Jackson 07 - Where All the Dead Lie (15 page)

“Because I’ve come to kill. Sam knows that, and she’s disappointed in me. I can’t disappoint her. She counts on me too much.”

It was so easy to talk to Maddee. Taylor didn’t feel bad about telling the truth. Not now, not when she was so comfortable and warm, sunlight splashing down on her.

“You came to kill? You were planning to kill Ewan Copeland before you came into the room?”

“Yes. He deserved it. He hurt too many people. He hurt Fitz, and Sam.”

“He didn’t hurt you directly though, did he? You weren’t in any physical danger from him until the very end, correct?”

“That didn’t matter. I had to put him down.”

“Tell me, Taylor. Tell me what you did.”

“The birds were singing. They were calling me to him. And then they quit….”

Taylor remembered now. Sheer, unadulterated rage filled her. The Pretender was torturing her friends, and she had to end his reign of terror. She’d designed her own personal plan of revenge, one designed to take out the chess piece that had disrupted her life so completely for the previous year. She wasn’t proud of the fact that she’d set out to kill the Pretender. And she’d failed, anyway, in the end. Sam was still hurt. She’d never heal properly.

She’d always blame Taylor for the loss of the baby.

Taylor was crying. She felt the tears on her face.

She hadn’t told anyone what she was really doing at the house, Baldwin included. Though she was pretty sure he knew what she’d been up to. But there were plenty of other moments leading up to the shooting that she’d like to forget as well.

Oh, God. Had she just shared all that with Maddee James?

Her heartbeat began to race. She wanted to wipe her face, but her arm was still tied to that fucking blue balloon.

“Help,” she said.

“Okay, Taylor. Hold it together now. I want you to let the pool of sun go away. When we’re together, anytime you get frightened or upset, all you need to do is think about that pool of sunlight, and you’ll feel better immediately. It gives you control over your emotions. I’m going to count backward from three. When I get to one, you will open your eyes. Three. Two. One.”

Taylor opened her eyes. Maddee was looking at her with an unfathomable expression on her face, somewhere between contemplation and…was that happiness? It was fleeting; Maddee’s face closed and became cool and professional again.

Taylor sat up. She had been crying. Maddee silently handed her a tissue. Taylor swiped it under her eyes and grabbed the laptop.

What just happened?

“Try speaking aloud.”

“What…” Oh God, it was like swallowing razor blades. She shook her head.

Maddee reached across and took Taylor’s hand. She smiled widely.

“There’s nothing wrong with your voice. You spoke just fine for the past fifteen minutes.”

“I… No.”

“Yes.” Maddee nodded, still grinning.

Oh, my God. She
had
said those things.

What did you do to me?

“Hypnotherapy. It worked, too. You were an excellent candidate. As you can see, you could speak just fine when you were under.”

You hypnotized me?

“Yes. I’m surprised Dr. Willig didn’t try that before EMDR. Sometimes you’ll come out of it speaking just fine. Or, you’ll be stubborn and still insist that you can’t. But at least we know you’re not damaged.”

Hypnosis. Shit. She didn’t know whether to be happy that Maddee had proved she could speak normally, or furious that Maddee had tricked her. Never mind that, she couldn’t believe she’d been so open, either. She’d admitted the one thing she needed to keep from everyone. Not that it mattered; Maddee was bound by doctor-patient privilege. And Taylor hadn’t killed Copeland. Baldwin had taken care of that for her. But still, admitting her intention was exactly the opposite of what she’d intended. She could get herself in more than moral trouble if she weren’t careful.

She chalked the mental lapse up to jet lag, and terrible dreams. And she couldn’t help herself—Maddee seemed like she could be a friend.

She smiled wanly.

So, that was fun.

“But you’re feeling more relaxed, right? What we just did, it’s just your basic biofeedback. A really great technique. You look like you’re familiar with yoga. Are you?”

A bit. I’m not very good at the poses, but I rock the breathing.

Maddee laughed. “Good. It’s the same thing when you’re doing therapy. You set an intention, and allow your breath to regulate your thoughts. You did great. You were much more relaxed than most first timers. I’m going to make you a tape. I want you to listen to it before you go to bed every night. It’s the same kind of exercise we’ve just done, and it will help your mind let go. The more you relax, the easier it will be to talk. And I’ll put in some suggestions to allow you to sleep. Insomnia is treatable, and I’ve had great success with this method.”

All right. So now what?

