Nightchild

Chapter 59

Blythe was disheartened that Scott Weber wasn't home and drove by the clinic in search of a welcoming glow of light, but again she found only uninviting darkness through the hazy mist she'd tediously battled on the slow journey there. The drive had seemed interminably long and she was cold, tired and wet from havin to stop and use the sleeve of her shirt to wipe smeared streaks from the windshield left by the wipers. He head ached with the strain of trying to peer through the dense fog and her previous jubilation had long since been replaced by bone weary fatigue and doubt.

Initially, Blythe thought she'd overcome her reticence about returning to the estate where she'd grown up, but now that it was the only choice left her, she again felt a heavy reluctance, a desire to turn tail and run. Yet, she drove on to the outskirts of town, fighting back the apprehension, the nausea, as she went up the drive and the white house loomed dreamlike before her in the swirling mist. Hesitantly, she pulled around to the back where the old truck would be out of sight, her nerves tense and on edge.

"Stay here, boys," she said, giving each dog a reassuring rub behind an ear. They fidgeted, edged toward the door and sounds of their whining followed Blythe as she closed it in their trusting faces and stepped haltingly away from the truck. Inhaling deeply, she turned and started for the front of the house just as a stark figure emerged from nowhere, startling her and she screamed.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Phillip MacLarren asked, reaching out to help steady her. Then he squinted unbelievingly down at the ashen face that shot up to his. "Blythe? It's you! You're really here!" he said, throwing his arms around her in an affectionate bear hug before holding her out at arm's length to look at her. "My God, do you have any idea how worried we've been? Scott and I both have tried everything to get in touch with you...Lord, what am I doing letting you stand out here? You're shivering. Come on inside. There's a fire."

Blythe smiled weakly and let herself be led into the house she'd sworn never to return to. She couldn't help looking around as she followed obediently to the fireplace, where years before she'd spent many innocent hours basking in its warmth with her then loving family. Little had changed. When they'd moved after her attack, the house had been locked up, furniture and all...any reminder of the tragedy that had scarred all their lives was left behind. Now this...it was like taking a step into the past and in her mind, she could hear the sound of Nate's voice whispering, The past is dead. Dead's dead. A chill ran up her spine and she shivered.

"You must be frozen," her brother was saying, breaking into her thoughts and she watched absently as he moved the coffee table out of the way and pushed the reupholstered sofa that had been their parent's close to the fire. "Here...sit. I'll get you a drink. I'm sorry, what...?"

"Vodka, if you have it, over ice.' Blythe sounded as lifeless as she felt and stared into the leaping flames, no longer curious about the physical, material evidence of her past. Nate was right. It was dead. She had to let it go. So why had she left one past to return to another, she wondered.

"Here ya go, babe, Absolut on the rocks," Phil said, handing her the drink before sitting next to her. "Been pretty rough on you, huh, babe?"

Why is he calling me that? The endearment grated on her nerves and she wished longingly for the early days with Nate when his deep smooth drawl had called her darlin' and he'd meant it. But that was gone. She shook her head to erase the memory. Now that she'd escaped him, would he haunt her every moment? Had she traded one nightmare for another?

Blythe glanced at her brother's affable face. "I thought I'd been through the worst...I didn't realize it at the time, but leaving my husband was the hardest thing I've ever done. I loved him. I really and truly loved a man for the first and only time in my life. I still do."