Feehan, Christine - After The Music

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Feehan, Christine - After The MusicAfter the Music
Christine Feehan
Chapter 1
Jessica Fitzpatrick woke up screaming, her heart pounding out a rhythm of
terror. Fear was a living, breathing entity in the darkness of her room. The
weight of it crushed her, held her helpless; she was unable to move. She could
taste it in her mouth, and feel it coursing through her bloodstream. Around her,
the air seemed so thick that her lungs burned for oxygen. She knew something
monstrous was stirring deep in the bowels of the earth. For a moment she lay
frozen, her ears straining to hear the murmur of voices rising and falling,
chanting words in an ancient tongue that should never be spoken. Red, glowing
eyes searched through the darkness, summoning her, beckoning her closer. She
felt the power of those eyes as they neared, focused on her, and came ever
closer. Her own eyes flew open, the need to flee was paramount in her mind.
The entire room lurched, flinging her from the narrow bunk to the floor. At once
the cold air brought her out of her nightmare and into the realization that they
were not safe in their beds at home, but in the cabin of a wildly pitching boat
in the middle of a ferocious storm. The craft, tossed from wave to powerful
wave, was taking a pounding.
Jessica scrambled to her feet, gripping the edge of the bunk as she dragged
herself toward the two children, Tara and Trevor Wentworth, who clung together,
their faces pale and frightened. Tara screamed, her terrified gaze locked on
Jessica. Jessica managed to make it halfway to the twins before the next wild
bucking sent her to floor again.
"Trevor, get your life jacket back on this minute!" She reached them by crawling
on her hands and knees, and then curled a supporting arm around each of them.
"Don't be afraid, we'll be fine."
The boat rose on a wave, teetered and slid fast, tossing the three of them in
all directions. Salt water poured in a torrent onto the deck and raced down the
steps into the cabin, covering the floor with an inch of ice-cold water. Tara
screamed, and clutched at her brother's arm, desperately trying to help him
buckle his life jacket. "It's him. He's doing this, he's trying to kill us."
Jessica gasped, horrified. "Tara! Nobody controls the weather. It's a storm.
Plain and simple, just a storm. Captain Long will get us safely to the island."
"He's hideous. A monster. And I don't want to go." Tara covered her face with
her hands and sobbed. "I want to go home. Please take me home, Jessie."
Jessica tested Trevor's life jacket to make certain he was safe. "Don't talk
that way, Tara. Trev, stay here with Tara while I go see what I can do to help."
She had to shout to make herself heard in the howling wind and booming sea.
Tara flung herself into Jessica's arms. "Don't leave me—we'll die. I just know
it—we're all going to die just like Mama Rita did."
Trevor wrapped his arms around his twin sister. "No, we're not, sis, don't cry.
Captain Long has been in terrible storms before, lots of them," he assured. He
looked up at Jessica with his piercing blue eyes. "Right, Jessie?"
"You're exactly right, Trevor," she agreed. Jessica had a firm hold on the
banister and began to make her way up the stairs to the deck.
Rain fell in sheets; black clouds churned and boiled in the sky. The wind rose
to an eerie shriek. Jessica held her breath, watched as Long struggled to
navigate the boat through the heavier waves, taking them ever closer to the
island. It seemed the age-old struggle between man and nature. Slowly, through
the sheets of rain, the solid mass of the island began to take shape. Salt water
sprayed and foamed off the rocks but the sea was calmer as they approached the
shore. She knew it was only the captain's knowledge of the region and his
expertise that allowed him to guide the craft to the dock in the terrible storm.
The rain was pouring from the sky. The clouds were so black and heavy overhead
that the night seemed unrelentingly dark. Yet Jessica caught glimpses of the
moon, an eerie sight with the swirling black of the clouds veiling its light.
"Let's go, Jessie," Captain Long yelled. "Bring up the kids and your luggage. I
want you off this boat now." The words were nearly lost in the ferocity of the
storm, but his frantic beckoning was plain.
She hurried, tossing Trevor most of the packs while she helped Tara up the
stairs and across the slippery deck. Captain Long lifted Tara to the dock before
aiding Trevor to shore. He caught Jessica's arm in a tight grip and pulled her
close so he could be heard. "I don't like this—Jess, I hope he's expecting you.
Once I leave you, you're stuck. You know he isn't the most pleasant man."
