Submerged Page 5

  "Marcus, it's John Zur." The detective went on to tell him Jane and Ryan had been involved in a serious car accident.

  Marcus ripped the needle from his arm and jumped to his feet. "Where?"

  "Not far from Cadomin."

  "I'm on my way."

  "Marcus, you should—"

  Marcus shifted into autopilot. He hung up the phone before Zur could finish what he was saying, grabbed his coat and ran from the cabin to his car. It was raining, freezing rain, but he barely noticed. All he could think of was his wife and son, hurt and dazed. They needed him.

  He sped down the highway until he saw the police cars and fire truck. He pulled up behind an ambulance, parked, then leapt from his car.

  Zur strode toward him. "Marcus, I don't think you should—"

  Ignoring the detective, Marcus skidded down the muddy embankment toward the water-filled ditch.

  Then he saw it. Jane's car. It had flipped over and was half submerged in deep, murky water.

  "Jaaaane!" he screamed. "Ryan!"

  Two rescuers using the Jaws of Life ripped open the side door, the metal grinding and squealing in rebellion, water pouring to the ground. In the driver's seat a body hung upside-down, water up to the waist.

  Marcus recognized Jane's jacket immediately. "Nooo!"

  The remainder of that night was a blur of flashing lights and sirens.

  And death.

  He had a lot to make up for. Penance was his middle name.

  The phone rang, tearing him from his dark thoughts. Over the next few hours he filed paperwork, forwarded a suspicious arson call to Fire and Police and sent an ambulance to a possible home invasion, while doing his best not to think of the meeting he'd promised Leo he'd attend.

  There was a brief second when he stared at the computer monitor and thought of why he went to the meetings in the first place. To make amends. To help assuage the guilt.

  To be forgiven?

  Was that even possible?

  Chapter Four

  Edmonton, AB – Thursday, June 13, 2013 – 6:24 PM

  When Rebecca pulled up to the house, the first thing she noticed was the garage door. It was open. She parked the car on the driveway and muttered a curse beneath her breath.

  "You forgot to push the button, Mom," Colton said.

  "Maybe it hit something and bounced back up."

  She jabbed the remote button and watched the door close. It stayed closed. She pressed the button again and watched the garage door open.

  "Nope, Mommy was a twit," she said in a cheery voice as she pulled the car inside and lowered the garage door once more.

  "What's a twit?" Ella asked.

  Colton snorted. "It's what you are, twit."

  "Mommy, am I a twit?"

  "No, honey." Rebecca turned in the seat and pointed a finger at Colton. "Stop teasing your sister."

  She eyed the garage and the door into the house. She never locked that door, except at night. It made her nervous, knowing the house had been left unsecured. There had been a couple of break-ins in the neighborhood lately—mostly the larger, newer homes. But even though her open garage was an invitation to every thief and vandal in the area, she doubted anyone had bothered. The outside of the house was plain and unassuming, and with few luxuries, the inside screamed "hockey mom." Not exactly the best place for delinquents to shop for electronics, drugs or money.

  She opened the car door. "Wait here. I'm going to check the house. Then I'll come get you."

  "Aw, Mom," Colton said with a groan.

  "Colton, watch your sister. I'll be back in a minute."

  "Okay, but I'm timing you." He grinned. "Starting now."

  Rebecca went inside the small bungalow that Wesley had convinced her to buy. "A great fixer-upper," he'd called it. She'd grown accustomed to calling it "the money pit," even though her husband had promised he'd handle all the repairs and finish everything the previous owners had neglected. Like baseboards. There wasn't one to be found anywhere in the house. Who lived in a house with no baseboards?

  On the main level, the master en suite toilet was a constant annoyance, plugging the instant anyone flushed more than three sheets of toilet paper. And the fireplace in the living room leaked into the window casing, causing tiny puffs of smoke to enter their home. This was of great concern to Rebecca since Ella had been recently diagnosed with asthma.

