A Silent Terror Read online

  She pulled on the door. Locked. Digging in her pocket for her key, she opened it and stepped inside.

  Great, another dark hallway.

  She slapped at the light switch on the wall. Nothing.

  Weird.

  Now she started to get that feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her something wasn’t right. The same feeling she’d had when she’d first seen her door standing wide open the day of Suzanne’s murder.

  Invisible fingers tickled the nape of her neck.

  She whirled.

  “Who’s there?” Because someone was there. She couldn’t hear anyone, but she could feel the presence of someone. A dark, sinister feeling that shot adrenaline double-time through her body.

  Not again, God!

  Her breath came in short, whispered pants as she slipped behind a display board for the moment. She had to make a decision, but her brain felt as if someone had used the remote to put it on pause.

  What to do?

  Think, Marianna, think!

  Her BlackBerry. She slapped her side…and felt nothing. She’d left it charging in her classroom.

  Although the darkness pressed in, she wondered if she could use it to her advantage. She knew the layout of the building. Hopefully, whoever was in here with her didn’t.

  With what she prayed were silent steps, she slowly moved her sneaker-clad feet toward the inner door of the gym. If she could get inside the storage room, she could lock herself in.

  Tears threatened as her fear mounted. But she kept her cool and took another step. And another. The door to the court lay just beyond her. One more step and her fingers brushed the cool metal. She knew it would clang loudly as soon as she pushed it inward. She’d have to move fast once inside the door.

  With another prayer and a deep breath, she gave it a shove and rushed in, spinning to the left. Pure darkness pushed against her eyes. Silence thundered in her ears, even as her hearing aids picked up heavy footsteps behind her.

  Trailing her fingers along the wall, she moved as quickly as she dared.

  Almost there.

  If memory served her right, she needed to go only a few more feet after she passed the bleachers. Praying the room would be unlocked when she got there, she kept moving. The wall ran out, her shin hit the lowest bleacher and she flinched but ignored it.

  Then she felt him, her, it.

  Breathing on her neck. Smelling of stale cigarette smoke. She turned to flee.

  Pain ripped through her scalp and down her neck as a rough hand gripped her ponytail in a vise.

  She screamed, tears leaking down her cheeks.

  “I’m deaf! I can’t hear you if you’re talking!”

  The hand shoved against the back of her head, and she went down, cracking her cheek against the edge of the wooden seat.

  Marianna screamed again.

  SEVEN

  Hand on the gym door, Ethan paused. Darkness greeted him. He frowned, his gut shouting at him that something was wrong.

  Had she canceled practice? The sign on the door said she had. He grabbed the handle and pulled. Locked.

  Unclipping his phone from his belt, he sent a text to Marianna’s BlackBerry. “Are you having practice tonight? I’m at the gym and no one’s here. You okay?”

  Anxiety caused sweat to bead on his brow. Should he call for backup?

  But backup for what, canceled basketball practice?

  The comfortable weight of his gun rested snugly under his left arm. He reached up and loosened the strap but didn’t pull the weapon out…yet.

  Retracing his steps, he climbed back into his car and drove around to the girls’ dormitory, located within sight of the gym.

  Several stood outside talking, signing fast, using a word every now and then that Ethan didn’t understand. Must be slang he wasn’t up to date on.

  When they spotted him, the conversation ceased. Ethan looked around for a dorm parent and spotted her talking to one of the girls near the door to the building.

  The girl she was talking to pointed to him and the woman turned, frowning. “May I help you?” she signed.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was looking for Marianna Santino. I thought she had basketball practice right now, but there’s no one in the gym. Do you know where I can find her?”

  One of the teens signed, “Basketball practice was canceled.”

  Ethan signed back, “Did Ms. Santino say why?”

  “No, just that it was canceled.”

  That still didn’t sit right with Ethan. “You talked to her?”

  The girl nodded. “On the TTY.” The telephone device used by the deaf to type messages back and forth. Just like texting, but the TTY used a landline, and the person could read the message as it was being typed out.

  “And you’re sure it was Marianna?” he asked.

  A shrug. “That’s what the person typed.”

  Ethan touched the tips of his lingers to his mouth and brought his hand down, palm up. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.”

