Mind Sweeper

Mind Sweeper by Deborah O'Toole is a haunting mystery/suspense novel released by Club Lighthouse Publishing in 2022.

Newly-widowed Beth Mills accepts an outpouring of sympathy from her community after a freak mining accident takes the life of her husband, Aaron. Unbeknownst to anyone, she is secretly delighted that her cruel husband is lost to her, but never expects his vicious ghost to return and haunt her in more ways than one.

From Chapter Eight

January 2001

Life in Ivytown

BETH MISCARRIED TWO months later, through no fault of her own. The initial joy she experienced and shared with her mother during the holidays was replaced by an episode of Aaron's rage and the loss of her child.

She didn't tell Aaron she was pregnant until after the New Year, until she was absolutely certain she was carrying their first child. She kept an appointment with her obstetrician in Portland, and the doctor confirmed her condition.

Deliriously happy, Beth played out a scenario in her mind whereby she informed Aaron of his pending fatherhood, imagining his joy equal to hers, of his smiling face and look of pride when he heard the news.

She dressed in a light-gray sweater and skirt, the fabric soft and clingy against her skin. She had purchased the outfit at the Ivytown Boutique following her appointment with the doctor, unable to resist its alluring softness.

Later, she realized with great bitterness that apart from their courtship - when Aaron filled her head with romantic notions of understanding, thoughtfulness, compatibility and the vehement promise of a happy life together – he probably never really felt the same way she did - not at their wedding, and certainly not during their agonizing marriage.

The February night she decided to tell her husband she was pregnant, Beth prepared his favorite foods: broiled steak with the fat trimmed off, steamed broccoli and pasta salad with Greek olives, grated carrot and sliced scallions, and Sangria wine.

She set the dining room table with their formal dinnerware, laying out scented vanilla candles at each end of the polished surface. She smoothed linen napkins underneath shiny silver forks and knives, and painstakingly hand-wiped two wine glasses so that no water spots would mirror through the maroon color of the liquid.

The meal started out well enough. Aaron complimented her on her dress. She noticed his eyes taking in her curves with interest, a light in his eyes she hadn't seen in a few weeks because he was always tired from working in the mine all day. She knew the look signaled that he wanted to make love to her later, after dinner and after a few glasses of wine.

They were just finishing their meal when Beth decided to tell her husband the good news.

"I saw Dr. Hunt in Portland today," she said, watching him as she took a small sip of wine. Mustn't drink too much now that I'm pregnant, she thought. But surely a glass of wine won't hurt once in awhile.

"Oh?" he replied casually, not looking her way. Instead, he popped another piece of steak into his mouth. "What for?"

"I've been queasy and out of sorts for a few weeks," Beth said, managing to hide her disappointment at his apparent lack of interest.

"So what's the verdict?"

She was momentarily puzzled. "Sorry?"

Aaron paused eating, setting his fork on the table. "What did the doctor say?" he asked slowly, emphasizing each word as if he were talking to an imbecile. "What did the doctor say was wrong with you?"

Beth felt her skin fuse with the heat of banked anger at the patronizing tone in his voice. How was it he could turn her happiness sour within a split second? She looked down at her plate, her eyes trailing the ooze of blood from her steak. She felt her stomach begin to roll, her nausea threatening to rise to the surface.

"Answer me Bethany," Aaron pressed sternly. "What did the doctor say?"

The joy had already escaped her. She was suddenly left wishing she had nothing to say to him, with no news to impart. Why bother with guessing games and flowery phrases now? The excitement was gone. Worse, she felt as if something was about to go very wrong.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out unceremoniously. With a last sliver of hope, she looked at her husband to gauge his reaction. How could he possibly find fault with her for carrying his child?

Finally, Aaron paid attention to her. His stare was unflinching, neither shocked nor emotionally moved. The silence seemed to drag on for minutes rather than seconds. She met his eyes, not daring to move otherwise.

"Pregnant?" he asked matter-of-factly.

She nodded. "Yes, darling - pregnant. Remember how we talked about becoming parents? I have to admit it wasn't really planned for right now, but here we are. You're going to be a father, Aaron. According to Dr. Hunt, the baby is due in mid-August."

"Planned?" he said vaguely, a look of surprise finally crossing his face. "Talked about becoming parents?"

At least he was showing some sort of emotion, although stunned surprise wasn't what Beth had hoped for.

"Yes," she answered him. "We talked about becoming parents. The night you proposed to me you also asked me to be the mother of your children. Remember?"

Aaron pushed away from the table, his chair making a scraping sound across the floor. She immediately tensed.

"That was before I realized what your physical future holds in store," Aaron said coldly. "You have no choice in the matter, Bethany. Look at your mother. It's your destiny to take after your mother as you age, and I don't like it. Not one bit. Mother Kern would probably be fit and slender if she hadn't given birth to you, but having a child ruined her body, and her health. Inevitably, the same thing will happen to you. There is no way around it, unless you remain childless."