  "Note to self," she mumbled. "Get fireplace leak fixed next week."

  Then there was the family room in the basement, which had no ceiling. Wesley had insisted that the raw wood beams and pipes made it feel rustic, like a "man cave." She'd told him he was welcome to it.

  As Rebecca walked through the rooms, she looked about for anything missing. She hesitated near the table by the living room window. The family photos appeared disturbed. She frowned, examining the dust trail on the table. Was she imagining it, or had the photo of her and the kids been moved?

  She repositioned the picture, stared at it a moment, then gave a nervous laugh. One of the kids probably knocked it over.

  Shrugging off her paranoia, she hurried back to the garage and waved at the kids. Colton climbed out on the side with the good door, while Rebecca fought with the damaged door and helped Ella with her seat belt.

  "Why'd we have to wait in the car?" Ella asked, scowling.

  "Case there were burglars," her brother answered.

  Ella's eyes grew wide and fearful. "Burglars?"

  "You know, bad guys. Like The Fog."

  "Colton," Rebecca warned. She turned to Ella. "There are no burglars in our house, honey."

  "What about bad guys?"

  "Nope. None of those either."

  "You sure?"

  Rebecca nodded and took her daughter's hand. "I checked everywhere."

  "Everywhere?"

  "Yes, honey. Even in the fridge."

  Ella laughed. "He'd be pretty cold."

  "And stupid," Colton said. "Maybe he's hiding under Ella's bed."

  "Nope," Rebecca said. "I checked there too." Over her shoulder, she threw her son a scolding look. I'll deal with you later, mister.

  "It's just us chickens," she said. "Cluck, cluck."

  This set Ella off into a round of clucking and flapping her arms.

  Rebecca grinned. "Homework before pizza. Go! Both of you."

  The "chicken" raced down the hall, her scowling brother plodding behind.

  Rebecca ordered a pizza for the kids.

  Not in the mood for such high carbs, she pulled a container from the refrigerator, lifted the lid and sniffed. "Good God, what was this?"

  Whatever it had been, it wasn't identifiable anymore, and she scooped it out into the garbage can under the sink. On the bottom shelf of the fridge, she found the leftover Greek salad from last night. That'll do.

  She settled into the armchair in the corner of the living room and polished off the salad while taking in the chaos of the living room. Wesley had always loathed coming home to a messy house, so she'd spend hours tidying up before he came home. Since he'd moved out, she'd become lax in her housekeeping. It was kind of liberating.

  "We gotta clean sometime," she muttered, strolling into the kitchen and setting the empty salad container in the dishwasher.

  Back in the living room, she gathered up Ella's sweater and Colton's hockey uniform and threw on a load of laundry. She put away Colton's Xbox and gathered up Ella's half-naked Barbies that were scattered over the sofa. She also wiped what looked like dried peanut butter off the coffee table.

  Then she turned on the laptop that sat on the desk in the corner of the living room. Planning to pay the electricity bill, she logged into the joint checking account. "What the―"

  The account showed a negative balance. Wesley.

  Rebecca wanted to cry. Next week the mortgage payment was due. That meant they'd be going into the overdraft again.

  She clicked to view the check for two thousand dollars that Wesley had written. It had been made out to Jeffrey Dover, one o
f the guys her husband played cards with every week. It wasn't the first time he'd owed someone money.

  Suddenly, she didn't feel like crying. She wanted to strangle Wesley.

  The phone rang.

  Seeing the name on the call display, she muttered, "Damn."

  "Hey, Rebecca," Wesley said when she picked up.

  "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She was being snide, but she doubted he'd pick up on her sarcasm.

  He didn't. "I wanted to thank you for being so agreeable about Colton."

  "Yeah, that's me. Agreeable."

  There was a pause.

  "You sound pissed," he said.

  "I am."

  "What's up?"

  "There's no money in the bank account."

  "Oh yeah. I was going to mention that check, but I forgot."

