You Don't Want To Know

Chapter 19


Jacob, keys in hand, stepped into his apartment, snapped on the lights, blinked twice, and said, “What the f*ck, man?”

Dern was waiting for him, sitting on the edge of the unmade twin bed. The place was a sty. Wrinkled clothes were piled on the floor and bed, soda bottles and cans littered every surface, and the remains of several microwave meals, forks still embedded in the dried food, were an open invitation to the rats that probably lived in the cracks of the cement walls. The room reeked of old pizza, which probably just covered up the musty old basement odor. There was one window and it had been painted black, and a flat screen dominated the wall at the foot of the bed. Beneath the television was a collection of controllers and headgear for the video-game console cut into a closet that, Dern learned, had a back door leading to the rest of the basement.

“What’re you doing?” Jacob ranted, placing his iPad onto a shelf already covered with disks and a lamp equipped with a black light. “How’d you get in?”

“Door was open.”

“No way!”

It was a lie. Dern had used his lock-pick set and tension wrench and had massaged both locks open in less than two minutes.

“You can’t be in here!” Panicked, Jacob glanced at his computer, its screen blank, perched on a makeshift desk created with sawhorses and a large sheet of plywood. Half a dozen sets of wires were connected to the desktop, and each split off to separate devices, including a backup hard drive, tower, modem, and secondary monitor.

“I’ll call the police—this is trespassing and breaking and entering!”

Dern tossed Jacob his cell. “And while you’re at it, have them take a look at your computer and explain all the porn sites you’ve been surfing.”

“Hey, wait a second . . .”

Dern was bluffing, but Jacob didn’t know it and the look on his face said it all. “It’s . . . not kids or anything. Legitimate websites.”

“Explain it to the cops. I don’t really care.”

“What the hell are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Been looking for you.”

“I was . . . at school.”

Dern let that one pass. “I thought maybe you could clear up some things for me.”

“What things?” Jacob asked suspiciously. He walked to his desk and made sure the monitor was dark.

“I want to know how things work around here. You’re the security guy. Right?”

“Not officially.” Jacob seemed nervous. On edge. “No.”

“But you have cameras set up, right?”

Jacob lifted a shoulder. “Some. I guess.”

Dern already knew this much but decided not to let on. “Can you show me what you taped the night Ava ran off the dock?”

“Only at the house . . . I, uh, don’t have any cameras set up at the dock.”

“But you must have something for the boathouse? You know, in case there’s vandalism.”

Jacob asked carefully, “Why do you care?”

“I’m keeping the herd safe, the buildings repaired, just want to know what I’m dealing with.”

Unconvinced, Jacob took a seat at his desk chair. Reluctantly, he clicked his computer back on. “I don’t think this is part of your job description.”

“It’s pretty broad. Humor me.”

“And you won’t tell anyone about the . . . you know . . .”

“The porn. No.”

Taking a deep breath, Jacob shoved an empty cup and notepad aside as he moved his computer mouse and accessed the information Dern asked for. The larger monitor glowed to life, and with a few clicks of the mouse, a split screen appeared. The views were limited: the front porch, back porch, exterior of the boathouse, and what appeared to be a larger, panoramic view outside of the garage that showed part of the stable and the parking area. The bottom half of the staircase leading to Dern’s apartment was also visible in the wider field of vision in this view of the back of the house.

Jacob again made some adjustments, clicking through a menu, until he found the date he wanted. “Okay, so here we go,” he said, more to himself than Dern. Rapid-fire images flickered through the screens, people coming and going in frantic, choppy pictures until he slowed the action down at the date in question and fast-forwarded to twilight.

Dern felt his insides tighten.

On the monitor surveying the back porch, the door flew open and Ava, appearing frantic, her feet bare, her nightgown billowing behind her, rushed past. Seconds later, she appeared on the boathouse screen and ran along the dock, only to disappear again. He saw his own image, first at the bottom of the stairs to his unit where he stiffened, turned his head, and then took off, around the edge of the house and out of the camera’s view. Then, he, too, appeared on the boathouse screen, now only in stocking feet, his long legs flying as he ran outside the camera’s range.

A few seconds passed and he figured this was when both he and Ava were in the water.

The camera’s lens returned to a very small section showing the beach near the boathouse, but only the lower half of their bodies were visible, his jeans soaked, her nightgown gossamer and dripping, her legs distinct as he helped her toward the house.

Two seconds later the door to the porch was flung open and Khloe Prescott barreled across the porch and down the handicapped ramp before disappearing from the screen.

“You want more?” Jacob asked, staring up at where Dern stood looking over his shoulder.

“That’ll do.”

“Then we’re square. Right?”

“One last thing. I heard you thought you saw Lester Reece escaping from Sea Cliff.”

“I don’t ‘think’ I saw him. I know I did.”

“How?”

“Because I was hunting. Yeah, I know, at night and yeah, it’s illegal, not even in season. I heard something in the water, turned my spotlight on the water’s edge, and I saw him, man. I swear! It was Lester F*ckin’ Reece. Scared the shit out of me!”