"Don't worry," she patted his arm, her stomach churning. "I'll call if we need
you. Are you certain you don't want to stay overnight?"
"I'll feel safer out there," he gestured toward the water.
Jessica waved him off and turned to look up at the island while she waited to
get her land legs back. It had been seven years since she'd last been to the
island. Her memories of it were the things of nightmares. Looking up toward the
ridge, she half expected to see a fiery inferno, with red and orange flames
towering to the skies, but there was only the black night and the rain. The
house that once had sat at the top of the cliff overlooking the ocean was long
gone, reduced to a pile of ashes.
In the dark, the vegetation was daunting, a foreboding sight. The weak rays of
light from the cloud-covered moon were mottled as they fell across the ground,
creating a strange, unnatural pattern. The island was wild with heavy timber and
thick with bush; the wind let the trees and bushes dancing in a macabre fashion.
Naked branches bowed and scraped together with a grating sound. Heavy evergreens
whirled madly, sending sharp needles flying through the air.
Resolutely, Jessica took a deep breath and picked up her pack, handing Trevor a
flashlight to lead the way. "Come on, kids, let's go see your father."
The rain slashed down at them, drenching them, drops piercing like sharp icicles
right through their clothes to their skin. Heads down, they began to trudge
their way up the steep stone steps leading away from the sea toward the interior
of the island where Dillon Wentworth hid from the world.
Returning to the island brought back a flood of memories of the good times—her
mother, Rita Fitzpatrick, landing the job as housekeeper and nanny to the famous
Dillon Wentworth. Jessica had been so thrilled. She had been nearly thirteen,
already old enough to appreciate the rising star, a musician who would take his
place among the greatest recording legends. Dillon spent a great deal of his
time on the road, touring, or in the studio, recording, but when he was home, he
was usually with his children or hanging out in the kitchen with Rita and
Jessica. She had known Dillon in the good times, during five years of incredible
magic.
"Jessie?" Trevor's young voice interrupted her reflection. "Does he know we're
coming?"
Jessica met the boy's steady gaze. At thirteen, Trevor had to be well aware that
if they had been expected, they wouldn't be walking by themselves in the dead of
night in the middle of a storm. Someone would have met them by car on the road
at the boathouse.
"He's your father, Trevor, and it's coming up on Christmas. He spends far too
much time alone." Jessica slicked back her rain-wet hair and squared her
shoulders. "It isn't good for him." And Dillon Wentworth had a responsibility to
his children. He needed to look after them, to protect them.
The twins didn't remember their father the way she did. He had been so alive. So
handsome. So everything. His life had been magical. His good looks, his talent,
his ready laugh and famous blue eyes. Everyone had wanted him. Dillon had lived
his life in the spotlight, a white-hot glare of tabloids and television. Of
stadiums and clubs. The energy, the power of Dillon Wentworth were astonishing,
indescribable, when he was performing. He burned hot and bright on stage, a man
with a poet's heart and a devil's talent when he played his guitar and sang with
his edgy, smoky voice.
But at home… Jessica also remembered Vivian Wentworth with her brittle laugh and
red, talon-tipped fingers. The glaze in her eyes when she was cloudy with drugs,
when she was staggering under the effects of alcohol, when she flew into a rage
and smashed glass and ripped pictures out of frames. The slow, terrible descent
into the madness of drugs and the occult. Jessica would never forget Vivian's
friends who visited when Dillon wasn't there. The candles, the orgies, the
chanting, always the chanting. And men. Lots of men in the Wentworth bed.
Without warning, Tara screamed, turning to fling herself at Jessica, nearly
knocking her off the stairs. Jessica caught her firmly, wrapping her arms around
the girl and holding her close. They were both so cold they were shivering
uncontrollably. "What is it, honey?" Jessica whispered into the child's ear,
soothing her, rocking her, there on the steep stairs with the wind slashing them
to ribbons.
"I saw something, eyes glowing, staring at us. They were red eyes, Jess. Red,
like a monster… or a devil." The girl shuddered and gripped Jessica harder.
"Where, Tara?" Jessica sounded calm even though her stomach was knotted with
tension. Red eyes. She had seen those eyes.
"There," Tara pointed without looking, keeping her face hidden against Jessica.
"Through the trees, something was staring at us."
"There are animals on the island, honey," Jessica soothed, but she was straining
to see into the darkness. Trevor valiantly tried to shine the small circle of
light toward the spot his twin had indicated, but the light couldn't penetrate
the pouring rain.