Beth's head was spinning. She was not able to fully comprehend his words - they sounded like garbled noises to her, the irrational ramblings of a fanatic. "W-what are you saying?" she asked, bewildered.

"It's not too late," he said, his voice coming as reasonable to his ears. "You're not too far along; you haven't gotten fat yet . . ."

She gripped the edges of the table with her hands. "What are you saying?" she cried out. "Tell me, what are you saying?"

Aaron stood up, knocking his chair backward to the floor where it fell with a large crack. He leaned down to her, and she saw the disgust and anger written there.

He began to shout, his voice causing her to jerk in reaction. "What I'm saying, Bethany, is you have to get rid of it. I'd rather be childless than have a fat wife." He leaned even closer to her, if that was possible. "Do you get me now? Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

She was horrified, but unable to move. "Are you insane?" she dared to ask him. "Have you lost your mind? I'm not getting rid of our baby, Aaron, no matter what you say."

He snorted - an ugly, dismissive sound that was in keeping with his callousness. "Like you have any say on the matter," he spat. "You dumb, misguided bitch."

Before she could speak, he grabbed her from the chair and yanked her to the floor. She started to scream, but - whack! - he slapped her hard across the face.

Then he began dragging her, first out of the dining room and into the foyer. She started to struggle, clutching at his wrists with her hands. He kicked her in the ribs, forcing the breath from her body.

Pulling her by the hair, he climbed the stairs one at a time. Every step caused her great pain, from the roots of her hair to her ribs, back and legs. Her arms were useless, flailing about wildly but somehow never connecting to his body in defense.

Finally, with one great heave, he dumped her on the floor at the top of the stairs. She was grateful for the respite, feeling the soft carpet against her burning face.

Aaron knelt down over her. She could hear he was winded from his exertions, but he managed to talk anyway. "You're going to lose the baby," he rasped. "Through no fault of my own or of your own, you had a few too many glasses of wine and tripped down the stairs. Do you understand me? That's how it's going to go, and that's what you're going to tell the doctor when I take you to the hospital."

"No," she whispered, the effort hurting her ribs. "I will not do as you say. I want my baby, Aaron. For God's sake, just let me go. I will leave this house tonight and you will never have to see me again, but please . . . I want my baby."

"I want my baby, I want my baby," he mocked her. "Tough shits-kee, Bethany. And I will not let you go. You are my wife, whether you like it or not, and that's the way it's going to stay."

He grabbed her by the hair again, raising her head off the floor. "You'll do as I say, or I'll kill you here and now. I'll bury your body where no one will find it. I'll tell people you ran off and left me, and you know god-damned well they'll believe me. People will say: Poor Aaron Mills, mixing it up with a city girl only to have her run out on him. It will be just like what my stupid mother did to my father. And just think what your disappearance will do to your fat hog of a mother."

He let go of her hair, forcing her head to the floor with a thud. She moaned, closing her eyes to the horror of her predicament. She was helpless against him, and he knew it.

"Can I expect you to cooperate, Bethany?" he asked her sharply.

"Lose my child or lose my life," she thought hazily. "Put my mother through unimaginable grief and hurt . . . but what about after it's all said and done? How can I stay here, stay in a marriage that has become a literal hell on earth, a torture chamber filled with fear and beatings and unspeakable acts . . ."

"I asked you a question, Bethany."

"I'll cooperate," she choked out. "Whatever you want, but please stop hurting me."

"Just one more hurdle, sweetheart," he breathed. "Come on now, stand up."

"But why?" she cried. "Aaron, I hurt so much. Please, let me go to the bed."

"Not yet," he soothed. "But soon."

He pulled her to her feet. The blood rushed to her head, and she fell against him. He led her to the top of the stairs, where he faced her towards the foyer below.

He put his lips to her ear. "Are you ready, Bethany?"

"Ready for what . . ."

Before she could finish her question, he pushed her forward, away from him.

She felt as if she were freefalling into space, slow motion taking her down the flight of stairs. She propelled past the balustrade, which was blurry in her vision, and her skin went cold as the blood seemed to drain from her face.

"He's going to kill me after all," she thought. "It was all a ruse."

Mercifully, she blacked out. It would be the last thing she remembered for a long time. However, the emotional scars were permanent, everlasting, even before she landed in the foyer, her body a crumpled heap.

FOR APPEARANCES SAKE, Aaron took Beth to the Ivytown Clinic rather than the hospital in Portland, the one and only time he used the local medical services during their marriage.

"How would it look if I took you to Portland now?" he asked from the driver's seat of the Bronco. "Falling down the stairs and losing the baby . . . it wouldn't do if people found out I hauled you to Portland rather than the local medical facility."

Beth lay in the back of the Bronco, her face pressed to the fabric of the seat. Blood seeped from her nose and dripped onto the floor. If Aaron saw the mess, he would beat her again for sure. "But I have nowhere else to go," she thought incoherently. "What would he have me do? Hang my head out the window?"

