Chapter 34
Damn Vaughn Taggart anyway.
And damn herself. For a person who gave out advice all day long, she had a hell of a personal blind spot.
It took all of her energy to focus on each patient in the office today and not make mistakes. But her eyes burned as she tried to read the blurry medical record on the computer. Picking the right doses of medication became dicey. The day dragged along, slower and longer than it ever should.
It wasn't like she had tons to look forward to after work.
God, she had been so stupid.
Which hurt worse: trusting Vaughn and being wrong or trusting herself and being wrong?
Moot point. He made a choice and it didn't involve her. Then why did it feel like an ice pick had been driven through her chest?
Get a grip. Do your job. Personal issues needed to wait until after work.
An urgent add-on showed up on the end of her schedule. Izzy Brand.
At 5:45 p.m., Mariah knocked and entered the exam room.
"Hi, Izzy." She forced her upbeat tone.
The woman stared at the floor. "Hi." Her voice came out flat.
"What can I do for you today?" Settling on the rolling stool, Mariah rested her hands on crossed legs and waited.
Izzy shoved her golden blonde hair away from her face. Tears shimmered in her stunning blue eyes, underscored with dark circles. The woman's lower lip trembled. "Do you... um, do you have something I could take so I don't care about my life?"
Whoa. Mariah leaned forward, medical radar on high alert. "Could you explain that a little more?"
No words emerged for thirty seconds. Izzy brushed at the tears with the heel of her hand, and Mariah offered a box of Kleenex. "It's like I can't take the stress with my mom, my family, and everything anymore. Life. Right now."
"Do you feel like you want to harm yourself or someone else?" Oh, God. Was this vibrant, pleasant woman suicidal?
"No. I wouldn't do anything like that." She sniffed and crumpled a tissue in her hand. "It's that... there's no end in sight. I'm doing most of the work to help Mom. And that's okay. I mean, she's my mom and all. I understand that she's got a difficult medical condition where complications happen. It's not her fault. Then my brother, Hank, disappeared not long after he went off the rails. Now people in town look at me like I'm bad, too. I can't handle the judgment, especially from people I—"
"What?"
"Nothing." She blew her nose. "Now Wyatt and Tommy are bossing me around."
"Are they threatening you?"
"No. Not really. Just being mean."
"Mean, how?"
"You know how brothers are, right?"
Mariah nodded, but truly, Kevin had never, ever been mean to her.
Izzy touched her damp cheek. "Their comments to me are cruel, like why can't I do more to help around the house and why am I so nosy about their business. Good grief. I'm twenty-six years old. Time for my own life, right? But every time I get fed up and think about moving out, the guilt about Mom stops me. My brothers make me feel like, if I leave, Mom'll die." She whispered, "It's like I'm trapped."
"Trapped?"
"Sometimes, yes." A grim smile flickered across her face. "No matter what I do, it's the wrong answer. And I don't understand this other thing going on." She leaned forward, elbows on her worn winter pants. "But there's something else happening. At home."
Mariah tilted her head. "I don't follow."
"When I go home, everything there feels heavy. Depressing. Dark."
A strange shiver worked its way down Mariah's arms. "Are you sure that's not maybe your own mood talking?"
Izzy burst into tears again. "I don't know anymore. I have no idea. Everything I do takes so much effort. It's like every day, I'm waiting for something bad to occur. I can't take it anymore." She sniffed. "You know what I do sometimes? There's a cave near the house. Well, it's about a forty-five-minute walk straight off the back of the house. I even notched some trees to make a path, since I go there so often. Some days, I sit in that cave and dream about living there, alone."
More internal alarms went off in Mariah's head. Izzy was in real distress. "Have you thought about counseling?
"What counselor wants to deal with this mess?"
"That's their job. There are good counselors. They can help."
"You got a counselor who's a saint? Because that's what it's going to take for someone to dig through this mess." Her laugh edged on hysteria and tears, and she took a shuddering breath. "How about that pill so I won't care about my life right now?"
"Um, I'm not sure we specifically have that."
"Sure you do, Doc. Come on, don't hold out on me." A wobbly smile capped the comment. "Anything?"
"Well, how about we start with a low-dose antidepressant, some counseling, and we meet again in a week?"
"That's not a bad idea. It'll give me something to look forward to." She raised her hands when Mariah opened her mouth. "Kidding. Okay, not really."
Mariah stepped out to send the prescription to the local pharmacy. Six p.m. Most staff had gone home. The day was almost done. Thank God.
When she came back in the room, Izzy had her cell phone clutched to her ear, eyes wide. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
"Okay. Yeah, but is she—?" Izzy shoved her hair back off her face. "All right. I can check on her when I get home." She pursed her lips. "I know it's bad," she snapped into the phone. "That's all we can do." Ending the call, she rubbed her face. "Sorry."
"Everything okay?"
"No. Mom's not doing well."
"Like you mentioned before? How her health is causing you stress?"
"No. Now is different. Tommy said she's having trouble breathing and she's talking out of her mind."
Mariah fingered the stethoscope around her neck. "Can he get her to the hospital? If not, call an ambulance. We'll run some more tests. The pneumonia could be back. Or she could be septic."
"You know Mom. She refused to let the boys call 911. Tommy said she'd only see you, and she won't leave the house."
"What?"
"He's going to try to get her to go to the ER. If she shows up there, would you see her?"
"Sure. I'll be here doing paperwork for another hour or so." Because no way did she want to go to her empty house alone. "If she comes in, I'll see her name pop up on the ER census." No way did Mariah want to make another house call out to the Brand ranch, either.
