Silent Fall

an unforgivable line. Olivia had run to the beach to lick her wounds, to protect her children, and maybe to give Richard some space.
    She looked at the date on the letter. Dylan had told her that his mother left when he was seven years old, just before Christmas and shortly after an illness that had put him in the hospital. This letter must have been from the summer before, a few months prior to her departure. Catherine couldn’t help wondering if Olivia had actually left voluntarily. Had something else happened to her? Had Richard’s abuse escalated?
    Catherine’s stomach began to churn as she considered the darker possibilities. If Richard Sanders was behind the recent moves against Dylan, then he wasn’t afraid to kill. Had he done it once before? Was that why Olivia had never seen her sons again?
    Catherine had just slipped the picture and note back into the envelope when Dylan returned, dressed and primed for battle. She’d seen his game face before, and she knew he was now a man on a mission. No more teasing. No more seductive smiles. He was all business.
    "I’m going to check my mail," he said briskly. "Then I’ll go down and get you some breakfast."
    "Dylan, don’t you think we should talk about the letter?"
    "There’s nothing to say."
    "There’s a lot to say."
    He sat down in the chair across from her and opened his laptop. "Even if my mother had a reason to leave, she saved herself and not us."
    "Dylan, look at me."
    He reluctantly met her gaze. "I don’t want to hear about any more of your visions of my mother. Let’s just table that for now."
    "This isn’t a vision; it’s an opinion, and I’m going to give it to you, because we said we’d be honest and direct with each other, right?" She didn’t wait for him to answer. "Have you ever considered the possibility that your mother disappeared at your father’s hands, that she didn’t leave of her own accord?"
    The color left his face, his eyes darkening. "You think he... he killed her? Shit! You think he killed her," he repeated. He got to his feet and paced around the small area. "You think that’s why she never came back, never sent a card or a Christmas gift."
    She didn’t answer, because Dylan needed to talk it through himself.
    He stopped pacing. "I didn’t think of that. I never in my life thought of that. Why? Why was I such an idiot?"
    "You were told a story when you were a little boy, a story I’m sure other relatives in the family confirmed -- your grandmother, your aunt, cousins. Everyone thought your mother left voluntarily, didn’t they?"
    "Because they all believed him, the master manipulator. That’s why my mother keeps coming into your mind," he added slowly. "She’s dead and she wants justice. She wants you to catch him."
    Catherine stared back at him, suddenly feeling as off balance as Dylan did. The link between them had tightened with the new information, the mirror of their lives reflecting back upon each other. Her father had killed her mother. Had his father done the same thing? "Oh, my God," she murmured. "It’s all on me again. I can’t do it. I couldn’t do it before, and I can’t do it now."
    "Not for your mother, but maybe for mine," Dylan said, following her train of thought. "That’s why we’re connected."
    She knew he was right. Her mother had died twenty-four years ago. His mother had vanished twenty-three years ago. They’d been almost exactly the same age when they’d lost their mothers. But the prospect of trying to get justice for Dylan’s mother overwhelmed her.
    "You can’t depend on me. My dreams are unreliable and cryptic and not at all helpful. And we could be on the wrong track here. Your mother might not be dead. She might be living somewhere else, remarried, with other kids. Maybe she’s sitting on a beach right now, digging her toes into the sand, sad that she doesn’t have you anymore, but not sure how to fix it. When I see her in my dreams she doesn’t plead for me to save her."
    "Because she’s already dead."
    "Or she’s not," Catherine argued, not sure whom she was trying to convince, herself or him.
    "We have to find out. It’s time to go back to San Francisco."
    "Your father won’t tell us anything more. And if we go back there’s a good chance you’ll get locked up, and we’ll never figure this out. Check your e-mail, Dylan.