Frustration filled Morgan. If only Haley had gotten medical treatment last Saturday. They wouldn’t be left guessing if she had or hadn’t been given a drug.
“The doctor also said,” Haley continued, “that emotionally traumatic events can trigger dissociative amnesia without the addition of any drug. Whatever happened to me could have been traumatic enough that my brain could be suppressing the event until I can handle the reality. Unfortunately, there is no way to predict whether or not that will ever happen. The memory loss could be temporary or permanent. With either scenario, the nightmares could be dreams or flashbacks or some combination of both.”
“We shouldn’t rely on the nightmares as truth.” Not that Morgan would have done so.
“Right. Since I know what happened to Noah, my imagination could be filling in the details.” Haley reached for her paintbrush. “She wants to see me twice a week. She says therapy can help.”
“What about your insomnia?” Morgan asked. Lack of sleep could exacerbate symptoms. In turn, Haley’s sleep would be even more disturbed. It was a dangerous loop that needed to be broken.
“She gave me medication to help me sleep. It’s supposed to suppress nightmares.” But Haley looked doubtful. “I’m still afraid to close my eyes. The nightmares seem so real. I don’t want to sleep.”
“I know.” Morgan didn’t discuss their theories on the case. She didn’t want to do anything that might interfere with Haley’s true memories or trigger her imagination to work overtime.
Haley leaned on Morgan’s shoulder. “But I’m so tired.”
“Haley, the doctor is right. You need sleep.”
“But I can’t control what I see when I’m asleep.” Pulling away, Haley put the paintbrush down again and sat on a stool, hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s like Friday night is happening all over again.”
“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” Morgan said. Was Haley remembering more details? Or was she slipping farther away from sanity? “But the doctor said the medication would suppress nightmares, so I think you should try it.”
Haley sighed with her whole body. “I know.”
“Have you eaten dinner?” Morgan asked.
Haley shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“But you still need to eat.” Morgan worried about the haunted look in the girl’s eyes. “Why don’t we go upstairs?”
“OK.” Haley slid off the stool and followed Morgan up the steps.
In the kitchen, Eliza pasted a fake smile on her face. “Would you like some mac and cheese?”
Haley settled at the island. “Yes, please.”
Lance introduced them to a burly armed man in black cargos and a plain black polo shirt. Eric’s replacement. Haley paid him little attention. She didn’t seem interested in anything, not even food.
But there wasn’t any more that Morgan could do to help her tonight. She and Lance said goodbye and went outside. At nearly seven o’clock, darkness had fallen. The protesters had left with the media, and the quiet night seemed almost disconcerting.
“Is there anywhere you need to stop?” Lance asked, getting into the Jeep.
“No. I’d like to be home to put the girls to bed. I already missed dinner with them.” One of the benefits of being her own boss was the ability to set her own hours. “I keep reminding myself that big cases are the anomaly. Most of the time I’m home for my girls when I want to be.”
Morgan told Lance about her conversation with Haley as he turned the Jeep around and headed down the driveway. “She wasn’t even certain that the voice was male. She assumed it was Noah’s voice from the context. We don’t even know if the voice was real or imagined.”
The electronic gate opened, and they went through.
“I talked to the deputies while you were in the basement.” Lance stopped by the side of the road and plugged his phone into his mobile charger. “Shannon Yates’s body was IDed today. In addition to being raped, beaten, and strangled, they also found zolpidem and alcohol in her system.”
“Yes. The deputy told me about Shannon Yates,” Morgan said. “Refresh my memory. What is zolpidem?”
“A common medication for insomnia—one of the big brands is Ambien. There’s no record of her ever being prescribed sleeping pills of any kind.”
“Raped and drugged the week before that Haley was possibly raped and drugged,” Morgan wondered aloud.
“We have no evidence linking the two cases.” Lance made a left onto the road and pressed on the gas pedal. “But I don’t like the coincidence.”
“Me either.”
The Jeep accelerated. Movement caught Morgan’s attention. A shadow shifted in the woods. She squinted into the darkness. The shadow moved toward the road at a determined pace. Alarm burst through Morgan.
“Watch out!” she shouted.
But Lance was already braking.
She barely recognized the figure of a man stepping into the road before a loud crack sounded, and the windshield split into a thousand spider cracks. An object sliced through the glass and bounced off the center console.
Morgan ducked and grabbed for the armrest.
Cursing, Lance steered the Jeep to the shoulder of the road. Wind blew through a hole in the center of the windshield. In addition to the gaping hole, fissures covered most of the glass. The laminated glass had held. Instead of shattering, the broken piece hung down, still attached to the windshield at its base.
If it weren’t for the safety glass, Morgan and Lance would have been sliced by flying shards. Lance’s heartbeat stuttered as he processed the narrowly avoided danger.
“What was that?” She swiveled in her seat, searching the car.
Lance glanced into the rear seat. “A rock.”
Morgan looked over her shoulder. The rock was the size of a brick. She turned her head farther and squinted out the back window. The figure had disappeared. Had he gone back into the woods or was he still back there? Considering reaction time and braking distance, she wasn’t sure how far the Jeep had traveled before Lance had been able to bring it to a stop.
“Lock the doors.” He jumped out of the vehicle, gun in hand.
“Wait. You can’t go running after him alone.” Heart thumping against her breastbone, Morgan drew her weapon, took the flashlight from the glove compartment, and followed him.
Morgan broke into a jog, but Lance was way ahead of her. He sprinted down the road like a running back. In the best of times, she was no athlete, and today was not the best of times.
She hadn’t jogged a hundred feet before her head began to pound. She slowed to a walk and called the sheriff’s department to report the incident. By the time she reached the place where the figure had been standing, Lance was examining the shoulder of the road. She shone the beam of her flashlight on the road.
“Is there any sign of him?” All she saw was dirt and darkness.
“No.” Lance straightened. “He’s long gone.”
He took out his phone.
“I already called the sheriff’s department,” Morgan said. Her head hurt, and her stomach had gone queasy from the exertion. “I really need to get in shape.”
Lance shook his head.
“Yes, I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it. As soon as the weather warms up.” She put a hand on her forehead.
“In this case, I suspect it was your concussion rather than lack of fitness that slowed you down. I’d better call Sharp and warn him in case the rock thrower sets up another ambush.”
Morgan stared down the road into the darkness. “He could have killed us.”
Grim-faced, Lance followed her gaze. “Yes. We were very lucky.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lance watched the taillights of Stella’s car disappear in the darkness. Morgan had called her sister, and there had been no reason for her to sit and wait for the tow truck, especially since she was clearly feeling ill.