“How did you know who he was?”

“Everybody did! He was a f*ckin’ legend around here. And not a good one.”

“So what happened?”

“I took off, that’s what happened. Forgot about the fork-n-horn that I had a bead on. Just hopped in my truck and got the hell out of there!”

“Even though you had a gun?”

“A bolt-action Winchester. But, shit, I wasn’t going to shoot him with it!”

“And you didn’t take a picture of him? On your phone?”

“Like I had all the time in the world. He freaked me the f*ck out! He freaks everyone out.”

“Thought you might want bragging rights.”

“What I wanted was to get the hell away from that psycho. He’s killed, what, five or six people? I wasn’t about to stick around and be his next f*ckin’ victim. I just left, man.” Jacob seemed sincere, a little on edge, as if he’d really been spooked that night. “Why the hell do you care?”

“I don’t. Just heard about it and wondered.”

“Well you can quit wondering. I saw the bastard. Plain as f*ckin’ day! Now leave me alone!”





“I thought Trent was coming,” Ava said after dinner as they sat around the fire, the television on mute. Jewel-Anne, with one of her weird dolls propped next to her, was seated in her chair near the window, her knitting needles moving at a frantic pace, clicking over the hiss of the fire. Wyatt, newspapers spread around him, reading glasses propped on the end of his nose, was seated on one end of the couch and Ava on the other. Ian had taken a seat in the recliner and was cradling a drink between his hands.

The whole scenario seemed false. Almost set up.

“Trent must’ve been held up,” Ian said with a shrug. “Probably business.”

Ava said, “He’s a pharmaceutical rep. How much business could he have in Anchorville?”

“He’s got a lot of clients.” Ian swirled the ice cubes in his bourbon before taking a gulp.

“There are two drugstores in town.”

“And a hospital, one urgent care, and a couple of clinics,” Wyatt said, glancing at his wife over the top of his reading glasses.

Ian nodded. “Clients need to be wined and dined, y’know. He’ll probably call and want a ride back here around midnight.” Ian tossed back his drink.

“Maybe he’ll stay in town,” Jewel-Anne said as she continued to knit. A tiny smile played upon her lips, as if she knew something the rest of them, or at least Ava, didn’t.

Footsteps approached and Demetria appeared. “You ready?” she said to Jewel-Anne. “A little PT before bed?”

“Prayer time?” Ian asked with a sarcastic smile.

“Physical therapy, again?” Jewel complained. “Didn’t I do enough today at the center?” But she was already shoving her knitting needles and yarn into the bag that was snapped to her chair.

“It’s only a few stretching exercises,” Demetria said, and followed her charge as Jewel-Anne straightened the doll and pinned a martyred frown to her face before rolling out of the room.

“Is she always in a bad mood?” Ian asked, crushing one of the ice cubes with his teeth. “Well,” he said, slapping his knees before standing, “this is just about all the excitement I can handle for one evening.” With that, he carried his empty glass toward the kitchen, leaving Ava alone with her husband.

“I heard you went into town today,” he said.

Her insides clenched. “I did. Lunch with Tanya.”

Wyatt snorted. He’d never liked Ava’s friend. “You didn’t take anyone with you?”

Was there a hint of accusation in his voice, or just concern? “I figured I could handle it.”

“Good . . . I just worry. That’s why Khloe’s stayed on. To help you.”

“I’m fine,” she said for about the millionth time. One of his brows arched. “Okay, maybe not ‘fine,’ but I’m stronger than I was even a few days ago, so don’t worry. Let me be the judge of what I can or can’t do.”

“I know you think I’m being overprotective.”

“You are.”

“But you’ve given me reason to worry, Ava! Come on, you know that. And Dr. McPherson isn’t convinced that you’re capable of making all the right decisions.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes.”

“Shouldn’t she be talking to me?”

“Of course. She’d tell you the same thing.”

That much was true, Ava thought. Good old Dr. Evelyn was pretty succinct about what she thought Ava was and wasn’t capable of accomplishing. “So she wouldn’t think I would be able to make a sane decision about having lunch with my friend?”

“I think the issue is leaving the house, alone. Going into town, alone. Meeting people, alone.”

“Then, there isn’t any problem because I was never alone. I got a ride from Ian over to the mainland and rode with Butch back. I ate with Tanya.” She didn’t mention Detective Snyder or Cheryl.

“And when you got home, you picked a fight with Jewel-Anne and Jacob?”

“Ah . . . Demetria speaks.”

“It was Jewel-Anne who told me.”

“Hmm. Did she also tell you that she was in your office and I wanted to know why?”

“Something about the way noise travels through the vents,” he said.

“She claimed she heard the baby crying, too,” Ava said.

“What?” he said. “Oh, for the love of God, Ava! She was playing with you. She’s always had this . . . thing about the boat accident and she’s still trying to get back at you. It’s childish. Ignore it.”

“I believed her when she claimed she heard Noah,” Ava stated firmly.