"It wasn't a dog, it wasn't, Jessie, it was some kind of demon. Please take me
home, I don't want to be here. I'm so afraid of him. He's so hideous."
Jessica took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to stay calm when she
suddenly wanted to turn and run herself. There were too many memories here,
crowding in, reaching for her with greedy claws. "He was scarred terribly in a
fire, Tara, you know that." It took effort to keep her voice steady.
"I know he hates us. He hates us so much he doesn't ever want to see us. And I
don't want to see him. He murdered people." Tara flung the bitter accusation at
Jessica. The howling wind caught the words and took them out over the island,
spreading them like a disease.
Jessica tightened her grip on Tara, gave her a short, impatient shake. "I never
want to hear you say such a terrible thing again, not ever, do you understand
me? Do you know why your father went into the house that night? Tara, you're too
intelligent to listen to gossip and anonymous phone callers."
"I saw the papers. It was in all the papers!" Tara wailed.
Jessica was furious. Furious. Why would someone suddenly, after seven years,
send old newspapers and tabloids to the twins? Tara had innocently opened the
package wrapped in a plain brown paper. The tabloids had been brutal, filled
with accusations of drugs, jealousy, and the occult. The speculation that Dillon
had caught his wife in bed with another man, that there had been an orgy of sex,
drugs, devil worship, and murder, had been far too titillating for the scandal
sheets not to play it up long before the actual facts could come out. Jessica
had found Tara sobbing pitifully in her room. Whoever had seen fit to enlighten
the twins about their father's past had called the house repeatedly whispering
horrible things to Trevor and Tara, insisting their father had murdered several
people including their mother.
"Your father went into a burning house to save you kids. He thought you were
both inside. Everyone who had gotten out tried to stop him, but he fought them,
got away, and went into a burning inferno for you. That isn't hate, Tara. That's
love. I remember that day, every detail." She pressed her fingers to her
pounding temples. "I can't ever forget it no matter how much I try."
And she had tried. She had tried desperately to drown out the sounds of
chanting. The vision of the black lights and candles. The scent of the incense.
She remembered the shouting, the raised voices, the sound of the gun. And the
flames. The terrible greedy flames. The blanket of smoke, so thick one couldn't
see. And the smells never went away. Sometimes she still woke up to the smell of
burning flesh.
Trevor put his arm around her. "Don't cry, Jessica. We're already here, we're
all freezing, let's just go. Let's have Christmas with Dad, make a new
beginning, try to get along with him this time."
Jessica smiled at him through the rain and the tears. Trevor. So much like his
father and he didn't even realize it. "We're going to have a wonderful
Christmas, Tara, you wait and see."
They continued up the stairs until the ground leveled out and Jessica found the
familiar path winding through the thick timber to the estate. As islands went,
in the surrounding sea between Washington and Canada, it was small and remote,
no ferry even traveled to it. That was the way Dillon had preferred it, wanting
privacy for his family on his own personal island. In the old days, there had
been guards and dogs. Now there were shadows and haunting memories that tore at
her soul.
In the old days the island had been alive with people, bustling with activities;
now it was silent, only a caretaker lived somewhere on the island in one of the
smaller houses. Jessica's mother had told her that Dillon tolerated only one
older man on his island on a regular basis. Even in the wind and rain, Jessica
couldn't help noticing the boathouse was ill-kept and the road leading around
and up toward the house was overgrown, showing little use. Where there had
always been several boats docked at the pier, none were in sight, although
Dillon must still have had one in the boathouse.
The path led through the thick trees. The wind was whipping branches so that
overhead the canopy of trees swayed precariously. The rain had a much more
difficult time penetrating through the treetops to reach them, but drops hitting
the pathway plopped loudly. Small animals rustled in the bushes as they passed.
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," Trevor quipped, with a shaky smile.
Jessica immediately hugged him to her. "Lions and tigers and bears, oh, my," she
quoted just to watch the grin spread across his face.
"I can't believe he lives here." Tara sniffed.
"It's beautiful during the day," Jessica insisted, "give it a chance. It's such
a wonderful place. The island's small, but it has everything."
They followed a bend, stumbling a little over the uneven ground. Trevor's
flashlight cast a meager circle of light on the ground in front of them, which
only served to make the forest darker and more frightening as it surrounded
them. "Are you certain you know the way, Jess? You haven't been here in years,"
he asked.
