Delaney's Shadow Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  EPILOGUE

  Teaser chapter

  DREAM LOVER

  Max took her chin in his hand.

  She pressed harder against the tree. A piece of bark crackled beneath her back. Delaney caught another whiff of the pond, but the smell of the mud didn’t turn her stomach anymore. It was countered by the clean tang of Max’s soap. Her flesh tingled where he touched her, even though she knew it wasn’t really a touch. That made no difference to her pulse.

  Max brought his face to hers. His eyes gleamed. “We don’t have to talk.”

  She moistened her lips. “Uh, Max . . .”

  “There are plenty of more interesting things we could try.”

  “Let’s stick with talking.”

  “If I were a real man, I would kiss you.”

  “If you were real, you wouldn’t want to.”

  He smiled and stroked his thumb across her lower lip. “Don’t bet on it.”

  Pleasure shot through her body. Her legs shook. She locked her knees to keep herself upright . . .

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  DELANEY’S SHADOW

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / August 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Ingrid Caris.

  Excerpt from Dream Shadows by Ingrid Weaver copyright © by Ingrid Caris.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-51723-9

  BERKLEY® SENSATION

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  This book is dedicated to Mark, my husband, my partner in dreams and in life.

  PROLOGUE

  ON THE DAY JOHN MAXWELL HARRISON TURNED SEVEN, he knew he would kill Virgil Budge. He knew it with the same conviction that led other children to believe they would be astronauts or cowboys. Killing Virgil was more than a dream for Max; it was his purpose, his duty. His destiny.

  Moving slowly, biting his lip to keep the whimper inside, Max grasped the willow trunk for balance and eased himself down. The moss was thick and spongy here in the shadows. It took only a few minutes for the cool to seep through his jeans and numb the place where Virgil’s belt had left a trail of blood.

  This morning, when the old man was snoring too loudly to hear the floor creak, Max had gone into the bedroom and picked up that belt. He’d liked the way the leather had felt in his hands. It had made his hair tingle and goose bumps rise on his arms, like the crackle of power in the air before a thunderstorm. And while he’d stood there, feeling the power, he’d watched the splotches of beer on Virgil’s undershirt quiver, and he’d watched the spit trickle out of the corner of Virgil’s mouth, and he’d wondered what it would be like to hit him.

  Would he scream, the way Mommy always did? Would he cry until his nose ran in messy streaks into his mouth? Would he turn purple and then blue and have to hide in the trailer until the marks on his face went away?

  Max had wanted to kill him then. He’d wanted it so badly his tongue had tasted like rust and his hands had shaken until the belt buckle chattered like teeth. The picture in his head had been so clear. He saw himself wrap one end of the leather around his fist the way Virgil did, and he saw himself lift his arm and whip the other end down again and again and again and then climb on the sour-smelling sheets and kick the middle of that sagging belly and jump up and down on that sneering mouth. He wouldn’t have cared about the blood and tears and snot that would get on his clothes, because he’d be glad; he’d be glad.

  Max sniffed and wiped his eyes with his T-shirt. Virgil was right. He was just a dumb chickenshit. He hadn’t been able to do it. He’d put the belt back on the floor. He’d run out of the trailer. Then he’d climbed over the fence and crossed the old tracks and taken the path to the edge of the pond to the place where no one would find him.

  A jay squawked from a branch overhead. Max willed his tears away and tilted his head back against the bark to look up. One of these days, he was going to be like that bird. He was going to fly away. And he’d take Mommy with him. After he killed Virgil, they would live in a house with white curtains and a brand-new fridge that didn’t smell like beer. They would get a puppy and call him Skippy.

  Max closed his eyes and let the picture build in his head. It was a trick he had learned to make the pain go away. He’d discovered it the first time Virgil had broken his arm. If he concentrated really hard, he could pretend he was someplace else.

  Before the picture was halfway done, there was a rustling from the shore of the pond. Max blinked, squinting against the glare from the water.

  A girl tiptoed along the edge of the mud. She was so small the bulrushes almost hid her, but he could see flashes of her blonde hair and sky-colored dress.

  He knew who she was. She lived in the big Wainright hou
se on the other side of the woods. He had seen her down here with some old lady lots of times when he was hiding in his secret place. She wasn’t supposed to be at the pond by herself. She was even too little for school. She was just a baby.

