shoveling into my mashed potatoes,

my heart pounding beneath my sore ribs.
Joshua’s mother? A friend of the family? Joshua wasn’t

even adopted out yet.

I still had my head bent to my plate when the woman entered the room in his wake. She

strode up to my bed in expensive heels and a tweed suit, twisting a linen hanky in bony fingers.

She was still trim and carried herself like royalty, but the years had devastated her face, drawing

it downwards and carving up the rouged cheeks. I lowered my fork to my plate with a clink.

“Aunt Celeste.”

“Please don’t make me leave, Honey,” she said, dabbing her red eyes with the hanky. “I

know you probably want to, and I don’t blame you, but I’ve got things I have to tell you. Things

your mother wanted you to know. I’m begging you. Please hear me out.”

“What could you possibly know about anything my mother wanted?” I inquired coolly,

grabbing my fork again to spear a chunk of meatloaf. “You never even liked her.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” she declared, desperation deepening her tone. “I loved

her. More than you’ll ever know. We had a history together. We shared a childhood, and years of

joys and--sorrows.” She was stumbling over her words, wringing the hanky, near some kind of

breakdown, it seemed. “May I please sit?” she whispered.

I offered her an offhand wave in the direction of the only available chair. “Go ahead. Suit

yourself.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her drag the chair to my bed as I feigned

interest in the cold mess on my plate. I wouldn’t make it easy for her by asking questions. She’d

have to lay her cards on the table with no help from me.

She smoothed her skirt and plucked at her hose, the thin hands crisscrossed with bulging

veins. She was stalling, gathering her courage. Finally, the proud head snapped to attention. She

searched my face with watery eyes. “I suppose they told you what I’ve claimed. That Joshua is

my son.”

“Yes.” I abandoned my plate to its holder and folded my arms to hide an involuntary

shiver.

“Well, it’s true. He was mine. When your mother explained the situation, I decided then

and there he’d be ours. Without a second thought. We always wanted another child, and I knew

we could give him all the things he would ever need or want.”

“That so?” I said nothing more as she waited, her courage fading like old wallpaper.

“Yes, that’s so. We adopted him shortly after you discovered he was deaf. All perfectly