"I know this path with my eyes closed," Jessica assured him. Which wasn't
exactly the truth. In the old days, the path had been well manicured and had
veered off toward the cliff. This one was overgrown and led through the thick
part of the forest toward the interior of the island, rising steadily uphill.
"If you listen, you can hear the water rushing off to our left. The stream is
large right now, but in the summer it isn't so strong or deep. There are ferns
all along the bank." She wanted to keep talking, hoping it would keep fear at
bay.
All three of them were breathing hard from the climb, and they paused to catch
their breath under a particularly large tree that helped to shelter them from
the driving rain. Trevor shined the light up the massive tree trunk and into the
canopy, making light patterns to amuse Tara. As he whirled the light back down
the trunk, the small circle illuminated the ground a few feet beyond where they
were standing.
Jessica stiffened, jammed a fist in her mouth to keep from screaming, and yanked
the flashlight from Trevor to shine it back to the spot he had accidentally lit
up. For one terrible moment she could hardly breathe. She was certain she had
seen someone staring at them. Someone in a heavily hooded long black cloak that
swirled around the shadowy figure as if he were a vampire from one of the movies
the twins were always watching. Whoever it was had been staring malevolently at
them. He had been holding something in his hands that glinted in the flash of
light.
Her hand was shaking badly but she managed to find the place where he had been
with the flashlight's small circle of light. It was empty. There was nothing, no
humans, no vampires in hooded cloaks. She continued to search through the trees,
but there was nothing.
Trevor reached out and caught her wrist, pulling her hand gently to him, taking
the flashlight. "What did you see, Jess?" He sounded very calm.
She looked at them then, ashamed of showing such naked fear, ashamed the island
could reduce to her to that terrified teenager she once had been. She had hoped
for so much: to bring them all together, to find a way to bring Dillon back to
the world. But instead she was hallucinating. That shadowy figure belonged in
her nightmares, not in the middle of a terrible rainstorm.
The twins were staring up at her for direction. Jessica shook her head. "I don't
know, a shadow maybe. Let's just get to the house." She pushed them ahead of
her, trying to guard their backs, trying to see in front of them, on both sides.
With every step she took, she was more convinced she hadn't seen a shadow. She
hadn't been hallucinating. She was certain something, someone had been watching
them. "Hurry, Trevor, I'm cold," she urged.
As they topped the rise, the sight of the house took her breath away. It was
huge, rambling, several stories high with round turrets and great chimneys. The
original house had been completely destroyed in the fire and here, at the top of
the rise, surrounded by timber, Dillon had built the house of his boyhood
dreams. He had loved the Gothic architecture, the lines and carvings, the
vaulted ceilings, and intricate passageways. She remembered him talking with
such enthusiasm, spreading pictures on the counter in the kitchen for her and
her mother to admire. Jessica had teased him unmercifully about being a
frustrated architect and he had always laughed and replied he belonged in a
castle or a palace, or that he was a Renaissance man. He would chase her around
with an imaginary sword and talk of terrible traps in secret passageways.
Rita Fitzpatrick had cried over this house, telling Jessica how Dillon had clung
to his dreams of music and how he had claimed that having the house built was
symbolic of his rise from the ashes. But at some point during Dillon's months at
the hospital, after he'd endured the pain and agony of such terrible burns and
after he realized that his life would never return to normal, the house had
become for him, and all who knew him, a symbol of the darkness that had crept
into his soul. Looking at it, Jessica felt fear welling inside her, a foreboding
that Dillon was a very changed man.
They stared at the great hulk, half expecting to see a ghost push open one of
the shutters and warn them off. The house was dark with the exception of two
windows on the third story facing them, giving the effect of two eyes staring
back at them. Winged creatures seemed to be swarming up its sides. The mottled
light from the moon lent the stone carvings a certain animation.
"I don't want to go in there," Tara said, backing away. "It looks…" she trailed
off, slipping her hand into her brother's.
"Evil," Trevor supplied. "It does, Jess, like one of those haunted houses in the
old movies. It looks like it's staring at us."
Jessica bit at her lower lip, glancing behind them, her gaze searching, wary.
"You two have seen too many scary movies. No more for either of you." The house
looked far worse than anything she had ever seen in a movie. It looked like a
brooding hulk, waiting silently for unsuspecting prey. Gargoyles crouched in the
eaves, staring with blank eyes at them. She shook her head to clear the image.
