the methane gas stealing the oxygen from my lungs. Then the black ooze rushes up and slams into me, as cold and black as death. The noxious liquid sucks me down, like a huge, voracious mouth swallowing me whole.
Blackness closes over me, but it doesn’t silence the baby’s cries. Nothing will ever silence that tiny voice, because it’s inside me. Hearing those cries and not being able to reach the child is like dying a thousand tortuous deaths. I thrash and struggle against the muck. But it sucks me down, smothering and digesting me until I cease to exist.
“
I’m still thrashing when I wake. Tomasetti is leaning over me. Even in the dim winter light slanting in through the window, I see concern on his face, and I realize I must have cried out. I blink at him, shaken and embarrassed. A cold slick of sweat covers my entire body. My hands and legs are shaking, and I can still feel the dark grip of the nightmare. For several disorienting seconds, I think I can still smell the muck of that terrible pit.
“Jesus.” Sitting up, I shove the hair from my face. “I’m sorry.”
“You okay?”
I draw a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Must have been a bad one.” He sets his thumb beneath my chin and forces my gaze to his. “If I ask you how often that happens, would you tell me the truth?”
“Probably not.”
“Kate…”
I look at him, not liking the way he’s staring back at me, as if I’ve just been diagnosed with some fatal affliction. “It’s been a while,” I say after a moment.
He nods. “You want to talk about it?”
I try to smile but don’t quite manage to. “Think you could check under the bed first?”
“There’s no monster here.”
“Just you.”
“A monster with a heart.”
That makes me smile, and I feel the dream tumble into the backwaters of my mind.
Dipping his head, he kisses me, and I’m amazed that such a small thing can have such a profound effect.
A glance at the alarm clock tells me it’s not yet 7:00 A.M. We have a few minutes, so I lie back and snuggle close to him. He puts his arm around me, and in that instant his embrace is the safest place in the world. I love the way his arms feel when they’re around me. I give him a condensed version of the nightmare. When I’m finished, we go quiet, thinking, listening to the rain outside.
“Sigmund Freud would probably have a field day with that,” I say after a moment. “You know, baby envy and all that.”
“Freud was full of shit.”
That makes me grin. “I’m glad I have you to help me keep things in perspective.”
“Probably just the case working on your mind,” Tomasetti says. “Mixing it up with your past. Stress does that.”
“My sister, Sarah, had a baby,” I blurt. “Two months ago. I don’t know why, but I haven’t been able to make myself go to see the new baby. I’ve driven by their farm, but I never go inside. I just … sit out on the road like some weird stalker. I know my not showing up is hurting my sister. And there’s a part of me that wants to see my little niece. But…”
Lying next to me, Tomasetti goes still. I sense his mind sifting through everything I’ve said, and I kick myself for unloading on him. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Kate.” He says my name with a slight reproof.
We fall silent. I can hear rain dripping off the eaves, slapping down on the ground. I know Tomasetti’s about to say something wise and profound. I know it’s going to hurt a little bit, but I’ll be better for it afterward. “This case has a lot of themes running through it,” he tells me. “Amish kids. The deaths of their parents. Babies. Pregnancy.” He pauses. “Might be dredging some things up for you.”
“I thought of that.”
“I know you have.”
“Salome is about the age my child would have been if I hadn’t—” Even after all this time, I have a difficult time saying the word, but I force it out. “Abortion,” I finish, but the word feels thick and greasy coming out of my mouth.
“Maybe dealing with these kids is bringing some of that back for you,” he says. “You didn’t get a chance to deal with it right after it happened.”
“Maybe.”
“Your new niece represents something you lost, Kate. Sometimes things like that are hard to face.”
He’s right, and the truth of his words hurts. But I don’t let myself flinch. I’m tougher than that, and I want him to know it. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Well, since you’re naked…” He smiles at me. “You know I will.”
“Don’t ever feel sorry for me. I think that’s the one thing I couldn’t stand.”
His expression turns puzzled. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you know what happened to me. Because I’ve … let you in. I mean, I’ve let you inside me. Inside my mind.” I swallow, not sure how much to tell him. Trust is so damn hard to come by. “My heart.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you. Not by a long shot.”
“You know a lot about me. Probably more than anyone else in the world.”
“I promise not to blackmail you.”
A tension-easing laugh bursts from my throat. Gathering my emotions, I punch his shoulder. “We’re having a serious talk here.”
He feigns offense. “I’m serious.”
Leaning close to him, I press a kiss to his mouth, then start to rise. “I’ve got to go.”
He stops me. Shifting in the bed, he turns me to him, then sets his hands on either side of my face. “I’ve let you inside, too, Kate. Don’t forget that. This relationship thing is a two-way street, and I’m right there with you.”
I blink at him, stunned, and a little bit thrilled. “So I could blackmail you, too?”
“You could, but then I’d have to kill you. That would be a shame, because I really like you.”
We’re staring at each other. He gives me a small smile. I’m keenly aware of his closeness. I smell the lingering remnants of his aftershave, remember all the impressions his body made on mine during the night. “We’ll figure out this relationship thing sooner or later,” I tell him.
For a moment, I think he’s going to say something else. I don’t know what that might be, but I see it in his eyes. And in that instant, I want to hear it more than anything else in the world.
The phone on my night table interrupts, and the moment evaporates. We stare at each other a few seconds longer, not speaking, wanting more time but knowing it’s not to be.
“I’ve got to get that.” Rolling away from him, I grab the phone, put it to my ear. “Burkholder,” I snap, trying to sound as if I’m not in bed, sleeping or otherwise.
“Chief Burkholder, this is Chief Archer from Connersville, Indiana.” He clears his throat. “Sorry to call so early.”
It takes my befuddled brain a moment to place the name. Then my intellect clicks in, and I realize he’s returning my call. Mose had told me his family was from Connersville and I wanted to check out his adoption story. “Thanks for returning my call, Sheriff.”
“Sorry I didn’t call sooner, but I was out of town. Big conference over in Richmond on the meth problem.” He sounds harried, as if he’s back in town and pounding through a whole collection of messages. Mine wasn’t very high on his list, and he’s anxious to move on to the next.
“I’m calling to verify some information about a young man by the name of Moses Slabaugh.”
“Slabaugh…”
“His name would have been Hochstetler. He’s living here in Painters Mill, but he’s originally from Connersville.”
“Yeah, I know that name. Amish folks?”
