No doubt!
Chuckling at his enthusiasm, I took another delightful sip of wine and contemplated how I could stop my life from unraveling before my eyes. I didn’t fancy sharing the same space with Mason Carter. So I had to track down Lucas, and with any luck get him to put a leash on his brother. Mason needed a friendly reminder by someone he’d listen to, that to this point I’d held up my end of the bargain and he had to do the same.
The truth was, I didn’t know what I’d seen that night.
I didn’t have the answers to solve the case.
All I had was a split-second, decade-old memory.
And a warning from Mason Carter to keep my mouth shut.
But according to the detectives, someone had been killed, their body discovered in the woods not far from the cabin. If Lucas and Mason were indeed involved, the right thing would be to tell the detectives what I’d witnessed. But what I witnessed didn’t necessarily correlate to the murder of this mystery man. I had no proof the two were connected. The brothers were young, incapable of being involved in a murder case.
But why the insistence to keep quiet? Why the harassment?
In any situation, Lucas would be the answer. The problem was, I hadn’t a clue how to find him.
For years after Lucas left without saying goodbye, I wrote him letters that would never be sent. They would never have a recipient because I didn’t know to where the Carters had moved. Lucas never attempted, not even once, to make contact. Writing the letters had been therapeutic as I mourned the loss of our friendship. I loved him, even if it was considered teenage love, and I knew he felt the same. I cried most nights into my pillow, hushing whenever my mother’s footsteps stopped outside my door. She knew I was sobbing but also knew she couldn’t bring him back.
Then one day I woke, determined to put the past behind me.
That day I decided I no longer wanted to feel the pain.
That meant letting go of everything Lucas Carter.
Chapter 15
The sun was still shining when I pulled the blinds closed in the guest room. I had a week of sleep to catch up on, and I could finally do so in peace. Leaving a note on the front door, Mrs. Harper would know to try again another time. Pulling out my laptop, I curled up on the armchair, glass of wine on the side table, and began my search. My first port of call was an obvious one—checking all social media accounts. Numerous results matching the name appeared, yet none were of the boy I knew so long ago.
Entering his name into the Google search bar, I was given the option of several links that once again were dead ends. In the silence of the darkened room, the laptop illuminating the immediate space around me, I clicked through the pages.
It wasn’t until page seven that I was rewarded with a high possibility.
It was a newspaper article for the local online paper for a small town just shy of Mississippi. Its title read ‘Carter Construction Breathes New Life.’ Feeling a sense of hope, I clicked on the link and waited in anticipation for the page to load. It was only a small article dedicated to the Carter Construction company, who specialized in building luxurious cabins for those wanting to live off the grid. At the word ‘cabins,’ my heart thudded.
This had to be Lucas.
We shared such a strong connection with the cabin back in Delaware, and Lucas had taken woodwork and construction all through his schooling. Rereading the article, I searched for any reference to his full name, but there was none. The positives were that at least I now had something to work with. The next stage was to Google Carter Construction, which came up as the first search result. Unfortunately, however, the website contained even less information than the newspaper article did. The only bonus being a contact email and cell number.
Jotting each down on my notepad, I swallowed more wine to steady the nerves.
Beside me on the table, my cell vibrated signaling a call. The bright screen lit up the room revealing the number belonging to Detective Kinross.
Anxiety rested in the pit of my gut once more. I simply wanted to be left alone.
Reluctantly, I accepted the call.
“Hi, Detective.”
“Ms. Sinclair,” he greeted warmly. “I expect you arrived safely?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Excellent. I just want to let you know we’ve spoken to Maine police, and they have scheduled drive-bys in the area throughout the night.”
“Thank you for arranging that. I’m almost certain Mason wouldn’t know where my parents live anyway.”
“Even if you were a hundred percent certain, we still wouldn’t take the risk. If Mason was in your room that night, we have to assume he knows his way in and out of a secure residence with ease.” There was a pause while Detective Kinross exhaled heavily. “Ms. Sinclair, we understand you are cooperating with us, and you have certainly opened our eyes up to the Carter brothers’ lives, but we know you aren’t telling us everything. Mason has no previous record with any state in the country. Not even so much as a parking ticket. It’s one of the cleanest records I’ve seen. And therein lies the problem. If Mason did have a record, we could at least track his behaviors.”
They had no record because Mason knew how to play the system. He’d always known, even as a child, how far he could push the boundaries. He was continually ten steps ahead of everyone else.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking?”
“We know you’re frightened of him. We can see it in your eyes whenever we mention his name. We saw how white your face was after the gallery vandalism. We’ve noticed the constant tremor in your hand whenever we interview you.”
I looked down to my trembling hand that was nervously picking at a loose thread in my jeans.
“Yes, fine… he scares me.”
There was another pause while he chose how to delicately phrase his next question. “Ms. Sinclair, has Mason Carter ever physically assaulted you in any way? Has he hurt you? When you were younger, was there a time you remember, that you’ve withheld from us, where Mason did something to you of the sexual nature?”
Silence filled the void between us, a montage of images I’d rather forget flooding back in a tsunami of grief and resentment.
“I have to go,” I said quietly. Pulling the cell from my ear, I heard Kinross plead, “Ms. Sinclair—”
I ended the call, cutting him off. My chest ached, and I felt a shortness of breath. This… feeling… had been commonplace until I learned to compartmentalize.
Dropping my head between my knees, I inhaled and exhaled deep and rhythmically just like I had for over ten years whenever I woke from nightmares involving Mason Carter. When the pain ebbed, I pushed myself out of the chair, my cell slipping to the carpet.
In a trance, I unzipped my jeans and kicked them aside. A steaming hot shower was exactly what I needed. Switching on the light in the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror. A tired, sickly face stared back at me. My skin was pale, dark circles framing my eyes. Tugging at my shirt hem, I lifted it high over my head and tossed it out into the room. And then my gaze focused on one thing in particular.
The scar.
On my right shoulder just under my collarbone, I wore his mark.
“Has he ever hurt you?”
“… something of the sexual nature?”
“Stop it!” I warned myself. If I let the thoughts consume me, I would spiral down without a lifeline.
“… hurt you?”
“Just. Stop.”
I traced over the thin white scarring that crudely spelled out one four letter word that had always been the epitome of his control.
MINE.
Chapter 16
THEN