Now, the events started clicking, one after the other, only now he was a spectator watching a movie. One he’d seen before and didn’t like, didn’t want to watch again, not if he couldn’t rewrite the ending.
Ashley stepped from the car and looked around. Two other girls clambered from the backseat. One headed for the building; the other walked backward, signing, talking to Ashley. Ashley finally spotted him under the tree.
She waved to him and he waved back. She turned to say goodbye to her friend.
Engines revved.
The sound caught his attention because it seemed close.
But he kept his eyes on his sister, still walking backward, talking, signing, laughing. Grabbing a few last words.
Tires screeched as the black, low-slung Mustang hurled into the parking lot through the open gate. Its white twin followed seconds behind.
The dream seemed to slow, the camera panning back and forth between him and Ashley and the racing cars. Back to Ashley. Laughing, waving, long hair swinging around her face as she turned to run toward Ethan.
Fresh horror, remembered agony of what was to come screamed at him.
Ashley! Stop!
Still laughing, running toward her rock, the one person she could count on. Her stability in a silent world.
No! Look out! The words echoed in his mind even as he saw himself screaming at her, his shout falling on her deaf ears, sliding away.
Desperately, he tried to wake up.
Screeching tires, burning rubber.
The thud.
Ashley!
He ran to her, grabbed her, looked into her face. But it wasn’t Ashley this time. Marianna’s features mocked him, her eyes fixed on his but empty of the vibrant life that so defined her.
Terror and grief had him screaming out his denial. Once again, he’d failed. It was his fault…his fault....
Gasping, he sat up in bed, panting, his chest aching, the tears falling, great heaving sobs escaping. And he let them. Even after three years, the dream made the loss fresh, brought back the crushing pain of Ashley’s death… and the guilt that plagued him.
If only…
Only this time, he’d failed Marianna, too.
He rolled off the bed, knelt on the floor, ignored the sweat dripping from his brow and leaned his head against the mattress. Father, please, help me keep my focus on You. I know You don’t blame me for what happened to Ashley, but no matter what I do, I can’t forgive myself. I also know I’ve been a little slack in coming to You with my problems lately. For that I’m sorry. Forgive me, God. Help me deal with what’s going on in my crazy head and mixed-up job. And Marianna…God, that’s a tough call. I’m not even sure what to pray here, except to ask that You watch over her. And please don’t ask that I be the tool You use to do it. I failed Ashley, God. I failed that poor woman who died on my watch.... I can’t go through that again.... Please don’t ask me to.
He didn’t bother adding an Amen to the end of his prayer. He had a feeling the conversation was far from over. The clock read five fifteen. Should he call Mac, the man who’d gotten him through the worst time of his life and kept him from destroying himself and his career? Mac was overseas, working as a missionary now.
Ethan wondered what time zone Mac was in, then sighed. No, no sense in both of them being awake. No need to bother Mac when he couldn’t do anything but worry about Ethan. It would drive the man nuts knowing that Ethan might need his help and be unable to provide it. No, he’d have to deal with this one on his own.
Unfortunately, there’d be no more sleep tonight; might as well work on the case…cases. Suzanne’s murder, Marianna’s attack, the car vandalism, everything. Somehow, when he connected all the dots, he was going to come up with the big picture of how all these separate incidents were related.
Before Ethan had gone to bed last night, he’d called and filled Catelyn in on the night’s events. Her comment had been, “How is it I’m never with you when all this stuff keeps happening?”
“Because it keeps happening after we’re off the clock.”
“So, why do you keep clocking back in?” Her voice had been low, knowing. She’d always been good at reading people.
“Lay off, Cate, she needs help.”
“Hey, I’m not fussing.”
His mind’s eye pictured her pointing a finger at his nose as she said, “But you’d better call if you find yourself in trouble. I don’t care what time it is, on the clock, off the clock, whatever. You hear me?”
Saluting the phone, he’d said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, glad we got that straight.”
“I’m supposed to meet her after she gets out of school. Once again, I want to find out if she remembers anything else from any of the incidents, especially the one last night.”
“Let me know what she says. Listen, I’ve got class— gotta run. But call me if you need me, seriously.”
He knew she meant it. And she knew he’d call if he needed her. That’s what good friends and partners were for. And that’s all it was between them. Once upon a time, they’d tried for something more, but both had quickly realized they were only meant to be friends—period.
Ethan had been disappointed at first, then grateful. Now as he thought about Marianna, he wondered what God was doing in his heart and if, after all the craziness was done, God had something in mind for Ethan and Marianna. The thought made him a little…antsy.
Right now, he didn’t have time to explore that weird feeling. His phone buzzed as he pulled open the door to his car.
He glanced at the number and his heart chilled once again.
Six ten in the morning and Marianna was texting him.
Uh-oh, that couldn’t be good.
* * *
Marianna kept her eyes glued to the television, absorbing the news, the shock sending shivers through her body.
Josh’s father had been killed in a car wreck. The station went to a commercial. Her fingers flew over her Black-Berry keypad as she texted the message to Ethan that she wouldn’t be able to meet him today. Already she was making plans to be the one to drive Josh home to his grandparents. She knew they’d want him there, especially for the funeral. And she planned to be there for him, too.
When the station came back from the commercial, she read the captions unable to tear her eyes from the breaking news story. The reporter announced, “Roland Luck, campaign manager for Clayton Robertson, was killed in a car wreck early this morning. Roland apparently lost control of his car soon after leaving a private meeting at a secluded resort atop Breakaway Mountain, just twenty-five miles north of Asheville, North Carolina. His car swerved over the side and crashed into the wooded area below. His body has been recovered. For now, Steven Marshbanks, Roland’s assistant, will take over the campaign management until a replacement is named. Mr. Marshbanks is currently unavailable for a statement. We’ll have more details as they become known.”
With hands shaking, Marianna closed her eyes. Lord, what is going on? My world is spinning out of control, and the only thing I know to do is hold on to You and pray You make everything work out how it’s supposed to. And poor Josh, I don’t even know if he’ll understand what’s happened. Just…help me, Lord. Wrap us all in Your strength.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. Her mother stood there, concern in her gentle brown eyes, her