"No more movies, you're making me see it that way." She forced a small, uneasy
laugh. "Mass hallucination."
"We're a small mass, but it works for me," there was a trace of humor in
Trevor's voice. "I'm freezing; we may as well go inside."
No one moved. They continued to stare up at the house in silence, at the strange
animating effect of the wind and the moon on the carvings. Only the sound of the
relentless rain filled the night. Jessica could feel her heart slamming hard in
her chest. They couldn't go back. There was something in the woods. There was no
boat to go back to, only the wind and piercing rain. But the house seemed to
stare at them with that same malevolence as the figure in the woods.
Dillon had no inkling they were near. She thought it would be a relief to reach
him, that she would feel safe, but instead, she was frightened of his anger.
Frightened of what he would say in front of the twins. He wouldn't be pleased
that she hadn't warned him of their arrival, but if she had called, he would
have told her not to come. He always told her not to come. Although she tried to
console herself with the fact that his last few letters had been more cheerful
and more interested in the twins, she couldn't deceive herself into believing he
would welcome them.
Trevor was the first to move, patting Jessica on the back in reassurance as he
took a step around her toward the house. Tara followed him, and Jessica brought
up the rear. At some point the area around the house had been landscaped, the
bushes shaped, and beds of flowers planted, but it looked as though it hadn't
been tended in quite a while. A large sculpture of leaping dolphins rose up out
of a pond on the far side of the front yard. There were statues of fierce jungle
cats strewn about the wild edges of the yard, peering out of the heavier brush.
Tara moved closer to Jessica, a small sound of alarm escaping her as they gained
the slate walkway. All of them were violently shivering, their teeth were
chattering, and Jessica told herself it was the rain and cold. They made it to
within yards of the wraparound porch with its long thick columns when they heard
it. A low, fierce growl welled up. It came out of the wind and rain, impossible
to pinpoint but swelling in volume.
Tara's fingers dug into Jessica's arms. "What do we do?" she whimpered. Jessica
could feel the child shivering convulsively. "We keep walking. Trevor, have your
flashlight handy—you may need it to hit the thing over the head if it attacks
us." She continued walking toward the house, taking the twins with her, moving
slowly but steadily, not wanting to trigger a guard dog's aggressive behavior by
running.
The growl rose to a roar of warning. Lights unexpectedly flooded the lawn and
porch, revealing the large German shepherd, head down, teeth bared, snarling at
them. He stood in the thick brush just off the porch, his gaze focused on them
as they gained the steps. The dog took a step toward them just as the front door
was flung open.
Tara burst into tears. Jessica couldn't tell if they were tears of relief or
fear. She embraced the girl protectively. "What the hell?" A slender man with
shaggy blond hair greeted them from the doorway, "Shut up, Toby," he commanded
the dog.
"Get them the hell off my property," another voice roared from inside the house.
Jessica stared at the man in the doorway "Paul?" There was utter relief in her
voice. Her shoulders sagged and suddenly tears burned in her own eyes, "Thank
God you're here! I need to get the kids into a hot shower and warm them up
immediately. We're freezing."
Paul Ritter, a former band, member and long-time friend of Dillon Wentworth,
gaped at her and the twins. "My God, Jess, it's you, all grown up. And these are
Dillon's children?" He hastily stepped back to allow them entrance. "Dillon, we
have more company. We need heat, hot showers, and hot chocolate!'' As wet as she
was, Paul gathered Jessica in his arms, "I can't believe you three are here.
It's so good to see you. I would have met you at the dock." He shut the door on
the wind and rain. The sudden stillness silenced him.
Jessy stared up at the shadowy figure on the staircase. For a moment she stopped
breathing. Dillon always had that effect on her. He lounged against the wall,
looking elegant and lazy, classic Dillon, The light spilled across his face, his
angel's face. Thick blue-black hair fell in waves to his shoulders, as shiny as
a raven's wing. His sculptured face, masculine and strong, had that hint of five
o'clock shadow along his jaw. His mouth was so sensual, his teeth amazingly
white. But it was his eyes, vivid blue, stunningly blue, burning with intensity
that always mesmerized everyone, including Jessica.
Jessica felt Tara stir beside her, staring up in awe at her father. Trevor made
a soft sound, almost of distress. The blue eyes stared down at the three of
them. She saw joy, a welcoming expression of surprise dawning on Dillon's face.
