Page 90 of A Deeper Darkness

Mentally, she squared her shoulders. No, she wasn’t going home just yet. She wouldn’t run away from him this time. She would find the strength to see this through. She owed Donovan that much.

Chapter Forty-Five

Susan Donovan

Susan’s head hurt. She reacted to the pain, raising her hands to cradle her skull, but her arms wouldn’t move.

She opened her eyes. Her sight was woozy, going in and out of focus. Where was she? What was happening?

Memories floated back to her. Eddie’s casket, draped in the flag. Sitting alone at the house. Karen Fisher calling—Jesus, Karen. She’d pulled a gun, and Susan had smashed her in the head with the wine bottle.

The pages from Donovan’s journal. Oh, God, were they still in her back pocket?

There was no way to find out, her arms were tied tightly behind her back. She was seated on a chair, hard steel pressed into her skin.

The girls. Oh, my God.

She started to yell and realized her mouth was taped shut. Panic set in. She started to cry, breathing hard, straining against the tape. Her nose got stuffy immediately. She couldn’t breathe. She was going to die. She was going to die tied to a chair not knowing who or where or even why because she was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe.

“Stop fighting, Susan.”

A voice floated near her ear. A voice she recognized. But from where?

She heard a lighter, smelled a newly lit cigarette. Who did she know that smoked?

“Where are the journal pages, Susan?”

She shook her head.Think, Susan. Who smokes?Her brain was all foggy, like she’d been drugged.

“I know you know where they are. I need them, Susan. I need to make sure Donovan didn’t screw up.”

She shook her head again and closed her eyes. The pages. Everyone was after the pages.

The voice and the cigarettes, all of it clicked, and she sent a silent prayer that her person remained unsearched.

“Scream and I’ll kill you.” A rough hand ripped the tape off her mouth. “Now answer me.”

“I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice thick and slow. “Someone broke into the house. Stole them from his journal.” Her voice drifted away.

That worked. She heard a curse, smelled something acrid and her eyes shut again, the fear she felt leaving her drifting behind.

Part III

And could you keep your heart inwonder at the daily miracles of your life,

your pain would not seemless wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of yourheart,

even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over yourfields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of yourgrief.

—Kahlil Gibran

Chapter Forty-Six

Savage River State Park