Love Me to Death Read online

  She stood where she was. “Pakita said you were my soul mate. Do you feel that’s true?”

  He stopped walking, but said nothing.

  “She spoke to me as if I was Sierra. She kept saying that I had come back, to make things right. I think…I think she was talking about reincarnation, David.”

  Turning slowly, he faced her.

  “I’m very scared right now. Because the next thing I need to do is talk to Frank Terrence, and for some reason I’m petrified of doing that. If you leave me now, I don’t think I can do it. And I feel like I have to. I need you, David.”

  His face seemed so incredibly sad. “This is tearing me apart, you know that, right? To go back over all of this, to open it all up again—it’s killing me.”

  Sara lowered her head, closed her eyes and felt tears burning to escape. And she didn’t look up, not even when she heard his footsteps coming closer, hurrying through the snow. And then he was clasping her face between his palms, tilting her head back and lowering his mouth to hers. The instant his lips touched hers, she twisted her arms around his neck, and the sound emanating from her chest was one of mingled longing and relief. She opened to him, pressed tighter, kissed more deeply. He hugged her waist and bent over her, and it was as if they were sucked into the spinning spiral rotation of a whirlpool, where nothing else existed beyond this. This point of contact. This kiss. It was everything in that moment. It was everything.

  When he lifted his head away at last, his eyes were tumultuous. There was desire there, yes, but there was also confusion. And above all else, this overwhelming sense of relief. It was an exact mirror of what she was feeling.

  “That didn’t feel like a first kiss,” she whispered.

  He nodded in agreement. “Maybe it would be better not to…try to analyze it right now.”

  “I don’t know that I could if I tried.”

  “No. No, neither do I,” David said. “So let’s leave it for now. I’ll go with you to see Frank Terrence. But if we don’t want the man to keel over dead, maybe we should do something about your…appearance?”

  “How? You have a suitcase full of disguises in your Jeep?”

  He shrugged. “No, but I have a baseball cap and sunglasses.”

  “Not very creative, but I suppose it’ll do.”

  He took her hand and started toward the Jeep. She went a few steps, but then stopped him and when he turned, she leaned up and kissed him again.

  He stared down at her. “I don’t know what this is, Sara.”

  “Don’t you want to find out?”

  His eyes were pained, but sincere, too. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know if I can handle it.”

  She felt her brows push against each other, but then nodded as she tried to understand. Every time he looked at her, he must be reminded of his crime—the mistake that had resulted in a young woman’s death. Horrible death, at that.

  And that might very well be too much for anyone to bear.

  “I guess I get that,” she told him. “Try to hang in with me, though, would you? Just until I figure out what the hell I’m supposed to be doing here?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  “I’d never try to push you into—”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” He hooked an arm around her waist, pulled her closer, held her in a tight, warm embrace, and his face was in her hair, and she knew he was feeling, smelling, relishing her, just the way she was relishing him. “I meant, I don’t think I could stay away from you if I tried. At least, not now. Not yet.”

  “But maybe…later?”

  “Sara,” he whispered, dropping his forehead against hers. “We just met. Why don’t we try to take it moment by moment here? Just for now? Think you can do that?”

  “I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to find you,” she whispered. “I feel like we’ve always been together. And I don’t know anything about you. And that makes no sense whatsoever, David, but that’s what it feels like.”

  “I know.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. As long as you know.”

  “I do.” With a deep sigh that sounded like one of regret, he looked at his watch. “It’s after nine. He might be in bed if we wait much longer.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  SARA WASN’T SURPRISED that David knew which trailer lot belonged to Sierra’s father, Frank Terrence. Even though the trailer, he said, had changed. She stood slightly behind him, hunching into her jacket, wearing a Red Sox cap with her long hair pulled through the opening in the back, ponytail style, and a pair of sporty sunglasses, both borrowed from his car.

  And yet when the man opened the door, she recoiled, and wasn’t sure why. She’d expected—well, not this. He was tall and lean, wearing a pair of olive-green work pants and a matching shirt with his name on the pocket patch. There were pens and a tire pressure gauge in that pocket. His hair was neat, and short, and shock white, but thick. And his face was clean-shaven.

  “Yes?” He looked at David, almost glanced at Sara, but then refocused on David again. “You…you’re the kid who killed my daughter.”

  “I’m hardly a kid anymore, Mr. Terrence.”

  He narrowed his eyes in anger. “That doesn’t change history, does it? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I…wanted to ask you…a couple of questions about Sierra. If you’re willing.”

  “Well, I’m not. And what the hell good do you think it’s going to do you anyway? After all this time?”

  “Please, Mr. Terrence,” Sara said, and finally, for the first time, the man focused on her. Really focused.

  His expression changed from one of anger to one that seemed curious or perplexed. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Sara Jensen. I’m an art teacher from out of town. I was visiting friends, and I…well, I was touched by the Teen Center and how it was named after your daughter, and I just…wanted to know more about her.” She shrugged, and noted that he still looked doubtful. “I want to tell my school board and community about it, see if they’d consider setting up something similar in my town. It’s just…such a great…resource. For kids.”