Izzy rubbed her face. "I don't know if I can handle any more. If Mom dies... Oh, man. Worst of all, Mom's kind of a jerk at times. Must run in the family."
"I don't know about that, Izzy. But, yes, if they can get her to the ER, I'll do what I can to help her."
Izzy's eyes lit up, like this was the first piece of hope she'd heard in ages. "Deal." She sniffed. "I've got another few hours to work at the store tonight. Then I'll stop by the hospital. Hopefully she'll be here. Thank you." She tucked her worn jacket over an arm and exited the exam room.
"Of course."
A little over an hour later, Mariah's stomach rumbled. A few snacks from the break room hadn't made much of a dent in her hunger, and she stared at her desk computer. She sighed and updated the hospital's census. No Mrs. Brand registered or admitted to the ER yet. Mariah could just imagine the effort it would take to get that woman to the hospital.
Finally, she traded her white coat for her wool one and headed for her car.
Tossing her satchel into the front seat, she turned at the sound of a vehicle approaching. For a brief second, her heart leapt.
Not an old ranch truck. Not Vaughn.
The Brand family conversion van rattled to a stop. Mariah glanced in the window. Looked like Tommy at the wheel. He cracked open the passenger-side window.
"Izzy said you might check on Mom."
Not exactly. "In the ER."
A jerk of his head in the shadows. "She won't go. Can you talk sense into her?"
No depth to his words. Wooden. A chill worked through her. Something was off.
Behind him, the silhouette of a figure.
Crap. Mariah blew on her hands to warm them.
Tommy motioned her to the side of the vehicle.
Mariah pulled the door open and stepped up. The folded gate hit her at waist height.
Tommy stared straight ahead. The car was still running.
The figure in the chair turned. From the shadow of the vehicle, Wyatt lunged at Mariah and wrapped her in his meaty arms, muffling her scream. As he dragged her into the van, he kicked the door closed with his booted foot. "Go." It took no effort for him to keep her from moving.
She worked her face out of his stuffy, stale shirt. "This is illegal!" she screamed, her heart pounding double time. Another time, with a vehicle screeching up to Mariah and Kevin as they ran over red-dusted roads, overlaid this scenario. Caught. Trapped. No. Not this time. She would fight. "Let me go! Stop it," Mariah commanded him as she twisted her head to look at him.
A weird red glow came and went in Wyatt's eyes, like the guy was possessed. "Then you need to behave. If you get out of line, Doc, we're taking it out on Mom."
"What?" Air came in and out of Mariah's mouth, but no other words followed. Her head spun. No way could she be in the middle of a kidnapping. This had to be a bad dream.
Think. Come up with a plan. Play along or, or... placate them.
"Fine, I'll cooperate. What's this about?" She craned her neck toward the front seat. "Tommy, you're the sheriff—what's the deal?" She held off on reminding them that they were committing a felony. Pretty sure all parties had clarity on that item, and if sworn law enforcement officials didn't care, then... Damn it.
Tommy kept his hands planted on the wheel and head locked forward. It was like he was in a trance or something.
Had Izzy known what her brothers were planning?
Before she could sort through the possibilities, more waves of memories crashed over Mariah's mind, drowning her. That hot, confined plywood room. The men outside the door with guns. The image of her brother's swollen and bruised face after their first escape attempt.
Bile burned its way up her throat, but she forced it back down and concentrated on staying calm. At least with her head turned, she wouldn't suffocate in the musty flannel of Wyatt's shirt. Man, could he try to bathe at least once a week?
Could Vaughn pick up on her danger?
What were the rules with his psychic power when he broke up with the object of his protection? Damn it. Tears stung.
Quit it. Concentrate on coming up with options.
Instead, she went numb, closed herself off from everything that was happening. It was like she floated separate from her body. She couldn't deal; she just went very, very still. Sounds and light faded in and out. All the activity detached, and she watched, like an audience member, while the bizarre events unfolded. She had little connection to the terror inside the car.
After some length of time—a minute or forty, who knew?—dimly, as if the audience member rubbed her eyes and wondered if she had nodded off, Mariah focused on the sensations around her. She felt the rumble of the road change to what felt more like the chip-seal. Then another fifteen minutes later, Tommy steered the vehicle onto a bumpy road. Each rut and divot rammed the undercarriage of the van against her tailbone. As they traveled what she assumed was the Brand ranch access road, the air turned thick. Oppressive.
Taking a breath took effort.
A blanket of wrong wrapped around her. There might be some truth to Izzy's sensations here on the ranch.
If Mariah concentrated hard enough she could convince herself that something terrifying lurked in the woods.
Waiting.
Something bigger. Darker. Worse than Tommy and Wyatt.
Shadows flickered over the car windows, just like all those times she'd watched the tiny gap between door and casing in that awful room back in Utah. Flick. A shadow of her captor. Another flick, and he walked the other way. Breathing became difficult.
The minivan rolled to a stop outside the main house. The Brand house. Numbness fled, chased by an ice-water splash of stark reality.
Every instinct screamed at her to run and fight. Wyatt cranked down his vice-like, unfriendly hug until her ribs creaked.
"Honey, we're home." Wyatt snickered as he pushed down the ramp and hauled Mariah out of the minivan. His grip on her upper arm squeezed hard enough that her hand went numb, even through the coat.
She heard no other sounds besides the scrapes of feet and vehicle doors opening and closing. Gravel crunched under booted feet.
Nothing else moved, not even a breeze through pine boughs.
Wrong. This was so wrong.
She dragged her feet and tripped, banging her knees on the porch boards. The last thing she wanted to do was enter this house.
Wyatt yanked her up, wrenching her arm. "Won't you come in?"