Psychological Thriller

This particular story is a psychological thriller I've been working on. I really like writing this style but I have struggled with the middle of this book. I have 145 pages written of a 275 page novel. Having a writing block kinda sucks. Also, I have been working on my other projects so I've neglected this story for a while.



*******WARNING*************** Contains harsh language....



This is the prologue...

Prologue

January 1977
Suspended in a hazy place in time, eyelids heavy as the morning fog over the bay, senses not quite awake, the young girl stirred. Far from her comfortable warm bed, her bare foot scraped along a dirt floor. A damp, penetrating cold surrounded her, creeping deep into her bones.

Her mind searched in those last frantic moments before waking. What’s going on here? Rubbing her eyes and moving around as she did most mornings, she found things were wrong. All wrong, in fact.

Her sheets must have come off in the night. Moaning, with her first tenative movements, she fumbled for the blankets to cover her ice-cold arms. Finding none puzzled her only to a degree. As she shifted, every muscle cried out as if she fought evil spirits in her sleep. Perplexed at the dirt collecting under her fingernails, her eyes fluttered open again trying harder to shake the morning cobwebs loose.

Then, a feeling of dread flooded her heart. Piecing together fragments of the previous day brought some clarity to her morning horror. She was not tucked safely in her bed having a nightmare. Oh God. It’s not my imagination. I’m really awake. It wasn’t a dream. Panic, oh I can’t panic. What do I do now? What mother could lock their eleven-year-old in the cellar? Why? Why me? Am I really so horrid? Does anyone know I am here? When will she let me out? Wont they miss me at school?
Oh God, please let this be over soon.
I’m afraid.

Tripping and fumbling many times in the darkness, not a speck of light to guide her, she half-walked, half-crawled along the rough cement wall to connecting wall of the single car garage. In less than a moment, her elation over finding the rough, wooden doorway in her dark hell-hole, was replaced. A hurried examination of the padlocked door found it secure as expected.

Turning around she’d almost stumbled over the bottom stair leading up to the kitchen. No chance she’d get out that route. She’d heard the lock engage last night. Right then, a biting cold set in every muscle and joint as if the warmth had been sucked up the stairs with Kathryn’s final slam of the door.

Still the optimist, she’d crept toward the steps several times, only to stop on the first or second step, gasping for air, fear causing her to hyperventilate. The only other way out, through a side door, seemed miles away. Not a sliver of light illuminated her path to freedom.

Shoving, kicking and pulling at the door proved fruitless. It had been blocked. Always thorough, her mother, Kathryn left nothing to chance. Unable to escape, Beth shifted her focus to lighting up her private hellhole.

Finding the string to the only light in absolute darkness had been an achievement.
Oh thank God. Light. The devastation nearly knocked her over when the peaceful yellow glow didn’t appear. Feeling around on her tiptoes she’d discovered the bulb missing.
You rotten bitch!
Each frantic beat of her heart pulsed above her right brow. Ker-thump. Ker-thump.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Struggling to control her emotions she let her mind travel back to the last few words her mother screamed at her in those brief seconds before slamming the door.
“I will not have a common criminal living in my house!”
“But… but…”
“Criminals regularly served time in dungeons. I sentence you to the dungeon. Remove your clothing. Everything but your panties and tee shirt.”

Sobbing uncontrollably she’d stripped down to her underclothes. For the first hour she’d thought her mother would break down. No, not in Kathryn's world. She would open the door when she was good and ready and not before. After waiting for her mother for what seemed like hours, Beth gave up waiting, she slumped down on the ground, began talking to herself and ended up crying herself to sleep.

No. Kathryn had been deadly serious. She’d carefully laid out rules for Beth as the resident criminal: Absolutely no noise, no attempts to escape and of course, Beth could never mention this “punishment” to a living soul.

Beth knew trying anything would yield nothing but serious regret. For now, with no plan to escape, and no idea how long she would be imprisoned in a darkness deeper than midnight, her heart and thoughts raced as it slowly sunk in.

I need to go to the bathroom. I hurt everywhere. I’m starving. God, are you there? I’m so afraid. Please help me. Her empty stomach growled. Sitting as still as a stone monument, she heard noises above her. She strained to hear, yet could distinguish nothing more than mumbles.

The silence began to work on her, stealing pieces of her soul, draining away her confidence, her strength, and her convictions. Frustration and rage erupted inside her. Terror and adrenaline coursed through her veins.

Frantic and discouraged, she plunked onto the dirt floor. A peculiar musty smell wafting up as the dirt settled. A smell she already hated. Alone, she rocked and whimpered, her face buried in her hands. Warm salty tears slid down her scratched and tender skin. Trapped in the silent darkness, her body shuddered.



