Page 108 of The Woman Who Couldn't Scream
She should shower. She smelled like sex and sweat and him.
She lowered herself onto the bed and shut her eyes… andtriedto remember.
All her life, Merry Byrd had wanted to fly, and for her birthday, Benedict Howard gave her flying lessons. Everything about the experience lifted her heart and each flight was a gift. She embraced the adventure. She loved the freedom of soaring high above the earth. Her instructor, Bob, said he had never seen anyone who was such a natural at the controls. Benedict Howard rode along for every lesson, and every time they landed, he looked at her as if she was the most wonderful woman in the world.
Yes. She was really flying.
At last she was ready for her solo flight.
The message came. Benedict had been detained—business. He couldn’t wave to her as she took off, congratulate her when she landed. But he would be thinking of her every moment. She was disappointed. Of course. But he sent flowers, and Merry did as she always did—she took joy in his thoughtfulness.
Bob handed her the list and sent her out to the plane to do the preflight check. He told her he had to speak with his wife—she was ill, in the hospital for tests—but he would join her soon and give the plane the once-over, too, just to be sure. He seemed nervous, but Merida reassured him, told him she was ready to fly on her own and to go to his wife if she needed him.
Merida walked out to the plane sitting on the tarmac. She performed the visual inspection: fuselage, wings, empennage, power plant, the undercarriage. No nicks, dents, loose fasteners. Checked fuel levels, landing gear, wheels, ignition wires, fuel lines… Bob kept his plane in prime condition, and she didn’t stop until she had given a good mark to everything on the checklist. She was ready to climb into the plane, do the cockpit check, when she heard him call. She turned and waved, so happy to see him…
Him. Bob?
No. Not Bob.
Benedict loped toward her, carrying a gift box under his arm, calling, “Merry, wait!”…
Merida found herself lying stiff and breathless, straining to remember the following moments.
Nothing. She didn’t remember anything until she woke in the hospital, wrapped in bandages and hounded by pain.
The doctors had told her remembering that trauma might be something she could never do.
Once she knew the truth about Benedict, she hadn’t wanted to.
But shedidn’tknow the truth about Benedict. She only knew what Nauplius and Rose had told her, and what she’d seen online. After living with Nauplius, she now knew how well the wealthy could manipulate their stories.
Maybe after Merry’s “death,” Benedict hadn’t really been out partying.
Merida sat up.
Here in Virtue Falls, he’d had plenty of chances, but he hadn’t killed her yet.
So she might as well go ask him what had happened to cause those scars on his back.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Benedict stepped out of Merida’s room, heard something thump hard against the door’s solid wood panels—his shoe, he supposed. He’d made a grand exit, but now he stood in the entry of the Good Knight Manor Bed and Breakfast wearing the bare minimum for decency.
Luckily, the guests were gathered on the front porch, watching the police action. As he started for the kitchen and the back entrance, he caught tidbits of their avid conversations.
“Did you hear what happened next door?”
“Another one?”
“Stabbed?”
“When he got the call, that policeman who hangs around here ran out the door and drove away.”
“Sean Weston. He hangs around to visit with that beautiful woman who is mute.”
“A man this time. Really? Next door?”
“Is it always like this in this town?”
