Unbroken Page 25

  Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, and she slouched down in the car seat when, up ahead, she saw a parked police cruiser. It was idling in the town park next to the war memorial. A cloud of exhaust rose behind it like a small tornado. Wondering why she felt so guilty, she silently prayed that the cop wouldn’t pull out behind her. The last thing she needed was anyone asking her what she was doing out so late at night. She didn’t exhale until she was well past the cop and, glancing at her rearview mirror, saw that he hadn’t moved.

  The truth was, she wasn’t sure about what she was doing. She knew well enough where she was going, but she had no idea how or if that would solve anything. For more than twenty-five years, she had tried to convince herself that Billy’s death had been accidental, and she and Jon had done the right thing by not reporting it.

  Why ruin both their lives by admitting to murder?

  It certainly wouldn’t bring Billy back.

  But she had to admit the truth, at least to herself. It hadn’t been an accident. Jon had purposely gunned the engine and run Billy over. She wanted to believe he hadn’t intended actually to kill Billy. Maybe he’d just wanted to scare him so he’d leave them alone. But the end result had been the same.

  Billy was dead. Cut off in his youth. He never got to live his life, and for almost thirty years, her life and her sanity had been all but destroyed by the guilt of knowing—and denying—what had happened.

  What did Jon think about all of this, if he thought about it at all?

  Ever since he returned to Stratford, Kiera had sensed something wasn’t quite right with him. They’d rekindled their friendship right away, picking it up as if the intervening years hadn’t mattered. Thankfully, neither of them had said or done anything to try to take it any further . . . until the day of Liz’s funeral.

  That didn’t mean Kiera hadn’t thought about it. Even after more than twenty years with minimal contact, usually Christmas and birthday cards, she would have been lying if she said she wasn’t still attracted to Jon at least a little bit. But that day at his house, he had said things that made it clear that he thought about her romantically, too, and she wasn’t sure what she thought about that.

  Regardless, that didn’t explain the shipwreck her life had become . . . especially, it seemed, since her surgery.

  It might be as simple as that.

  Maybe she was feeling so threatened because the surgery had forced her to face her own mortality head-on. The surgery might have done nothing more than highlight the pathetic truth that she wasn’t living the life she had imagined she would all those years ago.

  Who really does? she wondered. Does anyone get to live the life they imagined? . . . Or is life simply a matter of how well or how poorly you handle the random disasters that happen to anyone?

  Thoughts like this occupied her, so she was barely conscious of driving. Only after she had passed through town and was heading out on River Road did she snap to and realize the import of what she was doing.

  Her nervousness was like a heavy iron ball in the pit of her stomach. She wondered if she actually had talked to someone on the phone, or if she imagined it all.

  Would there even be someone out at the river to meet her, or had she lost her mind and was blowing things way out of proportion? Even if someone was there, how would that solve the more immediate problems in her life?

  “Just relax,” she whispered, but she maintained such a tight grip on the steering wheel that her arms and shoulders ached. She wanted to believe she was just taking a late-night drive to clear her head after arguing with Nate.

  “That’s all it is . . . Nothing’s going to happen,” she said, not really believing it. Even when she got to the place where Billy had died, no one would be there. Nothing was going to happen. She could park the car and sit there a while and think things over. Maybe she’d stay until the sunrise, and then she’d drive home to face Nate. Once he was awake and sober, they could talk rationally about what they had said last night. Maybe by then she’d have a better grip on how she felt and whether or not she really wanted to leave him.

  “Just clear your head,” she whispered, but when she glanced into the rearview mirror and saw her eyes illuminated by the dim dashboard lights, she felt as though she was looking into the eyes of a stranger, someone who had died a long time ago.

  “Nearly thirty years ago,” she said as the chill that gripped her got stronger.

  The crescent moon had already set in the west. Darkness filled the woods that surrounded her. Her headlights pushed the darkness back, but they seemed nowhere near strong enough to hold it at bay for long. The weight of the night crushed her with a steadily mounting heaviness that made it difficult to breathe. Her heart started racing when, up ahead, she saw the turnoff and the dirt road that led to the river.

  Just drive past it, whispered a voice in her head. No one’s out here . . . Nothing’s going to happen.

  She felt like a helpless observer, unable to stop herself from pressing her foot down on the brake and slowing for the turn.

  2

  The night was alive with the sounds of crickets and night birds as Kiera parked the car and killed the engine. When she turned off the headlights, the parking area was plunged into darkness. For a long time, she sat there, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness as she stared out across the river and listened to the clicking sounds the engine made as it cooled down. The river glowed with a faint iridescence that, without the headlights, made the distant shore look all the darker. Faint wisps of mist blown by the cool night breeze rose from the water, twisting as they drifted through the trees.

  “Okay . . . All right. I’m here,” Kiera whispered, trying to calm down as she looked around. “What now?”

  She rolled her window down and leaned her head out, taking several deep breaths. The damp smell of the river was strong. Tilting her head back, she looked up at the sky. The trees were etched against the dusty field of stars like black lace. Fitful gusts of wind shook the leaves. To the east, she couldn’t see even a hint of approaching dawn.