  After a moment’s consideration, he nodded slowly. “All right,” he said. “You can come in. But I can only give you five minutes. I have things to do.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “And thank you, Mr. Terrence. I’m so sorry about what happened to your daughter.”

  “Sure you are.” The man stepped aside and held the door open. David went in first, and Sara followed close behind.

  The trailer was nice. A high-end double-wide, with peaked ceilings, hardwood floors and gleaming countertops. You wouldn’t know, from the inside, that it wasn’t a one-story house.

  “This is nice,” David said softly. “It’s different from the one you had before—”

  “There was a significant settlement,” Frank Terrence said. “The town owned the house. It should have been locked up, so kids couldn’t get in there.”

  He shrugged. “Not that any of that brings my girl back, now, does it?”

  David lowered his head. “I’ll never, ever forgive myself for that night, Mr. Terrence. It haunts me to this day.”

  He grunted, but turned his focus to Sara. “What are your questions?”

  “Do you know why Sierra ran away?”

  “She was upset about her mother leaving,” he said. “Tammy up and moved back to India, to be with her family. Said we were incompatible.”

  “Tammy?” Sara tipped her head to one side. “The name doesn’t sound Indian.”

  “Tamara,” he said. “But I never went in for that Hindu nonsense.”

  “I see.”

  He squinted at her, tipping his head to one side.

  “Did Sierra’s mother come to her funeral? Or her Aunt Pakita?” At his surprised look, she added, “David told me about her. Your wife’s sister, right?”

  He shook his head.
“Her mother left me no contact information. I couldn’t even tell her her little girl was dead. Not that she deserved that consideration. She walked out on us, after all.”

  She nodded. “Surely Pakita told her.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t have much cause to interact with Patti.”

  “Patti.” She repeated it deadpan. “You don’t have much respect for your daughter’s cultural heritage, do you, Mr. Terrence?”

  He tipped his head to one side, and quick as a cobra, he reached out and snatched the hat and glasses from her in one swift move.

  Sara jumped, and tried to smooth her hair.

  Frank Terrence stared at her, rising slowly to his feet. “Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I told you who I am. I’m Sara Jensen from New Hampshire. I’m an art teacher.” As she spoke, David rose, and planted himself squarely between her and the agitated man.

  “But you look…you look just like…” Frank Terrence pushed a hand through his thick white hair, and shook his head. Tearing his gaze from Sara, he speared David with his eyes. “What is this really about?”

  David said something, but Sara didn’t hear him. There was a loud buzzing in her ears, and her vision went black, as if she were a television set whose power cord had been yanked from the wall. She just sort of…tuned out.

  * * *

  “LOOK, MAYBE SARA HERE feels more connected to Sierra because of the resemblance, but it’s really not as strong as it seems at first,” David said. He thought if he could ease the man’s mind, he might defuse his anger and mistrust.

  But the man was staring at Sara, and David found himself compelled to turn and stare at her, too.

  Only, the woman looking back at him didn’t feel like Sara. Particularly when she began to speak. Her voice was higher pitched, and had an entirely different inflection to it. And her words were haunting.

  Staring at Frank, her eyes blazing, she said, “I want to know what you did with my mother, you son of a dog!”

  The man stood up so fast the chair in which he’d been sitting tipped over and hit the floor. He raised a trembling arm, long forefinger pointing at the door. “Get out.”

  Sara blinked, and rubbed her eyes.

  “Get the fuck out of my house, now! And don’t you dare ever darken my door again. Do you hear me? Never!”

  Sara frowned at him, then at David. “What happened?”

  “Never mind. Come on.” He took her arm, tugging her to her feet and then hustling her out the door, which slammed the minute they were through it.

  They were almost to the car when she asked him again, “David, tell me what happened?”

  “What do you remember?”

  “I don’t know. I was sitting there, and asking him questions, and then I had this moment of…I don’t know, lapse. Almost like I blacked out, only I didn’t fall over or anything.”

  He opened her door, helped her in, then went to his side and got behind the wheel. He had the Jeep underway a few seconds later, and he knew she was waiting, none too patiently, for an answer.

  Choosing his words with care, he told her, “You said, and I quote, ‘I want to know what you did with my mother, you son of a dog.’”

  He glanced her way as he drove.

  She was frowning hard. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, you did. And it wasn’t in your voice. You sounded…you sounded like Sierra.”

  “Oh, come on, David—”

  “I’m not making this up. Hell, Sara, why would I?” He sighed even harder, shaking his head. “Where are you staying?”

  “We can’t go where I’m staying. We haven’t solved anything yet.”

  “I think it’s time to call it a night, hon. Where are you staying?”

  Frowning, but capitulating, Sara told him the address on Oak Street, and he knew right where it was.

  “I don’t understand any of this,” Sara said. “Why would I ask him something like that? Sierra’s mother went back to India.”