He stepped forward and gripped the banister with both hands, a heart-stopping
grin on his face. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and his bare hands and
arms were starkly revealed as if the spotlight had picked up and magnified every
detail. Webs of scarred flesh covered his arms, wrists, and hands. His fingers
were also scarred and misshapen. The contrast between his face and his body was
so great it was shocking. That angel's face and the twisted, ridged arms and
hands.
Tara shuddered visibly and flung herself into Jessica's arms. At once Dillon
slipped back into the shadows, the welcoming smile fading as if it had never
been. The burning blue eyes had gone from joyful to ice-cold instantly. His gaze
raked Jessica's upturned face, slid over the twins, and came back to her. His
sensual mouth tightened ominously. "They're freezing, Paul; explanations can
wait. Please show them to the bathrooms so they can get out of those wet
clothes. You'll need to prepare a couple more bedrooms." He started up the
darkened stairway, taking care to stay well in the shadows. "And send Jess up to
me the minute she's warm enough." His voice was still that perfect blend of
smoke and edginess, a lethal combination that could brush over her skin like the
touch of fingers.
Her heart beating in her throat, Jessica stared after him. She turned to look at
Paul. "Why didn't you tell me? He can't play, can he? My God, he can't play his
music." She knew what music meant to Dillon. It was his life. His soul. "I
didn't know. My mother never brought me back. She came the one time with the
twins, but I was ill. When I tried to see him on my own, he refused."
"I'm sorry." Tara was crying again. "I didn't mean to do that. I couldn't stop
looking at his hands. They didn't look human. It was repulsive. I didn't mean to
do that, I didn't. I'm sorry Jessie."
Jessica knew the child needed comfort badly. Tara felt guilty and was tired,
frightened, and very cold. Shaken by what she had discovered, Jessica had to
fight back her own tears. "It's all right, honey, we'll find a way to fix this.
You need a hot shower and a bed. Everything will be better in the morning." She
looked at Trevor. He was staring up the stairway after his father as if
mesmerized. "Trev? You okay?"
He nodded, clearing his throat. "I'm fine, but I don't think he is."
"That's why we're here," she pointed out. Jessica looked at Paul over Tara's
bent head. She didn't believe for a minute that they'd find a way to fix the
damage Tara had done, and looking at Paul's face, she guessed, neither did he.
She forced a smile. "Tara, you might not remember him, you were just a little
girl, but this is Paul Ritter.
He was one of the original members of the Here After band, right from the very
beginning. He's a very good friend of your family."
Paul grinned at the girl. "The last time I saw you, you were five years old with
a mop of curly black hair." He held out his hand to Trevor. "You had the same
mop and the same curls."
"Still do," Trevor said, grinning back.
Chapter 2
Contents - Prev | Next
Thick steam curled through the bathroom, filling every corner like an unnatural
fog. The tiled bathroom was large and beautiful with its deep bathtub and
hanging plants. After her long, hot shower, Jessica was feeling more human, but
it was impossible to see much with the steam so thick. She towel-dried the
mirror, staring at the reflection of her pale face. She was exhausted, wanting
only to sleep.
The last thing she wanted to do was face Dillon Wentworth looking like a
frightened child. Her green eyes were too big for her face, her mouth too
generous, her hair too red. She had always wished for the sophisticated, elegant
look, but instead, she got the girl-next-door look. She peered closer at her
reflection, hoping she seemed more mature. Without make-up she appeared younger
than her twenty-five years. Jessica sighed, and shook her head in exasperation.
She was no longer a child of eighteen, but a grown woman who had helped to raise
Tara and 'Trevor. She wanted Dillon to take her seriously, to listen to what she
had to say and not dismiss her as he might a teenager.
"Don't be dramatic, Jess," she cautioned aloud, "don't use words like 'life and
death'. Just be matter-of-fact." She was trembling as she pulled on a dry pair
of jeans, her hands shaking in spite of the hot shower. "Don't give him a chance
to call you hysterical or imaginative." She hated those words. The police had
used them freely when she'd consulted them after the twins had been sent the old
tabloids and the phone calls had started. She was certain the police thought her
a publicity-seeker.
Before she did anything else, she needed to assure herself the twins were being
taken care of. Paul had shown her to a room on the second floor, a large suite
with a bathroom and sitting room much like in a hotel. Jessica knew why Dillon
had his private home built that way. In the beginning, he would have clung to
the idea that he would play again. He would compose and record, and his home
would be filled with guests. She ached for him, ached for the talent, the
musical genius in him that must tear at his soul night and day. She couldn't
imagine Dillon without his music.