  Kiera was mildly surprised that no other cars were out here. When she was in high school, couples came out to the river all the time. But it was late, and times had changed since she was young. High school kids didn’t “go parking” anymore. The idea struck her as quaint, almost sweet, even though, back when she was doing it, her parents didn’t think it was very cute or amusing.

  As she scanned the surrounding woods, Kiera couldn’t get over the feeling that she wasn’t alone. Somewhere out there, unseen in the darkness, someone was watching her. When she thought it might be the ghost of Billy Carroll, a quick chill shot through her, but she ignored it. She didn’t really believe in ghosts, even though, in a place like this, it didn’t take much imagination to think that within that tangled, vaporous mist she might catch a fleeting glimpse of a lost soul.

  Her heart was racing so fast it felt like weak hands were trying to choke her, but she opened the car door and stepped out. The sudden glare of the dome light hurt her eyes, and she ignored the ding-ding warning that the keys were still in the ignition. She slammed the car door shut, cutting off the dome light, and straightened up to look around. She couldn’t stop feeling vulnerable, and she was suddenly convinced that if someone was hiding in the shadows, they were a danger to her.

  How long have they been waiting?

  “Hello?” she called out. Her voice was feeble and twisted off to nothing as she took a few steps away from the car.

  She wanted nothing more than to get back into the car and drive out of here, but she had to be sure no one was here. It was crazy, coming here so late . . . and all alone. There could be real dangers out here . . . rabid foxes . . . or bears . . . or whatever.

  “So leave,” she told herself, but she knew she wasn’t going to do that. She was confused about a lot of things, but she knew one thing for sure—she couldn’t face Nate just yet, not after what they had said to each other.

  Kiera glanced to her
left, knowing as soon as she did that she was looking at the spot where Jon had run Billy over. She hadn’t been out here in almost thirty years—not since that night—but she knew exactly where it had happened.

  At the edge of the parking lot of hard-packed dirt was a large oak tree. As much as she didn’t want to, she remembered how Jon’s headlights had illuminated everything with bright, glaring light. Even now in the darkness, she could imagine seeing it replayed here, night after night. If she closed her eyes, she might even be able to hear the faint sound of a revving engine . . . the scuff of tires in the dirt . . . the sudden thump that had thrown her forward so hard her head slammed against the dashboard.

  She let out a low moan as she raised her hand to her forehead and touched the bandage. She started to massage her head, and a subtle tingling spread across her scalp. At first, she thought it was just the chilly night air, but as the cold touch spread down her face and neck, she started to become frightened.

  Her vision telescoped as the surrounding night caved in on her. The night air felt like water washing over her skin, and she gasped when she saw a barely discernible figure standing in front of the tree.

  No, my eyes are just playing tricks on me, she told herself, but even before she completed the thought, panic slammed into her like a fist.

  It’s not possible . . . There can’t be anyone there!

  Her heart skipped a few beats, and her knees started to buckle, but she caught herself and stared at the figure, willing it . . . daring it either to resolve more clearly or else fade away like the illusion she hoped it was.

  Without conscious effort, she took a few steps forward. She knew she was hyperventilating. Tiny spots of light weaved across her vision like a swirl of fireflies. The pressure clutching her throat got so bad, her eyes felt like they were popping from her head.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, surprised that she could speak at all as she took another few steps forward.

  She raised her hands as though in supplication, and once again thought this had to be Billy Carroll’s ghost. It now seemed like a perfectly rational thought.

  “Are you . . . ?” Her voice choked off when the figure moved. She wanted to believe it was still just a trick of the eye. It had to be the night shadows playing on her overactive imagination, making her believe this illusion. But when she took another step closer, the vague silhouette of a person emerged from the night.

  “Who are you?” she asked in a trembling voice. She wasn’t sure she dared to get any closer to whoever this was and confront them. She knew she should run back to her car, lock the doors, start it up, and get the hell out of there, but she was frozen where she stood. She stared at the figure as it shifted in and out of focus, blending with the darkness.

  “Who are you?” a woman’s voice replied. The sound sliced through the night like a thin blade cutting cloth.

  Kiera knew it hadn’t been an echo of her voice, but she was left with that impression as the voice faded into the night. Once it was gone, she felt as though she hadn’t really heard anything, that she was still imagining things, but then the figure shifted forward, moving closer to her.

  “Who are you? What are you doing out here? What do you want?” Kiera asked, her voice cracking as fear spiked inside her.

  “I came to see you, of course,” the voice said.

  Once again, even more strongly, Kiera thought the voice sounded frighteningly like her own. Not exactly the same, but close enough to unnerve her.

  The figure halted, still lurking under the deepest shadows of the tree, but there was something familiar about the way this person stood. Her shoulders were squared, her hips cocked to one side. A wave of light-headedness swept over Kiera, and she staggered back a few steps, struggling to maintain her balance.

  “Who are you?” Kiera asked in a desperate, shattered voice.

  “I’m Ariel . . . Ariel McKinnon.”

