than that. She should know it. These thoughts shouldn’t be able to hold her the way they did, but this situation, the noise, the people, Rory’s absence, the riot of emotions pushing in on her from all sides, and a great geyser of it coming up from her own core…
The darkness had never left, just as her soul had always known. The abyss was waiting.
Put you in the hole…never take you out.
Everything Elaine had told her earlier, the tentative confidence Daralyn had felt, vanished before things she’d been told over and over again, been left to remember in darkness, cold and hunger.
“Miss…” Owen was fishing for her last name.
“Moss,” Elaine supplied. “Daralyn Moss.”
Moss growing green and close on a tree, deep in a quiet forest. It was a good image. It was also the maiden name of Daralyn’s mother. Elaine had insisted on using it when she and Robert had become Daralyn’s legal guardian. Not Moorfield, her father’s name.
“Miss Moss,” Owen said. “Did you want Hayworth to touch you?”
Elaine cleared her throat. Owen raised a finger, stopping her. “No interference,” he said sharply. “Or you’ll be escorted from the room, Mrs. Wilder.”
His tone made Daralyn cringe, and he saw it. His voice softened. “Did you?”
Daralyn stared through him. The storm was building in her ears, a roar. Sometimes in the cellar, she’d imagined it bursting through, filling up the space, taking all her air, her body floating in it, finally beyond the wanting her father and uncle had said was wrong.
“I…I…fine. Okay. Fine. I need to go home now. It’s fine.” She held onto that word desperately. Maybe it would be enough.
Owen’s brows pulled down low. He had steady, watching eyes. They probed, wanted things from her she couldn’t give. Elaine made a noise and Owen shot her a look, but this time Elaine wouldn’t be silenced. Her voice was calm, though, offering explanation, not defiance.
“Daralyn has difficulty expressing things in terms of what she wants, Sheriff. A different phrasing might work better.”
A puzzled look crossed his face, but Elaine waited him out, patiently staring him down. At length, Owen sighed. Frowned. “Miss Moss, did you tell Hayworth no?”
“No.” She hadn’t.
Owen’s brow rose, reflecting his surprise at how easily the answer had come. He glanced at Elaine, then brought his thoughtful gaze back to Daralyn.
“Did you push him away?”
“No.”
“Did he hurt you? Frighten you?”
“No.”
“Do you want to press charges against Hayworth for assault?”
“No.” The surge of panic at the idea must have shown in her face, because when she looked toward Elaine, the older woman’s hand covered hers again. “Please. I need to go home.”
She just needed her room. Her cottage. A place to hide.
Elaine put her purse on the table, and withdrew a card, handing it over to Owen. “Dr. Taylor’s number, Sheriff. May I say one more thing? Please. If you know anything about me, you know the last thing I would be trying to do is override Daralyn’s will.”
Owen picked up the card. Daralyn felt his regard, though she was looking at anything in the room rather than him. But she clutched Elaine’s hand, so afraid Elaine would pull away and it would be the last time she’d ever let Daralyn touch her.
Owen nodded at last, giving Elaine permission to continue.
“You know where Daralyn is if you need to question her further. And I truly believe Dr. Taylor can explain the situation better.” Elaine sighed. “Hayworth grew up with Rory and Thomas. You may already know he has substance abuse problems. I’m certain they interfered with his judgment in a shameful way tonight, but he doesn’t have the kind of meanness that would have him forcing himself on a woman he knows doesn’t want his attentions. Angry as Rory is with him, he knows that, too.”
“And how do you know that?” the sheriff asked.
“If he did have that kind of meanness, my sons would have beaten him half to death before you could get to him.” Elaine didn’t blink.
Owen rubbed a hand across his face, looking between the two of them. Daralyn could tell he was undecided as to whether he’d done his duty. The dull ache inside her was expanding, taking up her air. She was going to start hyperventilating, drawing more attention to herself.
Music started filtering in through the walls, a heavy bass thump that she felt through the soles of her wedge heels.
“Sounds like they got the party going again. All right.” Owen rose. “I’ll go talk to Hayworth, and call you if I