She wandered down the wide hallway to the curving staircase. The stairs led up
another story or down to the main floor. Jessica was certain she would find the
twins in the kitchen and Dillon up on the third floor so she went downstairs,
delaying the inevitable. The house was beautiful, all wood and high ceilings and
stained glass. It had endless rooms that invited her to explore, but the sound
of Tara's laughter caught at her and she hurried into the kitchen.
Paul grinned at her in greeting. "Did you follow the smell of chocolate?" He was
still as she remembered him, too thin, too bleached, with a quick, engaging
smile that always made her want to smile with him.
"No, the sound of laughter." Jessica kissed Tara and ruffled her hair. "I love
to hear you laugh. Are you feeling better, honey?" She looked better, not so
pale and cold.
Tara nodded. "Much. Chocolate always helps, doesn't it?"
"They're both chocolate freaks," Trevor informed Paul. "You have no idea how
scary it gets if there's no chocolate in the house."
"Don't listen to him, Mr. Ritter," Tara scoffed. "He loves chocolate, too."
Paul burst out laughing. "I haven't had anyone call me Mr. Ritter in years,
Tara. Call me Paul." He leaned companionably against the counter next to
Jessica. "I had the distinct feeling Dillon had no idea you were coming. What
brought you?"
"Christmas, of course," Jessica said brightly. "We wanted a family Christmas."
Paul smiled, but it didn't chase the shadows from his dark eyes. He glanced at
the twins and bit off what he might have said. "We have more company now than
we've had in years. The house is full, sort of old home week. Everyone must have
had the same idea. Christmas, huh?" He rubbed his jaw and winked at Tara. "You
want a tree and decorations and the works?"
Tara nodded solemnly. "I want a big tree and all of us decorating it like we did
when Mama Rita was alive."
Jessica looked around the large kitchen, closer to tears than she would have
liked. "It looks the same in here, Paul. It's the same kitchen that was in the
old house." She smiled at the twins. "Do you remember?" The thought that Dillon
had had her mother's domain reproduced exactly warmed her heart. They had spent
five happy years in the kitchen. Vivian had never once entered it. They had
often joked that she probably didn't even know the way. But Tara, Trevor, and
Jessica had spent most of their time in or near that sanctuary. It was a place
of safely, of peace. A refuge when Dillon was on the road and the house was no
longer a home.
Trevor nodded. "Tara and I were just talking about it with Paul. It feels like
home in here. I expected to find the cupboard I scratched my name into."
Paul caught Jessica's elbow, indicating with a jerk of his head to follow him
out of the room. "You don't want to keep him waiting too long, Jessie."
With a falsely cheery wave at the twins, she went with him reluctantly,
somersaults beginning in the pit of her stomach. Dillon. She was going to face
him after all this time. "What did you mean, old home week? Who's here, Paul?"
"The band. Even though Dillon can't play the way he used to, he still composes.
You know how he is with his music. Someone got the idea to record a few songs in
his studio. He has an awesome studio, of course. The sound is perfect in it, all
the latest equipment, and who could resist a Dillon Wentworth song?"
"He's composing again?" Joy surged through her. "That's wonderful, just what he
needs. He's been alone far too long."
Paul matched her shorter strides on the stairs. "He's having a difficult time
being around anyone. He doesn't like to be seen. And his temper… He's used to
having his own way, Jessica. He isn't the Dillon you remember."
She heard something in his voice, something that sent alarm bells ringing in her
head. She looked sideways at him. "I don't expect him to be. I know you're
warning me off, trying to protect him, but Trevor and Tara need a father. He may
have gone through a lot, but so did they. They lost their home and parents.
Vivian might not have counted, they barely knew her and what they remember isn't
pleasant, but he abandoned them. Add it up any way you like, he retreated and
left them behind."
Paul stopped on the second floor landing, looking up the staircase. "He went
through hell. Over a year in the hospital, so they could do what they could for
his burns, all those surgeries, the skin grafts, and through it all, the
reporters hounding him. And, of course, the trial. He went to court covered in
bandages like a damned mummy. It was a media circus. Television cameras in his
face, people staring at him like he was some freak. They wanted to believe he
murdered Vivian and her lover. They wanted him to be guilty. Vivian wasn't the
only one who died that night. Seven people died in that fire. They made him out
to be a monster."