  "How could you forget two thousand dollars?"

  "I'll make it back next week. We're playing double stakes."

  "Jesus, Wesley! You can't guarantee you'll win at poker. Besides, where are you going to get the money to play?"

  "Mike said he'd front me the money."

  "And what if you lose?"

  "You sure have a lot of faith in me. No wonder I feel so shitty all the time. I can't win with you."

  "Don't make this about me. You're the one who put us in the hole again. I'm doing everything I can to keep us afloat."

  At least until the divorce comes through, she thought. Then I can save my own money.

  "Oh yeah. You're so wonderful to be supporting us all." There was acid in his voice.

  "What are you doing to provide for your kids?" she snapped. "My lawyer and I would like to know."

  There was a low growl on the other end of the line. "Rebecca, we managed this separation without a lawyer interfering. That's because we're reasonable adults, and we're thinking of our kids' best interests. I should move back. We can work things out. I'll go see someone—a shrink, if you want."

  Her eyes watered. Why does life have to be so hard?

  Part of her wanted to beg him to move back home. Maybe she was contributing to Wesley's employment problem and anger. How good could his self-esteem be if she kept nagging him? She should be more supportive. Her husband was a proud man who'd hit a crossroads in his working life. The economy wasn't helping either. Up one week and down the other. It made finding full-time employment very difficult. Wesley wasn't the only person looking for work. As for his anger issues, counseling could help.

  But he won't go. She'd tried before.

  "Leave things as they are," she said, drained of all energy.

  "But how can we fix this if―"

  "We can't fix this, Wesley. Our marriage is over."

  Silence.

  Rebecca juggled the phone and wiped a sweaty palm on her hip. She heard a clock ticking somewhere in the house and the kids giggling down the hall.

  "Wesley?"

  No reply.

  "Wesley!"

  "I've got a lead on a job," he said finally, his voice icy. "It's up north. Fort McMurray."

  "Did you go for an interview yet?"

  "I'm heading up there tomorrow morning. I won't be back until Sunday. How about we talk about everything when you get back from Cadomin? By the way, how's everything at work? I heard they were laying people off."

  Tell him you're going to quit Alberta Cable and start a business of your own. Don't be such a coward!

  For the past year or so, she'd been playing with the idea of owning a bed and breakfast outside of Edmonton yet close enough to the highway that she could advertise to travelers. Every time she'd considered bringing it up with Wesley, she froze.

  What I do doesn't matter now. Not to him.

  "Everything's fine," she said. "We'll talk later."

  "Becca?"

  She sighed. "Yeah?"

  "Enjoy your little holiday." Slam.

  She was left holding a dead phone.

  At 8:50 Rebecca poured a small glass of white wine and sank into the faux suede recliner in the living room. She released a soft groan and mentally shook off the remnants of her day.

  The kids were in bed. Ella was probably already asleep, dreaming of fairies and flowers. Colton had been playing Jade Empire on his Xbox 360. She'd given him until nine, then lights out. Of course she'd have to remind him more than a few times. That came with the territory of being a mom. She recalled reading with a flashlight under the covers when she was about Colton's age.

  She smiled at the memory.

  Thinking of her upcoming holiday, she began her nightly ritual. First she turned on the TV for noise. It comforted her to hear someone else's voice besides her own. Some nights she listened to music. Anything other than listening to the house breathe and creak and groan. She also turned on a light in the kitchen and bathroom, plus the lamp by her chair. She didn't like the shadows or walking into a pitch-black room. One never knew what was lurking in the dark.

  Or in the fog.

  Back in 2007, a serial child abductor had terrorized Edmonton. Reporters had dubbed him "The Fog" because he struck on foggy nights. She'd cried when she heard about the children's bodies found in the woods.

  The Fog was gone now, yet when she thought of the open garage door, she shivered. Forget about it, silly.

  At night, it was difficult not to think of her life with Wesley. She'd at least felt safe in her home.