  “Ariel,” Kiera echoed. Just hearing that name filled her with alarm. A rush of memories came roaring back, convincing her all the more that she had to be dreaming or hallucinating.

  “You can’t be . . . How can you be . . . Ariel?”

  Her voice choked off, and in the silence that followed, Kiera tried to convince herself that none of this was happening. How could anyone be standing there?

  “I’ve come a long way to see you,” the woman said. When she spoke, the voice sounded so familiar that Kiera was convinced she was listening to herself. That odd feeling of duality, of being in two places at the same time, returned, making her nauseous.

  When the figure moved even closer, Kiera fought back the impulse to run back to the car. She couldn’t move. She knew she must have lost her sanity.

  When they were less than twenty feet apart, the woman stopped. If it had been daylight, they could have looked into each other’s eyes, but that was the one thing Kiera feared most. She was afraid of who—or what—she would see.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” the woman said, sounding genuinely mystified.

  “But Ariel . . . Ariel was the name of—”

  “I know . . . of your imaginary friend,” the voice said. “But see? I’m not imaginary at all. I’m right here.”

  Kiera clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering as she shook her head from side to side as if by denying what she was hearing and seeing, she could make it go away. The night was closing in with a steady, rising pressure. The stars cast faint shadows of the trees across the ground. The branches looked like claws, reaching out to grab her.

  I must be losing my mind . . . she kept thinking, but she also knew that she had to trust her senses.

  “I’ve been Ariel ever since I can remember,” the woman said mildly. “You’ve been just as real to me as I’ve been to you.”

  “But I . . . I haven’t believed in you . . . I haven’t even thought of you in . . . years.”

  The woman stood her ground, her hands on her hips as she stared at Kiera. Again, even stronger, the feeling of being in two places at once came over Kiera. It seemed as if, simultaneously, she was staring wide-eyed at this person who was telling her she was her childhood imaginary friend and—somehow—she was also inside Ariel’s head, watching herself cower where she stood.

  “No. This is . . . impossible,” Kiera whispered. “This can’t be happening.”

  She was struggling to make sense of the situation, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see how any of this was possible.

  The woman lowered her head, and Kiera heard a soft sniff of laughter.

  “At first, that’s what I thought, too,” Ariel said. “I haven’t thought of you in years.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I had my own life, and then—I have no idea how or why, but I started thinking about you all the time, and then . . . I ended up here . . . back in Maine. It feels like a dream.”

  Taking a step back, Kiera was finally starting to accept that whatever was happening, it had to be real. She didn’t know how, but this person who claimed to be Ariel had somehow insinuated herself into her life and was messing with her.

  But why? . . . And how?

  “Where did—Where do you live?”

  “Montana. For more than twenty years. Right after college, I left Maine and moved out there. I couldn’t stand to be around Stratford after what happened . . .”

  “You mean with Billy?”

  Ariel nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “but then it all . . .” Her voice faded away, and Kiera panicked, thinking she was going to disappear.

  “It all what?” she asked, moving forward, hoping to keep Ariel here so she could figure out what was going on.

  Ariel raised her head and looked at Kiera, her eyes shining with a dull, lambent light.

  “My life . . . before I came here . . .” Ariel’s voice was now as light as the wind, hissing through the leaves overhead. “It all seems so . . . distant now . . . like a dream that never really happened.
”

  “I know what you mean,” Kiera said, nodding in agreement. “In a lot of ways, I feel like my life has been like that.” She paused and glanced up at the night sky, sighing as she shook her head. “It all seems so . . . unreal—especially since the surgery.”

  “What do you mean, that I’m just something you made up? That I only became real after the surgery, once they cut me out of you?”

  “I have no idea,” Kiera said simply, shaking her head.

  “Maybe,” Ariel said, “it’s been this way ever since that night.”

  What night? Kiera was going to ask, but they said the same words simultaneously.

  “The night Billy died.”

  Realization hit Kiera so hard she staggered. She stared at Ariel, torn between wanting to believe she was really there and convinced this was all a delusion.

  “What happened?” Kiera asked, hearing the tension in her voice. “What really happened that night?”

  “The night Jon killed Billy?” Ariel sounded strained, as if it took an immense effort just to speak. Kiera saw that the woman’s body was trembling and glanced over her shoulder, ready to run if there was any trouble.

  “I know he did it on purpose,” Kiera said. “I didn’t want to believe it. All those years, I tried to convince myself it had been an accident, but he did it on purpose. He meant to kill Billy, didn’t he?”

  For a long time, Ariel was silent, and Kiera could almost believe the figure was fading away, melting back into the shadows.

  Maybe she wasn’t really there, Kiera thought, but as Ariel withdrew, Kiera felt abandoned and afraid. She moaned as an aching sadness filled her, but then Ariel spoke and, once again, her words were the exact words Kiera had been thinking.

  “Yes, he did,” Ariel said hollowly, “and he paid for it.”

  “Paid for it?” Kiera said. “How?”

  “I reported what happened to the cops,” Ariel said. “They arrested him later that night, and Jon spent the next twenty-five years in Warren for murder. He just got out earlier this year.”