Shattered Read online

  Shattered

  By Leila Kirkconnell

  Copyright © 2019 Leila Kirkconnell

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover Art: Original charcoal by Kathleen Kirkconnell – Forever in our hearts. Your art will live on.

  Edited by: By the Hand Editing Services

  ISBN 9781700533814

  Prologue

  Amanda Verchall hesitated for a moment to take in the scenery: the pond in the distance, a water fountain lazily splashing, an array of greenery and flowers surrounding it, and a brick path to the entrance of the facility. Her mom was in the right place.

  Brad would be okay, too. He’d be better off without her.

  With sure steps, she returned to her car, sat in the driver’s seat, and turned on the ignition. She fastened her seatbelt, mocking herself at the irony, but she didn’t want to get stopped before she had accomplished her mission.

  Slowly, she drove through the parking lot and onto the main highway, aiming for the spot where she was sure it was a point of no return. She had passed by it many times on her way to visit her mother at the previous nursing home.

  Those who left the highway never—

  Almost two hours to go, and it would be over. No more running, no more shame, no more guilt.

  Chapter 1

  April 2018

  The floorboards creaked when Stephanie Branson and her twin sister, Liz, first stepped inside the house at 282 Magpie Lane. Stephanie, a forty-eight-year-old, and her sister inherited a large sum of money from their grandparents with the stipulation that Mr. Mercer, a financial advisor, oversaw the account; they had chosen him before their death.

  The women had their hopes set on a house on the outskirts of town. Though it had seen better days, both fell in love with the property, and though reluctant, Mr. Mercer finally agreed when they promised to do most of the work themselves and only hire help for roofing and structural work. They desired to return this Victorian three-bedroom to its original glory and had no idea they would uncover the secrets that lay within it.

  From its appearance, no one had taken care of the property for many years; the shutters were askew, the siding paint was faded and chipped, and the weeds were knee-deep. The inside was worse. The last residents were renters, a father, and a daughter who lived in it for less than two years. Rumor had it the father up and left one day, never to be seen nor heard from ever again. The daughter, perhaps a teenager who had “issues,” was whisked away.

  The house and its two acres of land also held personal interest for the twins. The property had belonged to their great-grandfather, who built it for his first wife and subsequently abandoned it when she died at the age of forty-one. Eventually, it was sold and changed hands three or four more times before Stephanie and Liz bought it.

  Eager to dig into the history of the house and those who had lived in it, the twins had tracked down the names of the owners and kept a scrapbook of what they’d found. The only glitch was the fourth owner. Pouring over the clippings after they closed escrow, Elizabeth said, “Hard to tell if Mr. Balding lived here or not.” Looking up at Stephanie, she continued. “Do you think they rented it out?”

  Stephanie shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  The scrapbooks were big and bulky and were the first items to enter the twins’ new home. Liz covered them with a plastic sheet she clipped to the table leg. Stephanie ran a protective hand over their project.

  A week later, on April 22nd, 2018, Stephanie and Liz started the extensive work of renovating their new home. It wasn’t only the plaster and paint that would bring the house back to life. Mice scattered from holes in the walls, and they discovered most of the wires were chewed clean through, forcing them to hire an electrician to rewire the entire place. Mr. Mercer grumbled, but it was too late to rescind the deal.

  Wiring done, they proceeded with the rest of the work. Liz and Stephanie stripped the peeling and discolored wallpaper, spackled holes, and filled cracks. Their starting point was the bedroom in the back.

  “Urgh, this is really ugly,” Liz said. “Who paints a bedroom purple?”

  “It’ll be gone soon enough,” said Stephanie.

  It took gallons of the spackling compound to prep the surface, followed by four coats of primer and paint to cover the purple.

  Jerry, the contractor, popped his head through the open door, inspecting the work in progress. “Wow.”

  The twins didn’t hear him, their earbuds secured in place. Jerry retreated.

  The next day was a big one. Upon close inspection, Jerry found the foundation sagging. He hired a crew to retrofit the supports and reinforce the bricks. The twins felt the workers’ presence beneath the bare floors -- the dragging of equipment through the basement door, the calls and responses, and the machinery as it whirred and buzzed. At the abrupt silence, an hour and a half later, Liz checked her Fitbit.

  “Hey,” she called out.

  Realizing Stephanie was in a world of her own, plugged into cyber living, she stepped off the ladder and tapped her sister on the arm, motioning for her to pull the earbuds out. Stephanie yanked one out. “What?”

  “It’s only ten. Why did they stop?” Liz pointed to the floor.

  “Don’t know.” She put her earpiece back in.

  Liz pulled hers out. “If they’re gonna take a break every hour, we’re not going to get done.” She flapped her arms around and walked to the window.

  Curious, Stephanie followed and stood next to her sister. They peered at the yard. There was no one there.

  “No way! Are they taking their break in the basement?” asked Liz.

  They shrugged in unison and returned to smoothing the spackle. It wasn’t long before Jerry stomped through the house, alerting them to his presence. Both turned to face him. His head rested on his bent arm as he leaned against the door frame.

  As if on cue, the twins removed their earbuds, and Stephanie asked, “What’s going on?”