Chapter One


Fall 2000
Searching the pockets of her faded Lee jeans, and then the light jacket she wore, did not produce her car keys. Leaving her luggage at the trunk, feeling increasingly apprehensive, she tramped down the cedar-lined path to her back door. Thankfully she’d not yet locked up, nor said her good-byes. She hustled inside where Patrick stood with a grin, dangling her neon yellow key chain.

"Forget something honey?" Patrick asked. His mouth tilted into the kind of smile that melted her heart when they first met twelve years before at the Public Library. That first day, he’d been demonstrating oil painting for a group of children.

Right then, when she had seen his thick curly black hair resting at the collar of his burgundy shirt, she’d drawn in a slight gasp of expectation knowing she’d be mesmerized by his rugged good looks. A pink glow covered her cheeks in less than a moment. Thankful the children couldn’t read her thoughts; she’d been swept up in a momentary fantasy. All too soon, she needed to feel his soft artistic hands caressing her. She’d known even before he’d glanced her way.

She had stayed to watch the lesson. Patrick struck up a conversation with her as soon as the children cleaned up and took their paintings with them, his deep friendly voice genuine and so hard to find. She had helped him carry his supplies to his truck and they had gone out to a movie the next night. In no time, she’d sensed something brewing between them. They’d continued to date, but deep inside they both knew their stolen moments of intimacy were clouded by Beth’s connection to her past. She knew something always held her back. She wanted to open her heart to him. Whatever it was that stopped her from being whole, it was becoming tiresome.

Only when she cut those ties could each kiss be truly filled with passion, instead of loneliness. When Patrick pressed his warm body to hers she longed to melt against him. She loved him, and they both knew it. Passion was her weakness. This trip was long overdue. She longed to define her emptiness. She needed answers to the terrifying truth.
"Maybe this is a sign I shouldn't go"
"You can face this Beth." Patrick told her as he clasped his strong warm hands around her small waist .
"Oh Patrick, why did I decide to go alone?"
"Now you know I would have gone with you darlin’”
His eyes twinkled as he spoke.
“We talked about this hon’. When you stand on your own two feet you’ll be glad you did it alone."
"I know," she said with a heavy sigh, hoping he didn't see her pale face or hear the fear in her voice.

Running her fingers through his soft wavy hair one last time, she nearly got lost in his heavenly eyes. Patrick, knowing her resolve was melting ever so slightly, reached over and gave her shoulder the slightest squeeze.
“You’ll be fine,” his voice almost a husky whisper as he gathered Beth’s hands and kissed her fingertips. I must leave. If I don’t go now I might not leave at all. I have to stick to my schedule or I’ll miss my flight. I can do this. I’m ready. I’m strong enough.

Her schedule was tight. She’d allowed time for traffic and an extra thirty minutes to park the car in long-term parking, the most economical solution for trips longer than a few days. Saving the money meant hiking the extra distance, or, if she got lucky, catching the bus to the terminal.

Keys in hand, and with great resolve, Beth checked a few last minute items. The light timer in the downstairs bedroom, which she had converted into her private retreat from the world, was all set.

The delicate carved four-poster bed was draped in light linen. She’d chosen a pale cream as the color theme for the room hoping it would be soothing and promote relaxation.

When she was overwhelmed she loved to climb into her immense bed, pull the fabric around to close in the four-poster bed and hide amongst the myriad of soft pillows. Her large stash of mysteries under the bed could keep her busy for hours.

For now, she gave the room one last look. The light timer would turn on the delicate lamp next to the bed for an hour in the morning and three hours in the evening.

In the bright living room, two timers were set. The tall lamp behind the large brown couch and the small lamp at her computer station would come on in the evenings for two hours. Both were set correctly.
The timers were merely a formality to give her peace of mind. Bonnie would let her know if anything happened at her house while she was gone.

Bonnie, who lived in the opposite corner house, did not sleep much at night, spending her time instead with her sandy brown Pomeranian in her lap, watching out her windows with her trusty binoculars. Bonnie had known exactly when the Martins, from down the street, had fought and then separated last summer. Bonnie had seen Jim drive off down the back alley at 3:47 a.m., returning later to gather his belongings. Bonnie will watch my home. She won’t let so much as a dog wander through the yard without telling me about it. Why am I still so concerned? I’m worrying over nothing.