  Walking back to his car, he checked his phone. No response to his text to Marianna. His gut tightened. Not necessarily alarming, but unusual. And in light of recent events…

  Should he check her classroom or go back to the gym once more? Should he call campus security and see if they’ d had any report of a disturbance?

  He glanced at the gymnasium and thought he saw something move. Lights dotted the campus at night, lighting the walkways and streets, but there were still spots that remained dark, places someone could hide.

  The movement caught his eye again, and he moved toward it, hand on the butt of his gun.

  Marianna lay against the floor, not daring to move. Her fingers gripped the object her attacker had shoved into her hand before releasing her.

  Slowly her senses returned, and she felt warm wetness flowing from the throbbing gash on her cheek, absentmindedly wondering if she’d need stitches.

  Every muscle tense, she concentrated on the floor. About a minute earlier, she’d felt the person move away from her, fleeing feet pounding across the surface, the vibrations under her prone body growing fainter with each step.

  Dare she pray it was over? How long should she stay there? Should she try to leave and get help?

  A light flickered in front of her. The terror returned full force, and she scrunched down into a little ball, not wanting to move and take the chance on making noise that would draw attention to her.

  The light passed over her. More running feet, headed in her direction. She scrambled to her feet, adrenaline flowing, anger surging. This time she’d fight back and with fists still knotted, tightly clenched. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her cheek, she tried to remember every self-defense move Joseph had taught her.

  Then she was staring into Ethan O’Hara’s worried face as he turned the light on himself to show her who was there.

  Her muscles wilted, pulling her back to the floor she’d just risen from, and she burst into tears.

  Ethan had never felt such murderous rage as he did at that very moment. Not even toward the two teens who had drag raced in the high school parking lot, their irresponsible actions leading to his sister’s tragic death. Ashley’s death had been an unintentional act.

  This, though, this attack on Marianna had premeditation written all over it. He sat on the floor beside the sobbing woman and gathered her into his arms. More beams of light entered through the door held open by the officers Ethan had called when he realized the lights in the gym didn’t work.

  Campus security arrived and everyone began talking at once.

  The young man in his mid-thirties who held the title of head of campus security, Kevin Manning, sat on his haunches, pushed his cap back on his head and asked, “She all right?”

  Through gritted teeth, Ethan muttered, “Does she look all right?”

  Kevin’s expression didn’t change although his eyes sharpened. He ignored Ethan’s question. I ll need her to tell us what happened just as soon
as she gets it together.”

  Ethan thought about putting his fist together with the man’s nose, but reined in the impulse. The guy was just doing his job. He had the safety of all the residential students and staff on his shoulders. Of course he would need information as soon as possible.

  Marianna pulled away from him, and his arms immediately missed her slight form. Using the heel of her palms to swipe the tears from her face, she squared her jaw and looked at him. He flinched when he saw the gash on her cheek, the blood on her face, smeared and still seeping. He made sure his face stayed illuminated by one of the flashlights. She said, “I want this person caught.”

  “Do you remember anything about him? Did you see him?”

  “No, it was pitch-black. But I felt him.” She shuddered and the tremble went straight to his heart. Then he felt guilty. Once again, someone he cared about had been hurt. If only he’d come to check on her earlier; if only…

  His fault…his fault…

  Shrugging those memories aside, he told himself to focus. “Did you notice anything about him? Did he have on a mask? Come on, Marianna, give me something to work with.”

  Overhead lights came on, slowly brightening in intensity as they warmed up. Flashlights flicked off, and Ethan finally got a full look at her face, noticing the gash on her cheek looked worse in the glaring brightness.

  “We need to get you to a doctor to check that out.” He reached out a hand as though to touch it, and she flinched away from him. His hand dropped.

  “He…pushed me into the bleacher and…”

  Ethan pulled out a clean handkerchief and pressed it to the wound. “I think it’s slowing down, but you may need a stitch.” He backed up a bit and turned to see paramedics coming through.

  Ethan glanced at Kevin, who shrugged. “Didn’t figure it would hurt anything to call them.”

  Respect for the man went up a notch. “Good move. Thanks.”

  Marianna fought the idea of going to the hospital. “Just put a butterfly bandage on it and it’ll be fine.”

  One of the paramedics said, “If you insist, but you still might want to have a doctor look at it. It may need a stitch or two. If you don’t get it taken care of, you might end up with a scar.”