  Really, Rebecca? Safe?

  One of the most difficult things she had to get used to after Wesley moved out was being alone. It wasn't easy. She'd depended on him to at least be there. Most nights.

  Sipping the wine, she flipped through the channels and paused on an episode of Law & Order. A wife was being grilled after the suspicious death of her husband. Rebecca wondered if the husband had driven the wife to do it. Had he abused his wife the way Wesley abused me?

  Abuse. A nasty subject. Even in today's world it was one of those hidden secrets that no one wanted to talk about it. Before meeting Wesley, she had always thought women who didn't speak up were merely weak. Now she knew better. It wasn't weakness that kept them from telling; it was fear. Especially if there were children involved.

  She'd stayed with Wesley for the kids' sake—in the beginning. It was her father who had opened her eyes to the life she'd created. The make-believe one.

  "You're too smart to make stupid choices," he said, not long after he returned home after his heart surgery.

  "What stupid choices?" she asked.

  "Staying."

  She didn't ask him what he meant by that.

  "You never liked him, did you, Dad?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I could see it in his eyes."

  "See what?"

  Her father turned away. "The same look I used to have in mine. An anger so consuming that it destroys everything in its path."

  His admission had stunned her. She'd never known the side of him he was describing. Her father had always been funny and proud. He'd seemed happy most of the time, though she knew he and her mother had argued at times. What couple didn't?

  "But you never hit Mom," she said.

  "No…but I came close a few times."

  "And that's why you divorced?"

  Her father patted her hand. "That was one reason we got a divorce. Honey, it's not easy going through life with a strong woman like your mom. She's got her own ideas of what she wants to do with her life. I had mine."

  "And they weren't the same," she guessed.

  He nodded. "I was busy following my path, and your mother was following hers. I guess, after a while, we started to veer away instead of cross. Some people's paths are on a collision course for disaster."

  Two months later, her father had suffered a fatal heart attack. But she'd never forgotten those words. A collision course for disaster.

  Well, that certainly summed up her marriage.

  Tonight as she sipped her wine, Rebecca thought about her own life path. She had no idea where it would lead, a
nd that scared her. She'd detoured so far from Wesley now that she hoped their paths would remain far apart. She feared if they crossed paths again, it would result in a collision that would submerge her once more in a life of fear. She couldn't go there again. Not when she was finally learning how to breathe on her own.

  Somewhere in the house something clanged.

  Setting down the wine glass, she walked around, listening as the house settled for the evening. She heard a soft scratching sound behind the door to the garage. Damn mice!

  She opened the door and flicked on the light. Nothing moved. No scurrying of little feet. She'd have to remember to get some mouse traps in the morning. She dreaded finding their lifeless bodies, but it couldn't be helped. If she didn't eliminate them, they'd leave droppings and rip open garbage bags. Not to mention they'd propagate like Gremlins.

  She closed the door and locked it. Then she went back to the recliner and her wine. She finished another glass and found one of her favorite movies on Movie Central. Sleeping with the Enemy. It was about a woman, played by Julia Roberts, who ingeniously escapes her husband's abuse and starts a new life with a new name.

  Rebecca could relate. She often wished she could start a new life.

  I guess in a way I have.

  The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she wasn't that different from Julia's character in the movie. She was starting over, and that meant anything was possible. Even another love.

  She ran a finger over the rim of the wine glass. What would it feel like to be touched by another man? To be kissed with tenderness? To make love? It had been so long, she was afraid she'd forgotten how to go about it.

  She let out a laugh and muffled it with her hand. She could imagine Kelly telling her, "It's like riding a bicycle. You never forget how."

  Her sister had been her lifeline through all the turmoil of the past months. Kelly was always there for her, even when Rebecca had pushed her away at times when defending Wesley.

  She let out a sigh and returned her attention to the movie. Julia was stealing apples from the tree in the yard next door—and she was about to get caught by her ruggedly handsome neighbor.