  Still looking at his scuffed boots, Jerry shook his head before the words tumbled out. “We have a problem. We kicked up bones, and I don’t think they are animal.”

  “What…?” Liz searched for words while trying to make sense of what she heard. “What are you talking about?”

  Jerry took off his baseball cap and raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m calling the cops. Just wanted you to know.”

  He turned to leave, and the twins exchanged confused glances. They let go of the tools in their hands and followed Jerry out of the house, listening to his side of the phone call with the dispatcher.

  At the entrance to the basement, the crew gathered, exchanging a muted conversation. All looked up when Jerry and the twins approached. Liz was the first to head to the door. An arm reached out to stop her. She shrugged it off and went in with Stephanie on her heels. The muffled sound of resumed conversation trailed after them.

  Liz’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling her shock. It didn’t look like an animal skeleton; remnants of tattered clothing clung to its frame.

  Stephanie stepped closer, and something caught her eye. She reached for it, looked around, then shoved it behind the overhead beams.

  “What are you doing?” Liz asked in a whisper but didn’t see the object.

  Stephanie put a finger to her lips and motioned for her to go out, but not before someone barked, “Get out! You shouldn’t be in there.”

  Back in the house, the twins’ minds whirred with questions. Whose body was it? How did it get there?

  Chapter 2

  May 3, 2018

  The instant messenger box popped
open, obscuring the draft Amanda was typing. Annoyed, she clicked it closed, then just as quickly, pressed the message to open it.

  “What the hell?” she said aloud.

  The passenger waiting for his flight in the seat next to her glared. Amanda did a double take… his eyes. She quickly recovered and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  Returning her gaze to the laptop, she thought her eyes were playing tricks. It couldn’t be!

  Sender: Is that you?

  Amanda: How’d you find me?

  Sender: Easy. Googled you.

  Why would he send her a message? It had been over twenty years.

  “Damn,” she muttered.

  The passenger picked up his coat and yanked his rolling suitcase, nearly severing its handle, shaking his head as he strode off.

  “Hey, you forgot your coffee,” Amanda yelled after him, holding his cup high. He didn’t respond, Amanda set the cup next to her, and she returned her gaze to the screen. “Damn. Now what?”

  Amanda thought of closing the dialogue box, logging out, and deleting her account, but that wouldn’t work. He found her this time; he’d find her again. With a sigh, she typed, “Hi.” Lame, she knew that.

  Sweat dripped under her arms; this was the day she dreaded. The sender was the only one who knew her secret. The secret she kept buried and pretended wasn’t real. The memory made it difficult to breathe at times. Amanda responded, hoping he couldn’t see through her words, the worry, the fear.

  Sender: Hello, to you too!

  Cursor blinking, she thought, What now? She didn’t know what to say.

  Sender: Been a while, hasn’t it?

  Amanda: Yeah. Hey, got to go. Chat later?

  Sender: Sure. Did I catch you at a bad time?

  Me: Boss walked in. Got to go.

  Sender: You’re not trying to avoid me, are you?

  Amanda scanned the lounge. There was no way he could be there, watching.

  Amanda: Of course not! Really must go.

  Sender: Try not to avoid me. It won’t work.

  She hit delete and closed the dialogue box, all the while sinking her teeth into her left-hand knuckles. Overhead, the intercom announced departing flights, called passengers to report to airlines, and requested service staff to pick up a wheelchair traveler.

  The time at the bottom of the screen announced it was 2:13 pm. With over an hour left before boarding, Amanda hoped to finish the presentation for the five o’clock meeting. But she had clicked closed her focus when she ended the chat box.

  Leaning her head against the too-short seatback, Amanda shut her eyes in a feeble attempt to escape what was now inevitable: reuniting with her past. How would Brad take the truth she had kept from him? Would he ever forgive her for what she had done?

  Amanda’s eyes flew open at something brushing against her leg. She moved the laptop to the side and glanced down, but there was nothing. Her imagination was in overdrive. Heart hammering in her chest, she gathered her belongings, hoping a cup of coffee and watching the planes take off and land would be the distractions she needed.

  Just then, her cell vibrated in her pocket. Amanda set what was in her hands on the seat vacated by Mr. Passenger and pulled out her phone, thinking it was Brad. A mixture of relief and disappointment flooded her. She wanted to hear Brad’s voice, but he would know from her voice something was wrong.

  “Restricted number,” the screen indicated.

  Pressing the red icon, Amanda declined the call and returned the phone to her right pocket. Once again lifting the laptop, she tucked it in its pouch, secured it to her rolling suitcase, made her way to the coffee kiosk, and queued in line behind two men and a woman.

  Amanda’s mind traveled to corners of the world it could not afford. Her feet involuntarily shuffled forward, her hands pushing the rolling case. Her eyes shifted from side to side, and once or twice, she turned around but didn’t see anyone watching.

  “Ma’am. Can I help you?”

  “Miss, are you ready to order?”

  “What?” Amanda didn’t realize she was already to the counter.

  Pointing to the line behind her, then at the menu, Joe -- that was what his badge said -- asked, “Have you decided?”

