Page 107 of The Woman Who Couldn't Scream
“Yes!” Except not really. She couldn’t remember everything, and she didn’t want to. The noise. The fear. The explosion. The heat.Oh God the heat the pain the death now run now not fast enough.“I was to solo at last… I was doing the preflight check…”
He jumped off the table.
She took a compulsive step back.
Now uncaring of the cops, he flipped on a light. He pulled off his T-shirt and turned his back to her.
The skin from his neck to his buttocks was rippled with red scars, testimony to fire and pain.
She shook her head, little disbelieving shakes.
“When you want to talk, you know where to find me.” Pulling on his shirt and his pants, he opened the locks and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
The man knew how to make an exit.
Damn him! The coward, leaving her here alone when she wanted to fight. Picking up one of his shoes, she flung it at the door. She stomped over and fastened the locks. She sure as hell didn’t want to think. She had never wanted to think about that day…
The police lights flashed against the suits of armor like some freakish, silent music video.
Benedict had recognized her. He had made love to her and somehow, he had known who she was. How was that possible? Because of her body? No, she had been substantially rebuilt on Nauplius’s specifications. She had no voice, so it wasn’t that. Maybe because… because… of the way she made love? Because he had never forgotten her?
Merida, don’t go there. That way looms heartbreak.
But the fact remained that somehow, he had known her.
Somehow, he had been hurt.
Somehow, she had never known that.
She pulled on her T-shirt and pants, walked to the window and stared out at the street where the police lights flashed. An ambulance was parked at the curb—why? It was far too late for Carl. Men in uniform moved back and forth, and Kateri stood speaking into a radio, her gaze fixed… on the B and B.
Merida stepped away from the window.
She had never once opened the mental box that contained her memories. At first she had been too bound up in the fight for her life. Then Nauplius Brassard had come to her and offered the deal. She could have a life with the kind of face and form that made children cry and grown men turn away. Or she could become his perfect woman and live her life on his terms. He offered a contract.
She had nobly refused. Even then she couldn’t speak, but she had written that Benedict Howard would care for her.
Nauplius had laughed.
She had never forgotten that laughter, or the cruel truth he had thrust upon her. Benedict Howard had tried to kill her. If Nauplius hadn’t recognized that she was the woman he sought, if he hadn’t let the world believe she was dead, Benedict Howard would have already finished the job.
She hadn’t believed him.
He showed her the photographs online, of a smiling, debonair Benedict dating a smiling, glamorous model. Current photos! She had checked the dates. She had feverishly sought more pictures, pictures taken while she struggled in the hospital with pain, fever, infection, the loss of her face.
But that didn’t mean he had tried to kill her, only that he’d abandoned her in her time of need. Wasn’t that bad enough?
Then Benedict’s aunt Rose had visited. The fragile old woman confessed her shame for her nephew and his nefarious deeds. At the same time, she had refused to show Merry proof or turn Benedict over to the law. She said she loved him. She said she feared him. She said Merry was safe as long as he believed her dead, and advised her to take Nauplius’s bargain. As reparation, she offered to negotiate his contract and get Merry better terms. And she did: because of her, Nauplius paid Merry that annual salary.
The realization that the man she loved had betrayed her broke Merry. The woman she had been—optimistic, cheerful, helpful—disappeared. From that moment, she faced life as it truly was, and she tried never to remember. Not Benedict, not the circumstances of the accident. She had concentrated on the future, and revenge.
But tonight changed everything. Because he had the scars.
How? Why?
Without turning on a light, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
None of that helped her know what to do now.