“If you’re up to doing some more, we can try some EMDR. See if we can help your feelings about Sam. A friend’s disappointment is a huge burden to carry. Let’s fix it.”

They worked for another half an hour before Maddee turned the EMDR unit off and poured on a smile.

“How do you feel now?” she asked.

Taylor had to admit, she was exhausted. But she felt freer, lighter than when they started. Between thoughts of her happy place at the camp, and the warm pool of sunlight she’d immersed herself in twice now when things got too tough, they’d taken the worst of the memories down a notch.

Taylor was starting to understand why people went into therapy. It was incredibly liberating to get all the worry and fear off your chest, to give it to someone else to hold.

“Don’t forget to take your melatonin tonight—probably around seven or so to give it time to get into your system. If you get a headache, take your pills and try to relax. Do the sunlight trick, thinking about the pain and watching it dissipate. The headache should leave. Then listen to the tape. I’ll make sure it’s waiting on you tonight. You should sleep like a baby.”

You’re wonderful, Maddee. Thank you so much.

The woman smiled. “Of course. I’m glad that you’re so responsive, we should have you back to normal very soon.” She patted her on the hand. “Now go enjoy this beautiful country. Memphis told me he’s taking you out for a drive. You’ll have fun—he knows all the great vistas. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Taylor watched Maddee gather her things and leave the room. She was pleased. Maddee certainly seemed to know what she was doing.

She felt unencumbered and happy, realized that for the first time since the shooting, she didn’t have that sense of doom hanging over her head. Well, that was worth the trip overseas in and of itself.

Baldwin would be worrying about her. She sent him a quick text. She decided not to go into detail, said things were fine, sent him love. No sense telling him Memphis had sung her to sleep, or that she’d just opened her heart to a stranger. That wouldn’t be productive.

She poured a fresh cup of tea and waited. Sure enough, within five minutes, Memphis came to get her, smiling widely.

“Head properly shrunk?” he asked.

She missed the ease of the laptop. Her notebook communication seemed so much slower.

You put it so nicely. Yes, we had a good session. You’re right, Maddee’s very good.

“Told you. Now, grab your coat and your boots. I’m taking you on a little excursion. You got to show me your Nashville, now it’s high time I give you a taste of my roots in return.”

Taylor waited patiently at the back door for Memphis to retrieve his vehicle. The day was brisk, clouds scuttering through a grayish-blue sky, the threat of precipitation imminent. Rain first, then as the temperature dropped and the air turned colder, snow. Memphis wanted to be back before three, sunset was at three-thirty this far north, and the snow was going to kick in by then.

She heard the engine of the car roar, and wondered what sort of surprise Memphis had in store for her now. She loved cars. It was one of the few things she and her father had in common. Though she chose to drive a truck at home, a good engine could get her heart racing just as much as Baldwin’s touch. She took a second to send him another text, telling him she’d be out of range for the rest of the day. He would touch base when he had the time. She’d tried twice, which was all that mattered.

The roar of the engine grew louder, accompanied by the tires crunching on the soft, loose stone gravel that made up the parking lot surrounding the castle. She almost gasped when the car came into view. Memphis was driving a pristine dark gray Aston Martin DB9. She knew off the top of her head that it retailed for over $180,000.

She didn’t care about the driver, she just wanted to get in and let that car take her wherever it wanted to go.

Memphis pulled to a stop, then got out and grinned. “Like her?”

You know I do. A bit flashy for you though, isn’t she?

“My one indulgence. And I can hardly drive around London with her. It wouldn’t send the right message to the people I work with. I have to leave her here. Are you ready to take a drive?”

He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door.

She didn’t hesitate.

You bet.

She took three steps down the stairs, put her hands in the pocket of her jacket to warm them. As she reached the last step, a sharp pain in her middle finger made her gasp. She whipped her left hand out of the jacket pocket, shocked to see she was bleeding.

“Ouch!” She’d blurted it out without thinking.

Memphis was at her side immediately. “Whoa, what happened?”

She stared at the cut on her finger. It looked like something was stuck in the wound. Memphis grabbed her hand, twisting it to and fro, then handed her a handkerchief.

“I must need bins, I don’t see anything in there.”

She tried dotting the blood but felt another searing pain. At a loss for what to do, she shrugged and stuck the offended digit into her mouth. She used her tongue to feel the cut. There was a hard chunk of something in it. Gently, lightly biting and sucking, she maneuvered it free. She pulled it from her mouth with her fingers, relieved that the sharp pain diminished.

