Distortion Offensive. James Axler
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he took her hand and pressed his mouth to the back. “I’m delighted you’re here. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
“Thank you.” As she said the words, her stomach rolled over. Was she really ready to do this? During the flight from Toronto, she’d had three drinks so she didn’t have to think. Now that she was standing in her lawyer’s office in downtown Vancouver, too many memories had rushed into her mind. She was dizzy from them.
Three days ago, when she’d woken from a dream in her bed in a small flat in Paris, she had a desperate urge to come home. Need clawed at her like a frenzied animal, forcing her to think of nothing else. But now that she was only a ferry ride and a three-hour drive up the coast, she was too petrified to move.
Thomas must’ve seen the fear in her eyes, because he helped her to a chair and sat her down, still cradling her hand in his.
“Do you want me to go with you? I could have Maureen clear my schedule in a matter of hours.”
Smiling, Sara shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, Thomas, but this is one thing I need to do on my own. I owe my dad at least that much.”
Nodding, he patted her hand and then stood. He went back around his desk and raised the watercolor painting hanging on the wall. Behind the artwork was a safe. Quickly, he unlocked it and brought out a small metal box, setting it on the desk.
Swallowing down the bile slowly rising in her throat, Sara watched as Thomas opened the box. She knew what was inside. Thomas lifted out a set of keys. They jangled in his hand.
“When you called to say you were coming back, I had Maureen get your dad’s BMW out of storage.” He turned and offered her the keys. “It’s all washed, gassed up and ready to go.”
Gingerly, she reached out and accepted the keys. She held them in her hand, feeling the solid weight of them in her palm. The key chain was still the same. Hot Rod Dad, it read in fire-red letters emblazoned across a photo of an old jalopy. It was a gift from her to her dad for his forty-fifth birthday. The last gift he ever received.
Tears rolled down her cheek as she fingered the engraved metal.
“I thought you sold it at the auction.”
“The other vehicles went, but I couldn’t let this one go. I knew how much Harrison loved the car. It didn’t seem right.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed the metal tight in her hand.
Nodding, he took out another set of keys and a folded set of documents.
Her heart raced like a speedboat in her chest, and her throat tightened with dread as she eyed the dangling silver metal. She leaned back in her chair, shrinking from Thomas’s outstretched hand.
Take them. It’s all right. They can’t harm you.
His lilting voice sounded in her mind, relaxing her instantly. Taking a deep breath, Sara reached out toward Thomas. Carefully, he set the keys in her hand.
“You’re officially the owner of Vandermeer Manor. Electricity, heat and water are all functional. So you don’t have to worry about that. I hope you can finally find a sense of peace there.”
“Me, too. Thank you.” She glanced down into her hand and took in the familiar shape of the keys to her childhood home. A place where she had been blissfully happy for fourteen years, and then her whole world had been destroyed. Her father and stepmother had been brutally murdered before her eyes, sending her spiraling into a never-ending nightmare.
After the funerals, Sara had been shipped off to England, where she lived for a while with her paternal grandmother. In and out of counseling, she had been a handful for the elderly woman whom she’d met only once before. The woman had never been motherly.
When she turned eighteen, Sara took a sizable portion of her inherited estate and hit the road. Traveling from country to country, she never stayed in one place too long. She avoided putting down roots at all costs. She also flitted from relationship to relationship. The only constant in her life was the nightmares of that terror-filled night.
Until he came into her dreams.
It was only when he was with her—the blond-haired Adonis with no name—that she could forget. His presence lightened her heart and occupied her mind with thoughts of desire. He turned her frightened mewls of terror into moans and gasps of pleasure.
She had fallen in love with that dream. With him, to be honest. It was just too bad he wasn’t real.
One of the keys on the ring caught her attention. It was odd and out of place. With its long, skeletal shape, it looked like an old brass key, possibly something from Victorian times.
She held it up before Thomas. “What’s this?”
Narrowing his eyes, he stepped closer. “You don’t recognize it?”
“No. I’ve never see it before.”
“It was on your stepmother’s ring, I believe.”
Sara rubbed her thumb over the metal and shivered. Something about it caused her stomach to tighten into a knotted ball.
“It looks old. Possibly Tamora had a chest or trunk?” Thomas offered.
Sara nodded absently as she continued to stare at the key. She couldn’t fathom why such a simple thing gave her the creeps. It was just a key, right? Nothing as sinister as her heart pounding painfully registered. It was most likely as Thomas suggested, a key to an old chest or trunk. An heirloom, perhaps, that Tamora brought with her when she and Harrison had wed. Sara had been only seven when they married. It wasn’t as if she could remember what the woman had brought to their home.
Still, shivers raced up and down her spine. A feeling of dark malice crept into her skin, and she couldn’t shake it.
After turning down Thomas’s invitation to stay another night in town, Sara jumped into her father’s BMW and drove to the ferry station to catch the three-fifteen boat to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. Sara knew if she delayed another moment, she would never again muster the courage to face her past.
The two-hour trip seemed like an eternity as Sara stood on the main deck and watched the water. Now that she had made the decision to come home, she wanted to be there. The journey was nearly killing her inside. It had been a fifteen-year-long road trip, and now that her final destination was within her grasp, she wanted to grab hold immediately.
For she feared if she didn’t, she’d never make the effort again.
This time, something was driving her back.
The announcement that the ferry was nearing the Nanaimo port sounded over the speakers, and people were asked to return to their vehicles. Sara stayed where she was, leaning over the railing, watching the way the boat cut through the water. Her heart felt the same as they neared the port. With every mile closer to her home, she could feel the pain of the past slicing into her.
As the dock came into view, she could hardly breathe. Her lungs burned with every quick intake of air, and her heart pounded so hard she thought it would break through her ribs. She was only three hours away from her home. Three hours away from facing something she’d been running from for so long. Was she really prepared for this? Was her mind stable enough to cope with the rush of memories she was sure to encounter?
As the ferry prepared to moor, Sara straightened and took in a deep breath of salty ocean air. She’d be all right. It was only a house. A house she had once loved dearly. Two rambling stories on an acre lot atop a cliff looking over a small, secluded strip of white sandy beach. How many times had she stood on her bedroom balcony and gazed out over the ocean, thinking how lucky she was to live in such a glorious place? Every day.
You will again.
His voice touched her mind like a lover’s soft caress. She reached for that thought and held on to to it. His presence, even fleeting and surreal, gave her the strength to turn and descend the stairs to her