She didn’t really cry, though dry sobs had filled her throat at first. Tears had formed in her eyes, and two had even erupted from them, sliding down her cheeks in twin salty streaks that had disappeared on her lips. But the rest remained locked inside her. As if deep in her subconscious, she knew that if she gave release to all the emotions surrounding the sorrow and tragedy she’d been dealing with in recent days, there would be absolutely no holding them back.
“You poor, sweet old girl,” she whispered, knowing that whatever anguish she felt would be multiplied a hundred times by her father’s. “You deserved so much better than this, and I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.”
“Jesus,” a voice said.
Dean.
He fell to his knees beside her, right into the congealing pool of blood, grabbing her upper arms. “What happened? Stacey, are you all right? All this blood…”
“Someone killed her.” She finally raised her eyes to meet Dean’s, and she shook her head, though with sorrow or unreleased fury, she honestly couldn’t say. “Who would do such a thing?”
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, tugging her close, ignoring her bloody hands and clothes, Lady’s body right beside them. Sliding his hands into Stacey’s hair, he cupped her head, holding her tenderly, making soothing sounds of comfort and tenderness. “Shh. It’s okay, honey.”
Part of her wanted to cry like she hadn’t cried for a long time. The few teardrops she’d allowed herself in recent years hadn’t been nearly enough-not for the kind of horror she’d seen. Not for the nightmare of Virginia Tech. Not for poor Lisa.
An ocean of unreleased grief had backlogged behind her eyes. It was being held there by the tiniest remnants of her strength. And this poor, brutalized dog was on the verge of becoming that one final drop that forced all that restrained emotion out of her. This single event might just pull the plug on her sadness, sending the tears spilling out of her like a flood over a causeway for all the tragedy and horror to which she’d borne witness in her life.
“Why would someone do this?” she muttered through ragged breaths. The air kept catching in her throat until she almost choked on it, the words emerging in spurts. Each was underscored by an anger she hadn’t yet allowed to overwhelm her, knowing that when it did she would be completely lost in the fury of it.
He pulled away, but kept an arm around her shoulders. “Is she yours?”
She shook her head. “Just a sweet old stray my dad unofficially adopted and took care of.”
With infinite tenderness, he stroked her jaw with the back of his thumb, a simple, quiet reminder that she was no longer alone. “I’m sorry. There are some really sick people in the world. Somebody wanted to hurt you, or to scare you.”
“By slaughtering a poor, defenseless animal.” She shook her head, not knowing why she was surprised. Considering the things she’d witnessed, she knew man was capable of incredible cruelty. She just hadn’t expected to literally stumble across it right on her own doorstep.
He continued to stroke her hair, kind and calm. She suspected he wouldn’t be if she hadn’t tossed the obscenity-smeared doormat into the trash before his arrival.
“Come on, Stace; go inside. Get cleaned up. I’ll finish this.”
She tried to resist, but Dean wouldn’t take no for an answer. With a soft sigh of sadness, he took the rag out of her hands. His expression revealed so much about the man.There was no revulsion, no concern about his clothes, not a wince of distaste. Just tenderness, goodness.
It told her more than she’d known about him to this point. That simple act revealed a man she suspected was a wonderful father to his little boy, a good friend, a loving son and brother. A man with depth.
A man she could care about.
“I’ll take care of her.” He brushed his lips across her temple. “Let somebody help you for a change, okay? You don’t have to do it on your own.”
And suddenly she knew he was right. She didn’t have to do this by herself. Not today.
“Go on inside. I’ll take care of everything.”
God, when was the last time she’d let anyone take care of everything? Or anything at all? She honestly couldn’t remember. She only knew that she trusted Dean, and that it felt good to have someone else to share the burden with, if only for a while.
He helped her to her feet. “Do you want to bury her?” She nodded once. “At my dad’s.” Glancing at the body, she added, “But I can’t tell him everything. Not yet, maybe someday. But for now…”
“We’ll tell him she was hit by a car.”
It was as if he’d read her mind.
“Bring me a box, and some more rags and bleach, too, okay?”
“No, you don’t have to.”
“I know that. But I want to.” He pushed her toward the door. “Just get the stuff; then you go take a shower and try to wash this whole thing off.”
Wash off the ugliness like she’d wash off a day’s worth of dust and sweat? She didn’t think the slick, sticky feel of the blood on her hands would ever wash off. But Stacey couldn’t deny how much she desperately wanted to take him up on his offer.
Unlocking the door with shaking hands, she stepped inside. Her booted feet immediately skidded on the tile floor, leaving twin streaks of red. Emotion welled even higher at the sight, but she swallowed it down. She unlaced and kicked the boots off, then went to the kitchen and got more cleaning supplies and a large box from the garage.
Dean didn’t even let her step outside when she returned with them. “Okay. Now you take a shower.”
Somehow managing to control the disgust, rage, and sorrow, she staggered through the house. With each step, she tore off her clothes and dropped them onto the floor a piece at a time, wanting nothing against her skin. By the time she entered her bedroom, she wore only her underclothes. They were off before she’d gotten to the bathroom door.
The evening remained brutally hot. Most nights she took a cool shower to comfort her overheated body. Now, however, she needed steam and heat in order to feel clean. So she turned the controls as hot as she could stand and stepped inside, closing her eyes and turning her face up to the showerhead like a penitent seeking absolution.
She kept them closed for a long time. Piercing streams of hot water gushed through her hair and down her body. And it wasn’t until she felt sure the soap wouldn’t turn the color of blood that she reached for it and began to wash.
She didn’t know how long she stood there scalding herself, but eventually she reached for the controls and eased the water to a cooler temperature. But the unshed tears behind her eyes continued to burn. She didn’t expect that to stop anytime soon.
She’d just finished rinsing the conditioner from her hair when she heard Dean calling from the next room.
“Hey, you okay in there?”
“I’m fine.” She clenched the shower curtain in her fists, leaning toward the opening in the front. “Are you finished?”
“Everything’s taken care of.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear.
“Listen, maybe I should just go back to the hotel. I need to clean up.”
No. God, no. The very last thing she wanted was to step out of this shower and find herself alone. Alone to pick up her red-stained clothes. Alone to wash the floor. Alone to think about the fact that someone hated her so much he wanted to punish her by killing an innocent animal and spattering its blood across her front door.
Alone to fall into bed and add one more layer to her dark dreams.
“Don’t go,” she said. Realizing she’d whispered again, she cleared her throat. “Dean, please don’t leave.”
Silence. Then, “I’ll wash up in the other bathroom.”
“No.” Leaning her face against the warm tiled wall, she added, “Come in and use this one.”