  She bent a cattail downward, her face scrunched up as she twisted it off the stem. The brown velvet puffed its cottony seeds into her hand, and she laughed, startling the jay out of the tree.

  Max eased back into the shadows. This was the Wainrights’ property. Max didn’t want to be caught here. Old man Wain-right was even bigger than Virgil, and he looked awful mean the way he walked bent over that cane. Max was glad that Virgil didn’t have a cane. It would hurt worse than the belt.

  The girl lowered her face to study the fluff in her palm, then pursed her lips and blew it into the air. Taken by the breeze, the tiny seeds drifted over the pond in a speckled cloud, and she laughed again.

  Would old man Wainright hit her when he found out she was here by herself? Max hoped not. From what he could see, her skin didn’t have any bruises. She laughed a lot, too. He liked her laugh. It sparkled on the air the same as those cattail seeds.

  A train whistle whined in the distance, its notes trailing off like a deflating balloon. A cicada did its buzz-saw noise from the grass, startling the girl into dropping the rest of the cattail. It bounced into the water at her feet. Heedless of her white shoes and lacy socks, she stepped into the mud after it.

  Max frowned as he watched the dark water creep up her legs. She would get in trouble for sure now. Despite the ache in his ribs that made it hurt to move, he braced his palm against the tree and stood.

  Someone would come to get her soon. Max wanted to warn her, but he wouldn’t want to be caught trespassing, or they would take him home. And Virgil hated getting woken up when he was sleeping off a bender. Max should have hidden that belt. Or used it. Someday, he would. Yes, after he killed Virgil, he wouldn’t have to sneak around in the bushes like this; he’d be far away with Mommy and Skippy in the house with the white curtains—

  It happened so fast, Max would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking right at her. One second the girl was reaching for the cattail; the next second there was a splash, and she sank under the water.

  The bulrushes whispered together in the breeze. The cicada hummed. And Max was alone.

  He ran to the edge of the pond. “Hey!” he yelled. “Hey, kid!”

  The surface of the water bubbled upward in an oily bulge at the spot where she’d gone under. Ripples spread outward to lap at his running shoes. But the girl didn’t reappear.

  Max toed off his shoes and waded out, sinking to his ankles in the muddy bottom. The fresh welts on his back stung as the water reached his armpits, but he blinked away the tears and waved his arms through the murky water in front of him. “Kid!” he called. “Hey!”

  He was getting scared. He didn’t know what to do. He could run up to the big house and ask for help, but that would take too long.

  And Max knew better than to trust anyone to help.

  They never did.

  Taking a deep breath, he dove under the water. Weeds brushed his face and wrapped their slimy fingers around his legs, holding him down. He struggled in panic, bursting to the surface to gulp in more air, then dove under again, fighting the mud and the weeds until his chest ached and tiny lights flickered behind his eyes. He couldn’t give up yet. She was so little. She must be more scared than him.

  His hand struck something smooth and cold. Kicking his way closer, he reached out and grasped a tiny arm.

  He ran out of air and swallowed water by the time he got the girl to the surface. Panting, fighting against the pull of the mud, he dragged her to the shore and laid her on the grass.

  Last year, just after Halloween, the police had pulled a dead body from this pond. Max had seen it all from his hiding place behind the willow. At first he’d thought the police were after him for trespassing, but then he’d seen the boat and the bar with the chains they’d dragged through the water. It was just getting dark when they’d hooked Donna MacGregor. She’d been a skinny woman, but her corpse had looked like a sausage that had puffed up too big for its casing.

  Max wiped the water from his face and looked at the little blonde girl. Her hair straggled like seaweed against her shoulders. Her lips were blue. And her chest wasn’t moving.

  She was dead. As dead as Donna MacGregor had been. As dead as Max wanted Virgil to be.

  “No.” His voice cracked. Why did this kid have to die? She wasn’t the one he wanted dead. Was this his fault?

  Max put his mouth over hers and blew his own breath into her lungs, like he’d seen people do on TV shows. Nothing happened. He tried again. And again.

  But the skin beneath his lips remained soft and cool and lifeless.

  No! He wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t let her die. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve it. She had been laughing. Please breathe. Please.

  He didn’t know how long it took. He was getting almost as cold as she was when, finally, her chest heaved by itself. He lifted his head just before streams of muddy water spurted out of her mouth and nose. She started to cough.