  “Um, yeah. Small coffee and a bagel.” As an afterthought, she added, “Please, and thank you.” She involuntarily shrugged and winked

  “Well, okay then,” he said with a wink and a shrug.

  That’s when Amanda realized he misunderstood her tic. She moved to the far end of the counter, ducked behind a stand of fruits and chips, away from the sign that read “Pick up,” and waited for her order.

  A girl of about twenty-something snapped a lid on the coffee, called for Amanda, and handed her the cup along with the bagel. Amanda wasn’t sure, but she thought she thanked the girl. At least she hoped she did.

  Balancing her purchased items and careful not to scald herself with the coffee, Amanda moved to the closest bank of seats facing the tarmac. She stared at the planes taking off and landing. Airports had become her second home. All excitement of flying had vanished long ago. That was what her job demanded, and she willingly answered the call.

  After a few sips and a bite, she opened her laptop. She had exactly two hours to finish a report before the five o’clock meeting in San Francisco. Forcing herself not to revisit the unwanted message, Amanda poured herself into crunching numbers and preparing graphs. Success! By the time she was ready to board, she had completed the report, and her mind had escaped what she should’ve dealt with but didn’t want to.

  “Good afternoon, passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for Flight 6005 to San Francisco.”

  With a satisfying click, Amanda closed the laptop and secured her luggage. A trashcan close by welcomed her half-eaten bagel and unfinished coffee. She pulled her cell from her pocket and flicked to the boarding pass. She had eight minutes before the agent called first class. Even if she was late, her seat was reserved. On impulse, she called Brad.

  “Hi,” he said after the second ring. “What time is your flight?”

  “Should be called in a few minutes.”

  “Glad you called. Good luck with your presentation. See you on Monday? What time are you coming in?”

  “Yeah. Monday. I’ll text my flight info later.”

  “Okay.”

  Silence. Amanda didn’t know what else to say. The reality and magnitude of her past, if uncovered, stifled the air between them.

  “Are you still there?” Brad asked.

  “Sorry. Yeah.” He couldn’t possibly know how sorry she was.

  “Well, call if you have time.”

  “Yeah. Sure,” came Amanda’s weak reply.

  “Oh, before I forget, someone by the name of Andy called. He said he was an old friend trying to reconnect. I gave him your cell number and told him you’re on Facebook.”

  Clammy and sweaty, she stuttered.

  “What did you say?” asked Brad.

  “…boarding First Class…” the overhead system announced.

  “Oh, sorry. Nothing. Got to board. See ya.”

  Amanda ended the call, but her legs didn’t support her as she tried to stand. The exit sign loomed large and red at the end of the terminal, tempting her to run, to leave, to vanish.

  “…Now boarding row twenty through twenty-six…”

  Placing one foot in front of the other, Amanda dragged her case up to the terminal and scanned the barcode on her ticket. When the attendant’s eyes briefly met hers, he asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Let them know on the plane if you need anything.”

  What she needed could not be had there or anywhere else. What Amanda needed was to erase what happened; that wasn’t an option. She had to face her past, what she’d done. The unspeakable act she had committed. But what Amanda said to him was, “Thank you,” as she boarded the plane.

  Another attendant ushered Amanda to her seat, and a flute of champagne and a
plate of fruits and cheese were placed on her tray. She stared at it. She covered it with her napkin and pressed the service bell for the steward to remove the tray; nothing would go down anyway.

  Across the aisle sat the disgruntled passenger from the terminal. If he was surprised to see her in First Class, he didn’t let on. Instead, he gave Amanda a polite nod and returned his gaze to his tablet. Something in his eyes gave her heart a push; it hammered in her chest, sending electric pulses to her head. She dared another glance, but he was engrossed in reading. His massive frame was barely contained in the extra-wide seat. Something about him was familiar. Perhaps, Amanda had run into him on one of her trips. Most often, she was oblivious to other passengers, focused on the task at hand, but this guy…

  Closing her eyelids to half-mast, she angled her body to study him better. He wasn’t fat, more like a heavyset athlete, although his gait was anything but athletic. It bordered on a limp, favoring his left leg. Amanda scanned him from his loafers to his thick curly hair painted with wisps of gray. At one point, he shifted in the seat and turned toward her. She closed her eyes all the way, pretending to be asleep.

  Panic set in. Amanda’s chest constricted, not letting enough air in her lungs. It wasn’t the plane descending into San Francisco; they weren’t close yet. It wasn’t the meeting with the Board members; she was prepared for that. It was Amanda’s past clutching at her chest, choking her. She straightened in her seat, gasping for air as she made eye contact with the man across the aisle.

  Mr. Passenger gave a sidelong glance and pushed the service button. The steward appeared within seconds. Mr. Passenger pointed in her direction, disinterested.

  “Are you all right?”

  Amanda grabbed her chest, and she couldn’t form words.

  A stewardess joined in, handing Amanda a bag, giving instructions.

  She wanted to die. She wanted them to leave her alone, but die, she didn’t. When her breathing returned to normal and the commotion subsided, someone thrust a cup of tea at her. “Here, sip this.”