What seemed like minutes later - or was it hours? - Beth found herself being tended by Roger Ellison, Aaron's high school friend and local resident doctor. Beth knew Roger was on his second marriage, the first one having ended in acrimonious divorce and hefty child support payments. His second wife, a native of Seattle, was pregnant with his third child and he seemed sublimely happier than the first time around.

Roger was visibly alarmed when Aaron brought Beth into the clinic. He rushed into the sparse waiting area, heading directly to Beth as she sat in one of the pale yellow chairs made of uncomfortable heavy plastic. Aaron stood next to her.

"What in God's name happened?" Roger exclaimed, taking in Beth's swollen face, the dried blood in her nostrils and the dark red fluid seeping through the front of her skirt. He also noted her labored breathing and her glassy stare.

"My baby," Beth sobbed, glad to see Roger's concerned face. "And my ribs . . . I think I broke my . . ."

"She fell down the stairs, Rog," Aaron cut in, glancing harshly at his wife. "She had a few glasses of wine, I think, went upstairs for something, and when she came back down she tripped and fell."

Roger grabbed Beth by the elbow. "What's this about a baby?"

"She's pregnant," Aaron said flatly before Beth could speak.

"Let's get you into one of the exam rooms," Roger said gently, helping Beth from the chair. "Can you manage to walk a few feet?"

She winced in pain at the movement, but nodded. "I think so."

An hour later, Beth was sedated and lying on a gurney in one of the curtained-off exam rooms. She was sore, but pleasantly drowsy. Roger came in and out to check on her, while a nurse tended to her periodically.

Aaron hovered in the background, glaring at her when he thought no one was looking, warning her to keep silent with his eyes. Or face the consequences, she thought.

At some point, Beth recalled Roger pausing at her side, checking her pulse and taking her temperature. He drew the white plastic curtains around her gurney, ushering Aaron outside the area with a wave of his hand. Reluctantly, Aaron moved away.

As he took her pulse, Roger looked at Beth and spoke softly. "You realize you lost your baby, don't you Beth?"

"Yes," her voice came out as a croaked whisper.

"There was no permanent damage," Roger continued. "You should be able to have more children."

Beth said nothing, turning her head away slightly. How could she tell Roger there would be no more children? That Aaron didn't want kids because he was afraid she would become fat? Or was Roger already aware of Aaron's peculiarities, having the good grace not to mention them?

"I wasn't drunk," she said suddenly, turning her head back to look at the doctor.

He leaned closer. "Sorry?"

"I wasn't drunk," she repeated.

"You mean you weren't tipsy when you fell down the stairs?"

"Right," she agreed. "I wasn't even remotely tipsy."

Roger was silent for a moment, an expression of confusion flickering across his face. "Then what happened?" he asked her at length.

Beth's attention was drawn behind Roger to a half-inch gap between the curtain closing. She saw Aaron's shadow through the curtain, and one of his eyes peering through the gap.

The immense anger transmitted by his eye, the electric hatred shooting directly at her, sent a shiver of fear through her body. He was watching, and listening to every word. He was letting her know if she made one wrong move it would mean her own death - one way or another.

The overhead light of the exam room cast the hint of a shadow over Aaron's face through the curtain gap. It made him appear more menacing and evil, capable of cold-bloodedly extinguishing her life if the spirit moved him.

"I was just clumsy," Beth finally spoke, her eyes darting to Roger. "I was at the top of the stairs when the rubber sole of my shoe skidded on the carpet." Please notice that I'm not wearing rubber-soled shoes, she begged silently. Aloud, she continued: "It was a silly, stupid accident." She paused. "But I was not drunk," she reiterated.

"Beth, you're going to be okay," Roger told her, his tone soothing. "Please don't blame yourself for this, don't let guilt consume you."

Roger took her explanation as an encroachment of guilt, assuming she blamed herself for the "fall" and therefore the loss of her baby. It was best to let him think so, and safer not further aggravate Aaron with any more broad hints.

"Thank you Roger," Beth said weakly, feeling a wave of sedative wash over her.

"I want you to rest a little while longer and then you can go home," Roger said, touching her hand on the rough medical coverlet.

"Whatever you think best," she said drowsily, closing her eyes.

A minute later she heard Roger and Aaron conversing in low tones on the other side of the curtain, but she could not make out their words.

"They're probably talking about me," she thought, opening her eyes to look at the exam room ceiling. "Talking about me and the baby." She closed her eyes again, squeezing her lids tightly as she felt hot tears beginning to form. "A few hours ago I had a child growing inside of me. In one violent swoop, Aaron took my baby away from me. How can I ever begin to possibly forgive him? How can I stay with him now, knowing the kind of monster he truly is?"

She wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand. "Because he'll kill me if I try to leave him . . .  I'm stuck . . .  trapped in a marriage that is hell on earth . . .  with a psychotic tyrant who really doesn't know what it means to be a man . . ."