"I was here," Jessica reminded him softly, her stomach revolting at the
memories. "I crawled through the house on my hands and knees with two
five-year-olds, Paul. I pushed them out a window and followed them. Tara rolled
down the side of the cliff and nearly drowned in the ocean. I didn't get her out
of the sea and make my way around to the other side of the house in time to let
Dillon know we were safe." She had been so exhausted after battling to save Tara
who could barely stay afloat. She had wasted precious time lying on the shore
with the children, her heart racing and her lungs burning. While she'd been
lying there, Dillon had fought past the others and run back into the burning
house to save the children. She pressed a hand to her head. "You think I don't
think of it every day of my life? What I should have done? I can't change it, I
can't go back and do it over." Guilt washed over her, through her, so that she
felt sick with it.
"Jessica." Dillon's voice floated down the stairs. No one had a voice like
Dillon Wentworth's. The way he said her name conjured up night fantasies, vivid
impressions of black velvet brushing over exposed skin. He could weave spells
with that voice, mesmerize, hold thousands of people enthralled. His voice was a
potent weapon and she had always been very susceptible.
Jessica grasped the banister and went up to him. He waited at the top of the
stairs. It saddened her to see that he had changed and was wearing a
long-sleeved white shirt that concealed his scarred arms. A pair of thin black
leather gloves covered his hands. He was thinner than in the old days, but still
gave the impression of immense power that she remembered so vividly. He moved
with grace, a sense of rhythm. His body didn't just walk across a stage, it
flowed. He was only nine years older than she, but lines of suffering were
etched into his face, and his eyes reflected a deep inner pain.
"Dillon." She said his name. There was so much more, so many words, so many
emotions rising up out of the ashes of their past. She wanted to hold him close,
gather him into her arms. She wanted him to reach for her, but she knew he
wouldn't touch her. Jessica smiled instead, hoping he would see how she felt.
"I'm so glad to see you again."
There was no answering smile on his face. "What in the world are you doing here,
Jessica? What were you thinking, bringing the children here?"
His face was a mask she couldn't penetrate. Paul was right. Dillon wasn't the
same man any longer. This man was a stranger to her. He looked like Dillon, he
even moved like Dillon, but there was a cruel edge to his mouth where before
there had been a ready smile and a certain sensuality. His blue eyes had always
burned with his intensity, his drive, his wild passions, his joy of life. Now
they burned a piercing ice-blue.
"Are you taking a good look?" He had a way of twisting his words right at the
end, a different accent that was all his own. His words were bitter but his
voice was even, cool. "Look your fill, Jess, get it out of your system."
"I'm looking, Dillon. Why not? I haven't seen you in seven years. Not since the
accident." She kept her voice strictly neutral when a part of her wanted to weep
for him. Not for the scars on his body, but the ones far worse, the ones on his
soul. And he was looking at her, his gaze like a rapier as it moved over her,
taking in every detail. Jessica would not allow him to rattle her. This was too
important for all of them. Tara and Trevor had no one else to fight for them,
for their rights. For their protection. And neither, it seemed, did Dillon.
"Is that what you believe, Jessica? That it was an accident?" A small, humorless
smile softened the edge of his mouth but made his eyes glitter like icy
crystals. He turned away from her and led the way to his study. Dillon stepped
back, gestured for her to precede him. "You're much more naive than I ever gave
you credit for being."
Jessica's body brushed up against his as she stepped past him to enter his
private domain. At once she became aware of him as a man, her every nerve ending
leaping to life. Electricity seemed to arc between them. He drew in his breath
sharply and his eyes went smoky before he turned away from her.
She looked around his study, away from him and his virility, and found it to be
comforting. It was more like the Dillon she remembered. All warm leather, golds
and browns, warm colors. Books were in floor-to-ceiling shelves, glass doors
guarding treasures. "The fire was an accident," she ventured, feeling her way
摘要：

Feehan,Christine-AfterTheMusicAftertheMusicChristineFeehanChapter1JessicaFitzpatrickwokeupscreaming,herheartpoundingoutarhythmofterror.Fearwasaliving,breathingentityinthedarknessofherroom.Theweightofitcrushedher,heldherhelpless;shewasunabletomove.Shecouldtasteitinhermouth,andfeelitcoursingthroughher...

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