Shattered

Chapter 15 Bradley

"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and unspeakable love." Washington Irving

Mark's breathing was rhythmic and soothing, like the ocean. He hadn't moved all night, still sleeping on his right side, his arm underneath Bradley and his left arm draped across her body, holding her close, not letting go. It was the first time she spent an uninterrupted night with a boy, and not for reasons that most couples would be eager about sharing. Bradley traced the outside of his face. His skin was soft, kissed by the sun and virtually flawless, except for a small pink pimple on his forehead just below his hairline. Bradley smiled and resumed the gentle trace of the masculine jawline on his boyish face.

"Stop staring at me," he mumbled under his breath. "It's creepy."

"Really?' she pulled her hand back and bit the inside of her lower lip. "Sorry...I didn't mean to..."

Mark pulled her tight and kissed the top of her forehead without opening his eyes. "It's not creepy," he grinned. "But it would be if anyone other than you were touching my face incessantly." Bradley smiled. "Come on, let's go back to sleep."

Bradley nuzzled her cheek against his chest and inhaled the fresh laundry detergent on his cotton shirt. He smelled of fresh pine trees and crisp forest. His aroma was comforting and secure. And, now that he was here, with her, she needed to probe about his past. It was the only way she could understand why he left her at the hospital.

"Mark?" she whispered, afraid to wake him if he had fallen back asleep.

"Hmmm?"

"Brody...he said...ummm..." Mark opened his eyes. Bradley slowly exhaled. "He said something about your sister."

Mark lifted his head for a second before resting it back down on the pillow. "It was a long time ago." He closed his eyes again.

Bradley blinked several times, unsure whether or not to pursue it. His sister had been murdered. This wasn't something she could dismiss. She had come so close to being a murder victim herself. She needed to know what happened to his sister.

"Will you...I mean...can you tell me what happened?"

Mark opened his eyes again, retreated his arms and rolled on his back. "Are you sure you want to know after what you went through the other night?"

Bradley nodded. She sat up and took his hands in hers. "I think I need to know."

Mark pulled down on the front of his short hair, attempting to smooth it out. "Melissa, Missy, I called her Missy when I was younger...my mom hated that I called her that," a small smile spread across his face. "Anyways, Missy was five years older and she just kind of got lost, turned to drugs and eventually dropped out of high school her senior year."

"Oh, Mark..."

"It's fine. I mean, I don't really get how she went from a straight A student with a future to a drug-addicted drop-out. I wasn't close to her. I mean, she was a good sister but with the age difference, it's not like I ever understood what she was going through. My parents tried the whole rehab thing, even sent her away once. But, after her eighteenth birthday, she just disappeared. The local cops knew my sister; she had been in trouble before. Petty theft, possession of cocaine, she was messed up. The police said she ran away, never investigated her disappearance as a kidnapping. My parents went to the media, trying to pressure the police to look into her disappearance. It was a train wreck, a three ring circus. The media started calling my sister "Prissy Missy" the girl who had everything and threw it all away for a drug fueled life on the street. The media couldn't let it go. Even the national media picked up the story for a short time."

Mark paused and Bradley could tell he was beginning to struggle. She squeezed his hands tighter attempting to support him as best she could.

"There were no leads, nothing to go on. Missy was a leech, financially, and she liked the comforts of home, so my parents knew she would have never run away. She needed their money and they were financially supporting her and her drug habits. She had no reason to leave. Eventually, they hired a private investigator which turned up nothing. And, then one afternoon, I came home from school and my mom was sobbing on the middle of the floor. My dad was holding her head up, trying to comfort her, and I knew, I just knew Missy was dead."

"I'm so sorry," whispered Bradley, completely at a loss for words.

"They estimated she was dead less than twenty-four hours after her disappearance. So, honestly, she didn't stand a chance at being found alive once anyone knew she was even missing. She had been raped, tortured with cigarette burns and stabbed twenty-seven times. It was probably a crime of passion."

"A what?" Bradley asked.

"Committed by someone she knew. I mean, usually, a stranger doesn't stab a random person twenty-seven times."

"Wait," Bradley lowered her head in disbelief. "You don't know who killed your sister?"

Mark shook his head. "No," he answered. "They found her in a trunk in a junkyard in South Carolina. They don't know where she was killed or how she got there. And, honestly, I'm not sure people cared. The police had a theory that maybe she owed money to her dealer or dealers or something like that and she got killed over it."

"What do you think? Do you think Missy knew who killed her?"

Mark shook his head. "I don't know, Bradley. I was thirteen when she disappeared. And, in the few years before that, I was too young to really remember the details. I have some good memories with her growing up, but I can't pretend like I knew who she was or who she was hanging around when she disappeared."

Bradley suddenly leapt off the bed for the balcony door and yanked it open in an instant. She grabbed onto the cement wall and gripped it with all her might struggling to breathe. Mark was behind her immediately, rubbing her back. "Breathe," he encouraged placing his hand on her chest and pulling her against his. "Feel me breathe," he inhaled and exhaled with exaggeration. "Breathe with me Bradley," he pleaded. Her head began rising over her body, slowly, slowly separating before everything went black.

Bradley pushed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. The residue of something awful tasting was lingering on her tongue. She blinked open her eyes and Mark's face was an inch away startling her.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I was just making sure you were still breathing. You scared the hell out of me."

"What?" Bradley blinked in confusion. She was on the lounge chair on her balcony. "What just happened?"

"You dissociated. I heard the nurses talking about it in the hospital. That's why they gave you the medication."

"What?" she asked again. "The last thing I remember is talking to you in my bedroom."

"Right," Mark's gaze was changing from concern to questioning. "I've seen you have two massive panic attacks since you were almost killed." Bradley swallowed hard. "And, I know why."

"No," she exhaled. "I don't even know..."

"Please don't lie to me," Mark brushed her long hair behind her ear, and the simple act make Bradley's heart flutter.

"Hey!" The interruption was coming from the ground below. "Let's go."

"It's Phil," Mark patted Bradley's knee and stood up, leaning over the side. "What are you doing?"

"We need to talk to Emma," Phil called up. "Let's go. Bradley, you're coming."

Leaving would temporarily end Mark's inquisition about her panic attacks, but if Emma remembered the truth, things would only get worse for the Whitfield family. "I don't think we should bother her, she had a concussion," Bradley leaned over the balcony. "Let's just give it some time."

Mark looked at Bradley and she held her breath hoping he wouldn't see right through her. "No, we're going now," shouted Phil.

Bradley looked at Mark. "Ok," she conceded, "but only after we eat. I'm starving."

"I'll buy you lunch," Phil said. "Let's go. You have five minutes to get ready."