He held up his hands as if he had no time for such nonsense, and asked, “So, how did you get into it with her brother?”

“Jacob got all mad at me when his sister nearly ran him over with her wheelchair. He broke his iPad or something and came unglued, really unleashed on me—” She started to say more, then stopped short. “Why am I explaining this all to you, like you’re my father or something? Ask him! You’re my husband. You’re supposed to be on my side!”

A deep flush crawled up his neck and his lips flattened over his teeth. “And you’re supposed to be on mine, Ava,” he pointed out. “I’m not the enemy.”

“Really?” she challenged.

His answer was to stalk out of the room.





That night she dreamed again. This time she heard the sound of a child’s footsteps outside her door. She threw off the covers and ran outside her room to the night-darkened hallway. Tiny pools of illumination, from the night-lights that had been installed after Noah’s birth, guided her. “Noah?” she whispered. “Noah?”

Did she see him rounding a corner? Was that his soft sigh over the hum of the furnace?

She hurried from one room to the next, trying doors, finding some locked and others opening to dark, empty spaces, where beds were made and windows were shuttered.

Where was he?

Not here . . . not here . . .

Her heart wrenched painfully as she hurried down the stairs, her bare feet slipping a little on the runner.

Where is he?

Who has him?

Noah!

There is no enemy. It’s all in your mind.

“Noah!” she cried desperately, and heard her own voice echo back at her. “Noah!” Where was he? Her knees trembled, and clinging to the newel post, she let herself slide into a puddle at the base of the stairs in the foyer. Her heart ached, pounding with dread in her ears.

“Ava . . . Jesus . . .” Wyatt was leaning over the balcony rail on the second floor. “Oh, God . . . hang on!” She heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs, felt the vibration in the post, and still she clung to it. “Come here . . .” Strong arms surrounded her, held her close.

“It’s Noah,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I heard him, Wyatt. I heard my baby.”

“Oh, honey, no . . . he’s gone.”

“Don’t say that!” She tried to pull away, but he held her close.

“Shhh . . .” With little effort he picked her up and carried her to the elevator; then, holding her close and whispering into her hair that everything would be all right, he pushed the button for the second floor.

In less than a minute, they were at the bedroom, and as he carried her to the bed, she swore she heard the sound of his heartbeat, strong and steady while her own heart was breaking into a thousand pieces.

“Ava, it’s gonna be all right,” he said, though she doubted he believed his own words. “Shhh.” He kissed her damp cheek as he laid her onto the comforter. “It’s another dream, nothing more.” Brushing the hair from her face, he looked into her eyes, and in the dark room, she saw compassion and something more in their depths.

“I just miss him so much,” she whispered.

“Me too.” His face was twisted with emotions that were as raw as the night. “And I miss you, Ava. I miss us.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice cracking as his lips found hers, and the sweet, delicate kiss deepened into something more, something wild and aflame. The back of her neck burned hot with a passion she’d thought was dead forever, and when his tongue pressed against her lips, she parted them willingly. Anxiously. Eagerly. Her arms wound around his neck, and he slid into the bed with her, pushing off the covers, nudging her knees apart with his. The bedsprings creaked, and something deep inside her broke as she clung to him and closed her eyes and mind to the doubts, the pain, the fear.

She felt his hands on her body, sculpting her, touching her breasts, causing her nipples to harden. Her back arched in anticipation, and he, with one hand splayed over her spine, pulled her tight against him.

Strong, corded muscles pressed urgently to hers, and she gave in to the heat coursing through her blood, the need pulsing deep in the darkest, moist parts of her.

Don’t do this, her mind insisted. Making love to him is dangerous. Trusting him is lethal.

But he’s my husband, she silently argued as her spine tingled and her breasts swelled. I loved him once.

This is madness. Treachery. Yes, there was a time when he brought you to the edge, over and over again, caused your body and soul to ignite in passion, but that was a long time ago. He’s not the same, Ava, and neither are you.

He growled against her ear, his hands tangling in her hair, and for a split second as she gazed at him, she saw something different in his gaze, a fleeting glint of victory, as if somehow he’d won.

Something deep inside her brain ruptured and in another instant she saw that Wyatt wasn’t Wyatt at all, but a stranger, a man she’d never known.

With that revelation, she expected her ardor to cool, her mind to pull herself out of this emotional vortex, but her heart continued to pound. Her blood was still hot with desire as it coursed through her veins, and she wrapped her arms around her unknown lover, who kissed her hard. Passionately. His mouth ground anxiously against hers, his lips hot, his tongue creating a magic as it flicked and teased, trailing over her fevered skin.

Her breasts tightened and she cradled his head to her as he kissed and laved each nipple.

Desire ran in ripples throughout her body and she wanted more . . . so much more.

He took her hand, showed her how to pleasure herself and him, and she pushed her body against him, her spine arching, her hips moving . . . God she wanted him . . . all of him . . . and when she finally opened her eyes to stare into his, she realized that this man, this figment of her imagination who had induced such fire in her blood and heat deep within, looked a helluva lot like Austin Dern.