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“I know,” Sawyer said. And he really did. He had gone through almost this exact same thing only twelve months ago when a serial killer had been determined to kill Ashley.
“This is such a mess,” he muttered helplessly.
He wanted a drink.
Badly.
It was all he could do not to jump in his car and go and buy a six-pack and drink them all in one go.
If there was any alcohol in the house, he probably would have succumbed to temptation already.
“You know what you have to do, right?” Sawyer asked. “If you don’t want her to give in to the pressure the stalker is putting on her.”
“I have to tell her how I feel about her. I just don’t know if I can.”
“You have to. She needs to hear it. I get the fear of taking a friendship and putting it on the line to see if there’s more there, but it worked out for me and Ashley.”
“That was different,” he protested immediately.
“How? Ashley and I were best friends. I knew she didn't feel the same way as I did, but with everything that was going on it all came out, and I’m glad it did. If it hadn't, we wouldn’t be getting married in three days. That could be you and Samara this timenext year. You want that, I know you do.”
“Every time I think about saying the words, I can't get them out,” he admitted. Fear was a powerful thing, as was guilt, and both could easily rule your life.
“Because of Heidi?”
“Yeah.”
“I get guilt, especially over someone’s death. After my dad’s death, I felt guilty. I wasn't even there when it happened, but I kept thinking that if I was then maybe things would have turned out differently. What happened, happened. I wish it hadn't, I'd do anything to have him still alive, and I wish that your daughter was still with you. If she was, what would she want you to do?”
That was easy.
Heidi was like a little ball of sunshine all wrapped up in a tiny little package. She had a wild mess of brown curls and the biggest green eyes that shimmered with joy and excitement. She laughed all the time and very rarely cried. She loved to sing and dance, she always had music playing, even when she was sleeping. She loved cuddles and kisses and would climb out of her crib during the night and come and climb into his bed to snuggle. She was his beautiful, happy, loving little princess.
She was his heart.
And she wouldn’t want him to give up a chance to be with the other person who shared his heart.
“She’d want me to be happy.”
“Does Samara make you happy?”
She did.
She was the only person since his daughter’s death that gave him a sense of peace, that quietened the screaming guilt inside him.
In many ways they were very similar, which allowed him to relax and not constantly fight himself when he was with her.
“She does,” he said softly.
“Then you know what you have to do.”
*****
4:18 P.M.
She looked terrible.
Samara stood at the vanity in her bathroom and stared at her reflection. Her color was bad, the bruises from when she had jumped out of the stalker’s car were starting to change color, a little less black and blue, and a little more yellow and green. Her head still drummed a steady beat of pain that had been there ever since her near abduction. Headache aside, she wasn't really feeling any other effects from the concussion. All she felt was a growing sense of desperation to do whatever it took to put an end to her stalker’s reign of terror.