  Max wiped her face with the bottom of his T-shirt and sat back on his heels, uncertain what to do next, when she opened her eyes and looked straight at him.

  Her eyes were the color of new ferns. It was a weird thing to notice, but he’d never seen eyes that color before. They were beautiful . . .

  And she was alive. He’d done it! He’d saved her. Maybe he wasn’t a dumb chickenshit all the time. He grinned. “Hi.”

  Her mouth trembled. Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes to fall into her hair. Any second now she would start wailing.

  His grin faded. “No, don’t cry. You’re okay.” He touched a fingertip to her temple, stopping one of her tears.

  She parted her lips, and he braced himself for a scream, but the only sound that came out was a hiccup.

  “Thatta girl,” he said. He helped her to sit up and patted her back. “Uh, do you hurt someplace?”

  “I s-scared.”

  “I was scared, too. You’re okay now, though. What’s your name?”

  She hiccupped again. “Deedee.”

  “My name’s Max, Deedee. Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble. No one’s gonna hit you. I won’t tell anyone what you did; I promise.”

  She turned her face to his chest. Even through his damp shirt he could feel the warmth of her tears.

  Max didn’t know what to do now, either. He didn’t know how to offer comfort. He’d had far more experience being on the receiving end of cruelty than kindness. Once more he let his instincts guide him. He lifted his hand to cradle the back of her head.

  Just like a kitten, she curled trustingly into his arms. He felt her shivering, and he forgot about the aches in his body so he could pull her closer. He decided to help her the only way he knew how.

  He painted the picture in his mind, the place he went when things got real bad. And he took her with him. “Don’t cry, Deedee.” He bent his head to whisper in her ear. “We aren’t really here. We’re far, far away. Nothing hurts. Nothing bad happens. See the dog? His name is Skippy.”

  She turned her head. “D-doggy?”

  “No, close your eyes, and then you’ll see him. He’s big and black with floppy ears and a long tail. Now he’s licking your hand. That’s how you know he likes you.”

  “I like doggies.”

  “Can you smell the cake? It’s chocolate. My mommy made it. That’s her at the table. Do you hear her? She’s singing. She does that when she’s happy. She’s always happy here.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  Max squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated harder. He saw Deedee pet his dog. He heard her laugh. Her blue dress and her white socks were clean again as she ate a piece of cake. She clapped her hands and smiled, her lips dotted with chocolate crumbs, as his mother sang “Happy Birthday.”

  This was nice. He’d never brought
anyone with him before.

  “Delaney? Baby, where are you?” The cry came from the woods on the other side of the pond. More voices called, getting closer. “Deedee?”

  Max blinked and came back. But the picture he’d built was so strong this time, traces of it still remained, swirling like mist around him. Deedee squirmed out of his arms, stretching to reach for the dog.

  “Over here!” someone yelled. “It looks like her hair ribbon.”

  “Oh, sweet mother of God! She’s gone to the pond! Delaney? Answer me!”

  Deedee twisted around, confused. “Gramma?”

  The familiar, sick-sour taste of fear gathered at the back of Max’s throat. If anyone caught him here, he was going to get in trouble. It never occurred to him that the adults might want to thank him. They’d call the police and take him home to Virgil. He stuffed his feet back into his shoes and stood.

  Deedee scrambled up and grabbed for his hand. “Can I have more cake?”

  He leaned over to put his finger against her lips. “Don’t tell on me.”

  “Wanna play,” she said.

  “Promise you won’t tell.”

  “Want doggy!”

  “Promise, Deedee! Or I won’t play.”

  She nodded quickly. “ ’Kay, Max.”

  He tugged his hand out of her grasp and backed away. “I gotta go.”

  “Play!” Her chin trembled. “Ple-ee-ase.”

  Something flashed between them. A surge of energy, like lightning, like holding Virgil’s belt. In Max’s mind, the picture built again, the same but different. Everything looked bigger, as if he were smaller.

  He staggered, staring at the girl. This wasn’t his picture. She was the one doing it. How was it possible? How could she be in his head?

  She closed her eyes and smiled, holding out her arms.

  Shouts echoed from the woods, along with the noise of heavy footsteps crashing through the underbrush.

  Max turned and ran.