  She nodded and Ethan vowed to see she took care of it.

  Finally, after all the commotion calmed down, the statements had been taken and the gym closed off so crime scene staff could do their job, Ethan said to Marianna, “I’ll give you a ride to your parents’ house.”

  “That’s all right. I have my car.”

  “Then I’m following you home.”

  At first he thought she would protest; then she gave a weary nod and headed for the exit.

  Before she could place her hand on the door, it burst open and a young teenage boy exploded through. Spotting Marianna, he broke into a flurry of signs. Her face paled and she looked at Ethan. “Did you understand what he said? Someone vandalized my car!”

  Grim, jaw tight, he nodded. “Let me call the police back.”

  “Why would someone do this? What did I do? Who hates me so much? What is going on?”

  Stunned, Marianna could only stare in disbelief. Every window in the little red Honda gaped as if it, too, were shocked at the violence perpetrated on it. Glass lay shattered on the ground around the perimeter of the vehicle. Sickness swirled in her stomach. The glass was on the outside. Someone had kicked the windows out…from the inside.

  “Seems to me trouble keeps following you, little lady.”

  Marianna read the policeman’s words, her brain on autopilot as it took in the shapes formed by his lips. Her hearing aids picked up some of the sounds and she processed his sentence.

  “No kidding,” she muttered.

  Grateful for Ethan’s supporting arm around her shoulders, she leaned into his embrace. It appeared that was going to be his job tonight, holding her upright.

  The officer spoke again. “We’ll let the investigative team haul the car down to the lab, since you’re concerned this may be in connection with that other woman’s murder.”

  Weariness like nothing she’d ever felt before made her light-headed. She must have sagged slightly, because Ethan’s arm tightened. He turned her to face him and said, “We need to get you home. There’s nothing more you can do here.”

  With a grateful heart, she allowed him to lead her toward his car, then stopped abruptly when she remembered the paper.

  “Oh, no!”

  Ethan looked alarmed. “What? Are you okay?”

  “No! He shoved something in my hand. What did I do with it?” She opened both hands, palms up, and there it was, still in her right hand crunched and crushed into a flat mess. Her fists had been clenched the entire time, she realized, even when she’d used the heel of her palms to wipe her tears and the blood from her face. Dried, dark streaks still stained her skin.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Hold on. Just…don’t do anything with it yet.” Turning, he hollered over his shoulder. “Hey, Henry, you got a pair of gloves and a plastic bag on you?”

  Henry hurried over, a frown on his slightly pudgy face, which hadn’t seen a razor in a while. “Of course I do, I’m working a crime scene,” he said, holding the items out. “Why?”

  Ethan took the gloves and pulled them on. To Henry he said, “Hold that open, okay?”

  Still frowning, the man complied. With one gloved hand, Ethan reached for the paper in Marianna’s shaking hand. Gripping it with the edge of thumb and forefinger, he held it and, with his other hand, unfolded it.

  Marianna looked over his shoulder and tried to see what it said, but it was too dark. Ethan moved about ten yards to his right and held it up to the light. She watched his lips as he read aloud, “Keep your mouth shut, or else.”

  EIGHT

  Exhausted, worried, frustrated by the lack of progress on the case, Ethan had fallen into bed after making sure Marianna was safely ensconced in her family’ s care. Her mother had seen Marianna’s cheek and immediately ushered her off to examine the wound. Now, he lay sleepless once again, staring at the ceiling. Slowly, his body relaxed and he drifted.

  The bright sun pounded the asphalt, sending heat waves radiating over anyone brave enough to expose himself to it. May wasn’t supposed to be this hot, he remembered thinking.

  Then he was in the huge, almost deserted parking lot, waiting for Ashley. Somewhere in his sleep-fogged brain, he knew he was dreaming, yet hope remained that this time the ending would be

  different.

  As he watched his Camaro pull under the lone tree providing the only shade in the entire parking lot, he told himself to park in a different spot. Suddenly, he was behind the wheel, watching, still waiting, clueless. He told himself to crank the car and drive of, move, park anywhere but there.

  Instead, he just sat there.

  The familiar blue hatchback pulled in and parked about forty yards away. The occupants couldn’t see him positioned as he was behind the tree.

  Drive over there! he tried to order himself.

  His dream self didn’t hear.

  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 pa
nning 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.