“What is that?” Memphis asked.

Thank goodness it was her left hand: writing would be a pain with an open wound.

Glass, I think. In the pocket of my jacket.

Concern prominent on his face, Memphis bustled her back inside, made her take off the jacket. Trixie was in the next room; Taylor could hear her dressing down one of the serving maids. Memphis called for her. When she arrived, he sent her to the medicine kit for a plaster. Then he took Taylor’s coat and turned the pocket inside out.

There was a fine layer of shiny grit lining the pocket. In the hall light it was easy to see the miniature shards of glass.

“What in the hell?” he said. “How could that have happened? This is a brand-new coat. It was just delivered yesterday. Damn, I can’t get all this out.”

Taylor was still sucking on her finger.

Some sort of mistake in the factory, probably.

“Look at this. There’s actually a cut in the lining. They’re going to have a very unhappy call from me this afternoon. I’ll just be a moment.”

He hurried into another room, was gone for a few minutes. He and Trixie arrived back at the same time, she holding a plaster and bottle of antiseptic cream, Memphis carrying a tattered brown canvas jacket with a thick flannel lining.

“Here you go. This is one of mine. You can wear it today, it should keep you warm enough.”

They got Taylor all fixed up, making much too big a deal out of the tiny cut. Trixie seemed especially upset by the matter, as if she’d had control of the coat arriving from the store ruined. She told Memphis she’d handle getting a replacement straightaway, then disappeared with the offending garment tucked under her arm like a dead duck. Taylor realized she hadn’t made eye contact, and thought that was strange. Maybe Trixie knew Memphis had made a late-night visit to her room and disapproved. Maybe she’d put the ground glass in Taylor’s pocket to warn her off.

Oh, that was crazy. It was obviously just a mistake at the factory, or the shipping company. Some glass broke near the box, that was all.

Bandaged and redressed, they tried again. Taylor was less flustered about it all than Memphis, who was growling as loudly as his car’s engine.

The seats of the Aston Martin were soft dove-gray leather, and she angled herself in, feeling foolish for causing such a stir. It was bizarre, the glass, but hardly a capital offense.

Their second attempt was more successful than the first. Ten minutes later, Memphis turned onto the A9, heading toward Inverness.

Memphis chatted, desultorily, of the land around them. Taylor was struck by the stark beauty, the ever-changing landscape that snuck from hills to mountains to lochs to forests at a dizzying rate. The road signs made her laugh. They were so very helpful. Her favorite read Tiredness Kills, Take A Break. There was an area of ruined trees, akin to what she was used to seeing at home when a tornado moved through. Memphis explained that they’d recently had a century storm, with gale force winds and drifting snow.

As they drove higher, the clouds came down and kissed the tops of the mountains. A falcon perched on the lay-by sign, gloomily watching the cars pass. His dejected look made Taylor sad. Something just didn’t feel right about all of this. It was beautiful, and a treat, but she really should be in Nashville, dealing with her life instead of running away from it. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a great idea after all. Though her morning with Maddee had been full of revelations, making herself so available to Memphis, leading him into thinking that she was here for more than just a rest, was going to get her in trouble.

Oh, stop it already, Taylor. Getting a little cut on your finger isn’t worth ruining your mood. You haven’t done a single thing wrong. It is high time you stop punishing yourself
.

Memphis doled out bits of history to her as they passed by various landmarks. After twenty minutes, he took a round about and exited off to the north, toward a place called Grantown-on-Spey. She loved the name. So very Scottish. That cheered her up. The town itself came into view, a lovely resort village. She could smell smoke and peat from the fire places. It was obviously an affluent area; the architecture was some of the finest she’d seen. The roads were well paved, and the whole town was done up for Christmas. It looked quite elegant. Memphis explained that this was a prime water sports and caravanning spot. But in the winter, it curled in on itself like a dead leaf, waiting for the warmer weather to break it free.

“Do you need to stop?” he asked. “We can get some tea.”

She shook her head. If she saw any more tea this morning she may float away.

Memphis left the town behind, driving into the forest. The road got narrower, the pavement breaking in parts. It got continually worse for several miles.

Where are we going?

“To the family seat.”

The family seat?

“Yes. This is my history. We’re not all ghosts and castles, you know.”