One last vigilant check through the house assured her peace of mind. Far too many times she’d left her curling iron plugged. In the small kitchen, the iron was unplugged, left on the kitchen counter after the quick touch up this morning on her knit top. She checked the downstairs windows again and hollered for Patrick to check the windows upstairs. All the time knowing the house was secure, and every detail had been dealt with in the week leading up to her trip.
Patrick scooped up Velvet, her spoiled two-year-old Yorkshire terrier. Velvet took her time warming up to Patrick.

For two weeks, Velvet growled like a lion protecting cubs any time he came near her, in all her five-pound glory. Now, with all this commotion, Velvet knew something was up. Growling lightly this time, she showed her discontent at being taken from her home. Perhaps she understood what the suitcases meant. She liked Patrick well enough, but this would be her first time away from home.

The three of them stepped out the back door. While Patrick and Velvet settled into his truck, Beth locked the back door. Brushing her auburn bangs from her eyes, she cut across the yard and gave Patrick a quick kiss. It was precious and sweet but short. They had spoken before about her dislike of long good-byes. It was only then, her trip really began.

Fall was clearly in the crisp cool air. Her quiet street lined with trees. A shower of leaves, in varying hues of red, orange, and yellow, swirled and danced slowly to the ground creating a picturesque carpet on the sidewalks. Finches and sparrows chirped happily in the imposing Cedar tree at the corner, busily gathering bits of things and tiny twigs.

White clouds floated above in the azure sky looking almost close enough to touch. The temperature, mid sixties, was comfortable. The day so flawless, like looking into a postcard whose edges gave way to a reality found in any small country town where the sun and the fields communed. It was like a peek at a place far from the bustle of a big city, where a simple breeze could linger for a while at a small pond.

Soon, days would melt into weeks and weeks into months as the starkness of winter descended here. The sweeping hills of Eastern Kansas, filled with brush, colored in shades of burgundy, yellow, orange and green would be gone. Then, most trees would point their bare limbs to the sky to wait out the long months of winter until vegetation returned. In places, vast fields would be deceptively green, full with winter wheat.

Warm days would give way to brisk cool ones which
might last through November or December, but would eventually give way to snow and ice covered roads. Nothing could compare to the beauty of a snowy field piled high with innocent untouched white heaps, and dotted with trees. Each one would wear white fuzz reaching the tips of every tiny branch.

First though, as those in her yard and down her quiet street, the trees would slowly lose their leaves in an intimate dance with nature. Having already dropped from the trees, some dry birch leaves crunched beneath her feet as she trudged down the path from her back door to the car pulling her black carry-on luggage behind her.

The wheels wobbled and lurched until she stood it upright as she reached the trunk. Securing her luggage in the trunk took only moments. She got into her blue Honda Civic LX, started the engine, pulled out of the driveway and turned left onto sixth street. She honked twice and waved as she passed Patrick, something they had done for years.

In under a minute she had left her small town of only fifty-three homes, driving past the small post office with its flag waving in the wind, the only real business of the town. She was on her way.

It was almost a two-hour drive to the Kansas City Airport. She was tempted to turn on the radio to see who was filling in for her on the morning show, but changed her mind before even setting the dial on her oldies station. What if Daryl was covering for her? Beth hadn’t taken vacation days for over three years.

She flashed back to the previous week when she had asked for vacation time from work. The station manager Bernie, with whom she didn’t have to work daily, thank goodness, had been a real jerk. He was in his fifties, balding, a chain smoker with deeply stained yellow teeth you couldn’t avoid watching while trying to hold a conversation.
“What do ya need a week off fer, you never go anywhere? Bernie had asked with a gruff laugh hinting at her complete lack of a life.
“Can I have the time or not? Beth cringed each time she’d had to talk to him. Yet, she wasn’t going to get her vacation time approved any other way. Beth cleared her throat waiting for his answer. He’s going to make me sweat! What a prick!
“Yeah, I’ll git someone to fill in for ya.”

She rarely missed work and knew their listener numbers were way up, particularly on her morning show, so she resented the attitude from Bernie.
She couldn’t think about all these things now, her focus should be on her trip she thought. She decided she wouldn’t even turn on her station. She certainly wasn’t in the mood for some fill-ins jokes even if they were broken up with oldies songs.

Instead, she opted for silence and thoughts of the trip ahead. Her mind filled with doubts and reasons she could not make this trip at this time knowing her happiness, her strength of character and even her relationship with Patrick all relied upon the challenges ahead. Her chest tightened. Her throat felt almost closed.

Calm down she told herself, surprised to hear the words aloud. Anticipating these very fears, she quickly switched on her CD player, and listened to the soft, quiet, relaxing melodies of her favorite Enya CD. She drove along without thought, just instinct, making decisions to turn left or right as needed, to increase speed on the freeway and take the proper exits.

