Where the Blame Lies(9)

But she couldn’t let this—possibly damaged, possibly mean, most likely both—man in front of her derail her now. The vision of this farmhouse shining under the morning light had kept her going when she didn’t think she could. She’d fought too hard to get here, and she still had a lot more fighting in front of her.

“Why do you even want this place, Archie? You have your own house, your own business. You do well. What do you want with a rundown farmhouse?”

His eyes narrowed. “This was my father’s land before he died. It’s been in my family for four generations. It’s rightfully mine.”

“I’m family too. And I love it as much as you do.” More. He’d never been interested in this place. At least not when his mother was alive. She figured it was solely about possession, about greed, about Archie feeling like he’d been cheated in some way.

“I’d think you’d feel more content living in the city where there are lots of people around. Safer.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Do you really think guests are going to want to stay here when they find out what happened to you?” He leaned closer. “That sort of thing makes people very uncomfortable, Josie. Very uncomfortable. No one wants to think about it. No one wants it serving them breakfast in the morning.”

Josie stood suddenly, and Archie looked momentarily surprised then stood too. He towered over her, a big brute of a man. A bully, his brash personality a perfect match to the thick lines of his physique. “Do what you have to do,” she said, trying her best to hide the fact that she’d begun shaking, trying to hide the anxiety trickling through her at the thought of a lawsuit, a lawyer she could not afford, the possibility of losing the house that was doing so much to heal her wounded soul. “But I will not sell.” She turned. “Goodbye.”

“You’ll regret this, Josie,” he called as she stepped quickly inside, locking the door behind her. She walked around the corner where he couldn’t see her through the glass window of the front door, sinking onto the bottom stair. Archie knocked once, calling her name, but she didn’t answer. A minute later she heard him swear and then the sound of his footsteps on the steps, followed by his car door opening and closing. She exhaled, long and slow, as she listened to his car fade away into nothing. Horrible man. Why was he so bitter? Why preempt failure?

That sort of thing makes people very uncomfortable, Josie. Very uncomfortable. No one wants to think about it.

Yeah, she didn’t either. Who wanted to confront the fact that monsters existed? That they could walk right past you on the street—or in your own apartment building—and you’d never know until they decided to strike? But Josie thought about it—she didn’t have a choice.

Finally, she stood, climbing the stairs to the second floor where she entered the bedroom at the far end of the hall. She was alone in the house, but she still engaged the three locks she’d installed on the heavy wood door. Her heart calmed, breaths coming more easily. She walked to the desk where she had three bulletin boards hung above it on the wall, every inch of them covered with the research she’d been conducting for the past eight years.

Her gaze moved from one thing to the other—lists, articles, addresses, every scrap of anything that might eventually lead her to her son. She closed her eyes, picturing her baby boy, the way he’d gazed up at her, eyes innocent and trusting. And she made the same vow to him then that she’d made to him in the room of the abandoned warehouse, where their screams had mingled as she’d pushed him into the world: I will never stop fighting for you.





CHAPTER THREE


Before

Josie shrank back from his touch, but there was nowhere to go. The cold cement met her back, her chains clinking as they hit the floor. “What do you want?” she asked, managing to hold back the sob that was filling her chest, her throat.

His hand paused momentarily before resuming movement, his knuckle running over her cheek. He sighed. “What do I want?” he repeated, sounding truly thoughtful. “Hmm. Everything I s-suppose. Do you think you can give me that, J-Josie?”

“I don’t understand.” She did sob then, a pitiful sound of terror that she tried desperately to control. If she lost it, she feared she’d never be able to stop crying, screaming, begging. And she needed to try to get him to let her go. Engage him, appeal to his humanity if he had any. She sucked in a big, shaky breath.

“I know you don’t. But you will. I’ll m-make sure you do.”

“Please,” she implored. “I haven’t seen your face. I don’t know who you are,” she lied. “Let me go and you won’t be in trouble. I couldn’t give a description even if I wanted to. I could pass you on the street and never know who you are.”

He let out a soft breath that sounded like a laugh, though she couldn’t see his expression under the ski mask. He moved closer. “You won’t know my f-face, Josie, or who I am, but you will know me.” He leaned forward and rubbed his masked face over hers. She whimpered with fear. She could bite him, try to head-butt him. But she was chained up. He had the upper hand. She’d only anger him and then he’d hit her again, or worse. “You’ll know me well,” he whispered, his hand sliding down the waistband of her sleep shorts.

Oh God. Bile moved up her throat and she let out a strangled sob. Not that. Please not that.