  “Did she?” David shook his head. “I don’t know. You know, I only met the woman a few times, but she seemed totally devoted to Sierra. Seems odd a woman would leave her teenage daughter behind. Maybe we need to look into that. Maybe Frank Terrence abused the woman, giving her no choice but to leave. Or something.”

  Sara looked at him, and he saw so much in her eyes, so much he wanted to explore, to know. But he had to avert his own, to focus on his driving.

  “He wasn’t…what I expected,” Sara said at length.

  “No?” Curious, he looked at her as he drove. “What did you expect?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I thought he’d be overweight, unkempt, unshaven, dirty, with a beer in his hand.”

  He nodded. “That’s exactly how I remember him. He’s pulled himself together, apparently. But yeah, you just described him to a T, the way he was when Sierra was still alive. It’s uncanny how well you nailed him.”

  She frowned in thought.

  “It’s like I have some of her memories,” she said softly. “God, maybe this reincarnation stuff is…real.”

  He looked at her. “Maybe it is.”

  They didn’t speak again for the remainder of the drive. Not until he pulled the Jeep into the driveway of the attractive house where she was staying.

  “Friends of yours live here?” he asked her.

  “My roommate Nikki’s parents live here. But they’re on vacation.”

  “So it’s just you and Nikki.” Why was he doing this, he asked himself? Was he an idiot?

  “Nikki’s still in New Hampshire. She’ll be here tomorrow night.”

  “Oh.” He shut the engine off.

  “I want you to come in, David.”

  He turned, looked into her eyes and nodded, because he was helpless to do anything else. Her lips pulled very slightly at the corners. Not a smile, but as close to one as she could probably manage tonight.

  Then she opened her door and got out, and he opened his and followed her.

  Unlocking the house, she went inside without looking back. David went in, as well, and tried to feign interest in the house’s decor, looking around as if it mattered to him, seeing nothing but Sara.

  “This way,” she told him, and she started up the stairs.

  Frowning, he remained at the bottom, looking up at her as she ascended. “Sara, I don’t know if—”

  She turned quickly, looking down at him. “You said you’d been dreaming, too.”

  “I have.” God, she was beautiful.

  “If you’ve been having the same dreams I have…” She let her voice trail off.

  “Similar dreams, maybe—”

  “But not the same ones?”

  He tipped his head to one side. “How could they be?”

  “How could any of this be?” she asked. And she came down a step. “I’m wearing gauzy white. You’re not wearing anything at all. It’s outside, and it’s raining. The ground is wet, but we don’t seem to notice. We just sort of tangle ourselves up in each other, and we’re kissing like there’s no tomorrow, and—”

  “Okay, okay.” He felt everything she described as if it were happening then. And he felt more than that. He felt stunned, because she was describing the exact dream he’d been having, night after lonely night.

  She came down another step. “If you’ve been dreaming it, too, then it must mean—”

  “It could mean anything, Sara.”

  “Pakita says we’re soul mates. What if she’s right?”

  “What if she’s not?”

  She shrugged, coming down one more step, standing now just one step above him, putting them at eye level. “What if it doesn’t matter?” she asked. She slid her hands over his shoulders, interlocking her fingers behind his neck. “Right now, David, I need someone’s arms around me. I don’t think I’ve ever really needed that before, but I need it now. It may not be very politically correct or logical. But I need it, and you’re here, and I think you nee
d it, too. Can we just leave it at that, and not worry about the rest? Just for tonight?”

  He didn’t answer, because she pressed her lips to his. The kiss caught fire, and he felt himself nodding, wrapping his arms around her. He slid his palms down her back, over her hips and thighs, and then pulled her legs up around his waist and climbed the stairs. She wrapped her body around his like a spider monkey, clinging as they made out in motion. At the top of the stairs, he muttered, “Which way?” against her lips, his entire body ablaze.

  She wriggled her hips against his, tightening the grip of her legs around his waist, and tipped her head slightly. He moved in that direction, up to the first door. She took one arm from around his neck to reach behind her, twisting the doorknob and pushing it open. David carried her inside, and they collapsed onto the bed.

  He no longer thought about what he was doing. They’d taken this beyond thought. There was only feeling now. Desire, passion, longing. It felt, for all the world, like a longing that had been with him his entire life. And it felt far above and beyond his teenage crush on Sierra, or the regret he’d felt about her death all this time. This felt like more.

  It felt, he thought, though it scared the hell out of him to think it, like destiny.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SARA HAD NEVER FELT anything like what she was feeling with every touch of this man’s hands, and mouth. The bedroom was dim, but not pitch-dark. Still, they were enfolded in soft shadow as they tumbled to the bed, tugging at each other’s clothes until they were both naked, their limbs entangled, their lips questing, asking and receiving, offering and giving.

  She felt things in disjointed bursts of sensation. His hairy calf brushing over her smooth one. His fingers sliding over her arm, and then her belly. The hardness of him pressing against her thigh.

  And then pressing inside her. Just that naturally, just that easily. They moved as if there were one mind operating both of their bodies, coming together, pulling apart, but not too far, and coming together again. They clung and moved and strained, and their sounds were soft and desperately hungry.