The time passed in a fog, quicker than she had intended. Before long she had driven right through all the traffic, which usually gave her a headache, sat in her car, facing the fence at the edge of the long-term parking area. She quickly took out her palm pilot to jot down the row number where she parked her car so she would not have to search row upon row of cars upon her return.

The traffic had been light so she was ahead of her schedule and had plenty of time to walk from the parking area to the terminal. She counted out the items she needed to remove from the car: her carry-on luggage on wheels, a shoulder bag containing her purse, her palm pilot, and of course her airline tickets. She had the items she knew were most important.

She placed the sun visor window protector in the front windshield, and then locked inside the busy airport, the clerks and even other people seemed lost in their own little worlds, oblivious to the noise and the rush of people. She dealt with very few people, blending in unnoticed, which suited her fine.

The petite United Airlines attendant announced her flight would be delayed by approximately an hour. The seating area buzzed with groans of disapproval. How fitting she thought, forty minutes later, as she walked down the jet-way to board flight 814 from Kansas City International to San Francisco and settled into her comfortable seat.

Having never flown first class she was pleasantly surprised with the level of service. She simply melted into the plush wide seat. Almost immediately her flight attendant appeared to help stow away carry-on bags and hand out pillows. The plane taxied down the runway, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
She had dreamt about making this trip for a long time.

She was on her way to confront the stirs of her past, which had tormented her for twenty years, since she had lived in that house as a teenager. She took a deep breath, rubbed her temples and let her mind wander through the years of white-hot anger, the horrendous nightmares from which she had awakened shivering and afraid.

There were the many unanswered questions, the towering mountains of self-doubt, which had been climbed repeatedly, as well as her obvious inability to maintain a lasting relationship. All of which had led her to make this flight to California.
A dread was building inside her. Dread, not of an impending crash, or of flight difficulties. No, this was an all-encompassing fear.

She’d seen life through the eyes of a child for years. Why? Her world had fragmented into countless problems. Would she be able to knit them back together again, to be whole again? What did she hope to accomplish with this visit? How many more years would it take to feel prepared for this confrontation? Courage, she had learned came by taking small steps toward what frightened you, each step building belief in yourself.

She had spent years, looking down that fear filled path, going through hours of therapy sessions to fill in blank patches of her memory, and with Dr. Katz’ help they had pieced together the complex puzzle that was her life.
“You are strong, you can do this,”
Moreover, Beth had been so grateful for the words of encouragement from her therapist.

Beth had been seeing Richard Katz, Ph.D. for the last three years. Richard’s words echoed in her ears as she settled in her seat on her way. She had Richard’s private phone number with her in case a crisis arose which calmed her a little.
She fussed in her plush seat, unaware of anyone around her including the flight attendant who was offering her a glass of wine.
“Can I get anything for you Miss?” the pleasant voice interrupted.

One glass of wine couldn’t hurt, and might even help her relax. She quickly drank her chilled wine, and then quite without notice her delicate finger traced the rim of her glass as her mind wandered. Her flight attendant returned to offer Beth another glass of wine, offering an array of snacks as well. Beth knew that eating was out of the question as long as her stomach remained so nervous.

She tried looking at the mystery novel she had stashed in her shoulder bag, but could not absorb the words. She even tried her handheld Wheel of Fortune game. She played one round before her mind began wandering. After a moment she put the game away as well.

It was a long flight, and she was not in the mood to make small talk with the man across the aisle that had been trying to get her attention since she sat down. She reached over to close the window blind, and quickly she found herself drifting off.
Her eyes fluttered as they got heavier. Her mind, spun, blocking out the noise of the engines, conjuring up distant voices, vague visions, smells so real she almost choked. Images of horrors she had long ago survived, amazed she’d ever survived.

Moreover, the worst torment of all, the appalling days and nights of her fears were memories of her childhood home, to which she was returning.
She found it difficult to second guess a mind like Kathryn’s. Beth never understood what ghastly thing an innocent child could do to drive a mother to such violence.

The horrifying visions of each act still haunted her and held her mind in such a state of bewilderment and despair. She stirred for a moment, reached up to regulate the air vent and checked her reflection in her compact, dazed at how visibly she had aged in the years since she walked away from her past. Lines had appeared around both her eyes and mouth, replacing the young, fresh face. Still, people rarely guessed her age. Redheads aged so gracefully. With that thought, a smile spread across her face and she closed her eyes again, resting for just a moment she thought.