She couldn’t get her bearings. The trees were so thick that the sun didn’t shine through, and the cloud cover made it impossible to tell which direction was north. Memphis seemed like he was making turns at random, taking her deeper and deeper into the woods. The road narrowed to one lane. There was nothing out here, no villages, no signs. Just the extensive flora and fauna of the Highlands. She was hopelessly lost.

She finally saw a sign, tiny, brown, with an arrow pointing to a church. Memphis said, “Nearly there,” and turned left.

She didn’t think it was possible for the road to get any narrower, but it did.

“In the summer I can’t bring this car out here. The branches hang over the road and scratch the paint.”

She could see how it would be more suited to an off-road vehicle. They were practically on a dirt track.

The road twisted, and the church advertised on the sign came into view. It was stone, collapsed, untended. A ruin. She felt suddenly sorry. No sacred place should go unloved. Memphis drove by it without a glance, then slowed to a stop.

“We go on foot the rest of the way,” he said.

She followed him from the vehicle, glad to have his coat for warmth. The air was crisp and she heard water running. They walked for about a hundred yards, around the bend, and she caught her breath when the scene unfolded in front of her. A quaint but substantial stone bridge, bordered by a huge waterfall.

It was beautiful.

Memphis gave her a moment to take in the scene. “You can only truly see the waterfall during the winter. In the summer, it’s in full leaf here and hidden from view unless you’re under it, in the river. Great fishing in some of the pools that filter off of it.”

She was reluctant to take her hands out of her pockets to write; the chill was sneaking under the edges of her coat already.

Wow. It’s stunning.

“This is Dulsie Bridge.”

She turned to look at him, puzzled.

Wait a minute. Your family is named for a bridge?

“Yes. It’s a very important bridge.”

But a bridge? You don’t have a town or a village or a county, or…something?

“That old church back there. But it fell down two centuries ago.”

Ah, I see. Okay then.

Memphis laughed. “No, you don’t. But that’s all right. If an army needed to cross this land, there was no way across the river. They built this in 1255 to allow English troops to move across the land. You’ll know that Highsmythe is a British name, not Scottish, yes?”

She nodded.

“We were granted the lands early, and left them untended for many years. But when the fourth earl came north to view his properties and collect rents, he immediately saw the advantages to be had. A way to get even richer than he already was. He built onto the castle with the proceeds from the deal, then settled into his life in the Highlands, far away from England’s rule. Married young Isabella and gained even more land. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

That’s some story.

“And more importantly, Robert Burns stayed here once, too, while he was visiting Strathspey. He took a liking to Mrs. Grant.”

Ah. ‘My love is like a red, red rose.’

“You know him?”

She smiled at him.

Everyone knows who Robert Burns is, Memphis.

He took her hand and put it to his heart.
“‘So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I, And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry.’”

His face was hopeful, smiling lightly. Taylor bit her lip. She knew he was just quoting from the poem, that it was another’s words. But did he?

She didn’t know what to say.

“Taylor, I—”

She held up her hand. God, not being able to talk to him right now was killing her.

Stop, Memphis. Please. Before you say something you might regret.

He turned back to the river. She could see he was fighting with himself. There was more he wanted to say, more that he wanted to do. She could feel the frustration coming off him in waves.

She was frustrated as well. She didn’t know what she wanted. She’d always thought she did, but the past few weeks, with Baldwin pushing her away and Memphis pulling her in… She kicked at a rock, watched it spill over the edge and down into the torrent of water below. Her head hurt.

Memphis turned to her, his eyes dark. “I won’t say it, then. But I will do it.”

He took two steps toward her, so quickly that she didn’t have a chance to back away, put his arms around her, and pulled her to him. Without hesitating, he lowered his face to hers.

Their lips met urgently. She exhaled into him, getting lost in the kiss. The last time this had happened, she’d pulled away. But right now, with no one watching, no one to see, she didn’t want to.

He put one hand behind her neck and the other around her waist, pulling her closer, deeper. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to think, didn’t want the kiss to end. It was perfect, hard and soft at all the right moments, the rhythm moving in a way that told her they would be good together in more ways than just this.

A little voice spoke out from the back of her head—
Taylor, you are losing yourself….

She told it to shut up. She’d been lying to herself, to Baldwin, to Sam. She’d come to Scotland, for better or for worse, to figure out what sort of glamour Memphis had put on her, whether it was something real, or something destined for failure. Now, standing on his family’s lands, at the very heart of his history, was as good a time as any to find out.