Episode 8: Trouble Becomes Her

Episode 8
TROUBLE BECOMES HER

Alex Maxwell was in no mood to go round for round with whomever this moron was who had woken her up from a very deep and very pleasing sleep. The worst part about the dolt was that he claimed to be her brother. The notion that she had a brother was absurd. She didn't have any family that she knew of – not unless you counted Kylie who was more like a sister to her than anyone she had ever known.

The brother, who called himself Patrick Donovan, hovered around her as she tried to escape. But avoiding him was fruitless. Everywhere she turned Patrick wanted to hug her again.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he said.

"Thanks," Alex murmured. "You mentioned that already, five times."

"I KNOW! But it's a miracle. Everyone on that train died except you. You! My sister." He seemed at a loss for words which thus far in their short relationship, she hadn't experienced yet. "You really are an angel, Angela." Patrick sighed then hugged her again, this time harder and longer.

There he went calling her Angela again. The name did trigger a glimmer of some memory but Alex couldn't recall exactly what. Patrick moved around the room using grand gestures and loud booming exclamations. Alex didn't know how much more of this she could take. While he was distracted hugging her one more time, she searched for an adequate escape route.

Before he could hug her again, Alex dodged the big lug and made her way toward what she assumed was the living room. Night had fallen some time earlier and she felt a bit out of sorts. She felt refreshed from her sleep but wasn't prepared to feel so renewed at ten o'clock at night. The living room was big and definitely lived in. The comfort of the space drew her in, but the smell in the kitchen was what kept her out. The house almost swirled with the aroma of baked bread and coffee.

"Please tell me that's coffee I smell."

The lady kneading dough smiled a toothy grin and nodded. "That's exactly what you're smelling, missy. It's my own secret blend," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Mm. Dark roast and hazelnut." Alex was handed a mug full. She breathed in the aroma then sampled a taste. "Perfection."

Mama Boyd smiled. "You've got a good nose on you. Even Rand hasn't figured out what beans I use for my special coffee mixture." She seemed pleased to find someone who appreciated the mechanics of making coffee and picking particular beans. Her smile was a knowing smile of a mother who had found the match for her son.

Alex knew the look well. Many a mother had pegged her as the savior of their son's love lives. She wasn't going through that nonsense again. "This really is great, but I do have to be going."

"Going?" Patrick seemed to have the hearing of an elephant. "You can't be going. You just got here! And you're injured."

"Injured or not, I'm not staying here. I appreciate what you have done for me, but I have to get out of here." Alex knew that the longer she stayed in one place, the easier she was to find and the more the people around her were in danger.

There was a brief silence where Alex could only hear the whirring of the bread machine and the perking of another pot of Mama's special coffee. Then another man entered the kitchen. He was as tall as Patrick, but his hair was longer, to his shoulders. He reminded her of a domesticated rebel. A bad boy who had settled down in suburbia.

"How's the patient?" Then as if in answer to his own question, he continued. "Up and around, I see."

"So you're the doctor?" Alex said to Rand Boyd with a glimmer of hope that this man wasn't as demented as her blood brother, Patrick, seemed to be. "Then will you please tell this oaf of a man that I am not his sister?"

Rand didn't think to correct her assumption that he was the doctor. He was too shocked.

Suddenly, an amazing thing happened. Everyone in the kitchen turned and looked at her as if she was the one who had lost her mind.

It was Mama Boyd who lost her marbles first when she exclaimed, "Lord, help us. Angela's gone and lost her mind!"

***

Nick Boyd was not one to be deterred by mysterious circumstances. He knew Carrie was hiding something and he was going to damn well find out what it was. That alone was the main reason he was skulking outside the bed and breakfast where Carrie had taken a room.

Night masked his movements. Most of the tenants were either watching television in the sitting room or had already retired to their rooms. Carrie Hawkins was the only one who seemed to be missing from the genteel surroundings. Nick hated that it had come to this, but due to ancient history between then, he knew if Carrie was keeping a secret – it was bound to be a doozy.

He entered the establishment making his way past the front desk when he heard a door open down the hall. Nick ducked quickly into a hall closet just in time to avoid a confrontation with Bertha Ubanks, the elderly owner of the bed and breakfast. Through a large crack in the door, he could see Bertha as she thumbed through phone messages left by her staff. She efficiently placed all the notes into the corresponding boxes, then turned to leave. Before she slipped past the wooden door that enclosed the front desk, Bertha noticed a bright pink envelope lying atop the counter. She sniffed the letter and smiled. It wasn't postmarked. It merely had a swirling script that Nick could see said ‘Carrie'.

"Looks like Miss Hawkins has a secret admirer," Bertha said with some whimsy in her voice. She sighed then dropped the letter into Carrie's box. Room 12.

Bertha passed by the closet a little closer than Nick expected. He instinctively drew the door closed until he heard an almost silent click. He waited a few beats until he was sure Bertha was back in her room and watching Jay Leno. When it was obvious the reception area was clear, Nick attempted to open the closet. He couldn't. The door wouldn't budge. It was stuck!

***

Carrie Hawkins couldn't believe Nick had the nerve to question her about her motives. Who did he think he was, her husband? There was a reason the two of them had never gotten romantically involved again. And that distrust was the main reason. She stomped around the hospital room of the woman they had come to know as Alex Maxwell. Even though there was severe bruising on her face, Carrie could tell she was a beautiful woman. The bruises would soon fade but the profiler didn't know how quickly the woman would forget that she was the only survivor of a horrible train accident.

"An accident I could have prevented," Carrie mumbled to herself. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't let Gault get to me. If I hadn't run away." Carrie couldn't continue verbally expressing her horror. Ira Gault had invaded her very soul and she had promised herself that she wouldn't let him get close to her again. He was evil of the most awful nature. A serial killer who didn't kill with one pattern but with many. And Carrie had somehow connected with him three years ago during a police investigation.

She thought the horror was over. She thought she could move on after he was captured. But she never figured that he would escape from prison and come back to find her again. Gault promised to get her attention if she didn't heed his warnings. And when she had retreated to her backwoods hideaway in Colorado, Gault sent out a message only she could hear. One only she had the ability to see. Before it ever happened, Carrie watched as the train derailed and crashed into the Illinois countryside. She hurried that day to where she knew the accident would happen, but it was too late. She was too late. Gault had struck. All because she hadn't paid notice to his warnings.

How could Carrie ever explain it to the family members left behind. How could she explain it to Nick who had been the one who had put Gault behind bars in the first place? Why had she come here? Why hadn't she just bent to his will? Then none of this would have ever happened and Alex Maxwell wouldn't be fighting for her life in a hospital bed far away from the town she called home.

Carrie succumbed to the grief as the woman in the bed beside her could only silently watch as the tears fell.