Almost Dead (35 page)

Diedre caught the rag doll handily.

Jack rushed her.

With a wicked smile, Diedre turned, aimed, and fired straight at Jack, the muzzle of the .38 spitting fire.

“No!” Cissy screamed. “Oh God, don’t! No, nooo!”

Too late.

Jack stumbled backward. His face drained of color as he looked at her.

In a gasp of pain, he crumpled onto the floorboards.

“Jack!” Cissy dropped to the floor beside him and grabbed his head, forcing him to stare up at her. “Oh no, no, no…” She couldn’t lose him! She couldn’t! Quicksilver images of their life together flashed behind her eyes—their meeting at the boring party, his quick wit, the way he stared into her eyes when he made love to her, his joy at the birth of B.J., his pain when she’d insisted on divorcing him.

Now he was bleeding. Vainly, she tried to staunch the flow, to keep him alive, but it was impossible. Blood oozed upward between her fingers. There was just so much, so damned much. “I love you, Jack. Oh, God, how I love you. You can’t die. You can’t.”

“Oh, how pathetic,” Diedre said from her position in the doorway. Looming over them, gun in hand, she clucked her tongue. “I guess you’ve forgotten. A month ago you were going to divorce him.”

Ignoring the taunt, Cissy felt for Jack’s pulse, her sticky fingers touching his throat as she willed him to look at her, to hang on. The police were on their way. She’d heard the sirens. Fighting panic, her own choking fear, she willed her husband to focus on her. “Jack, don’t you die on me, do you hear me? Don’t you die! Look at me. Jack! Damn it, you look at me!”

“Don’t die,” Diedre mocked in a little-girl voice that irritated the hell out of Cissy. “Look at me, Jack! Jesus, Cissy, do you hear yourself?”

Blood was spreading over the floor, and still the baby was crying, calling for her. Her whole life was crumbling, all because of this hideous woman she’d thought was her friend. “Shut up!” Cissy turned to her husband. “Hang in there, you can do it.”

“Too late,” Diedre said.

Cissy ignored her, desperately trying to halt the flow as Jack lost consciousness.

“He’s gone.”

“I said,
SHUT UP
!” Cissy snapped. She had no time for this.

“I heard you, but you don’t get it, do you? He’s dying and you’re next. All of you are going to die. You’re going to join Gran, isn’t that the stupid name you gave Eugenia? You’re going to die as easily as she did, or that moron Rory, or Cherise—that one was a surprise to both of us. She saw me, you know, right after I scared you at the mansion. Couldn’t let her get away with that.”

“Go to hell.”

“Funny, that’s where I think you’re going, sister.”

Cissy worked desperately to save Jack. “Sister?” she repeated, praying for the sound of the police breaking into the house. “You’re not my sister.”

“Same blood.”

“You’re a monster. You killed everyone related to you including your own mother. Why was that? Spring her from prison just to kill her? Because she gave you up? Is that it? Because she couldn’t love you?”
Don’t antagonize her,
a part of her brain warned, but Cissy couldn’t stop herself. Her nerves were frayed, her heart dying already at the thought of losing Jack, adrenaline pumping furiously through her system while B.J. wailed.

“I—didn’t…”

“What?” Cissy demanded, looking up to see a bit of confusion on Diedre’s face, a moment of hesitation. Diedre’s eyes clouded for a second. “Marla…No, I didn’t…” She raised the gun and aimed at Cissy.

This was it, Cissy realized. They were all going to die and poor B.J…. Oh, God, if that bitch harmed one hair on his head, she’d…She saw the knife. The one she’d dropped on the floor. Only inches from Jack’s body.

“You did, Diedre, you killed your own mother,” Cissy stated harshly.

“No!” Diedre was shaking her head, as if to clear her mind…

What was Cissy saying? That she’d killed Marla? Oh God, was that possible? Diedre couldn’t remember, couldn’t think, the roar in her head was deafening, the pain so tortuous that she gritted her teeth, had trouble holding onto the gun. Jonathan had said the same thing, and then there was the video, and she remembered, oh, God, she remembered pulling the trigger on that bitch who had given her up and borne another daughter. A daughter she’d kept. A daughter she’d loved and nurtured in…in this very house…this mansion…. No…that wasn’t right…it was the Cahill mansion where Cissy had grown up, the privileged daughter…wasn’t it?

“She loved me,” she said now and felt what?…Tears? Oh God, tears were running from her eyes.

Cissy didn’t wait. Without thinking she picked up the knife and rolled to the balls of her feet. Spinning low, gathering force, she slung the knife underhand straight at Diedre.

Diedre shrieked.

The slim blade slammed into her gut, sending her backward through the door. Shocked, her eyes suddenly clear, the gun in her hand wobbling slightly, Diedre fired.

White-hot pain exploded in Cissy’s side. She spun to the floor, could barely breathe. Blood flowed from the hole in her torso, hot and wet, but she didn’t care. She had to stop this madwoman before the bitch killed B.J., who was still sobbing.

Diedre stumbled onto the balcony. The fingers of both her hands grabbed at the knife in her abdomen. With a horrid sucking sound, she pulled the weapon free. Blood oozed from the blade as she stared dully at her wound.

Cissy struggled to her feet. Before Diedre knew what hit her, Cissy hurled herself toward her maniac of a half-sister. Together they fell against the fancy railing. Diedre’s back pressed into the heavy metal. The knife fell from her hand, slipping through the wrought iron, and falling two floors to clatter uselessly in the foyer.

Where the hell were the police?

Despite the blood running from her abdomen, Diedre fought wildly. She grabbed hold of Cissy’s wrist, twisted her arm so that she heard tendons popping. Blinding pain ripped through her. “You’re going to die, Cissy,” she hissed. “And you’re going to die tonight, and that little boy of yours, he’s going to be with me.”

“Leave B.J. out of this!”

“He’s what it was all about. Jonathan planned his conception long before you even thought of it.” She pushed harder, and pain screamed through Cissy’s shoulder.

“The police are on their way.”

“Too late for you and they won’t hurt me as long as I have him…”

“It’s over, Diedre. Give it up! Your plan failed. You can’t get the money now.”

“But I can get rid of you, and that’s worth it.” She gave Cissy’s arm another hard wrench. “You didn’t even know how lucky you were. Neither will your kid.”

Charged with injustice and fury, Cissy wouldn’t let her win. Couldn’t.

But Diedre was strong and determined.

With a violent twist, Diedre flipped them both around, and Cissy, bleeding, was bent over the wrought-iron railing. She sensed the century-old bolts give a little. She was weakening, and Diedre was stronger. Diedre, eyes glowing with victory, pushed hard and bowed Cissy over the railing so far that Cissy thought her back would break. The pain in her side burned hot, and she grabbed at anything she could, the top of the rail, Diedre’s hair, her neck.

“Die, you pampered little freak,” Diedre snarled. Cissy felt her body giving up, her strength failing. Twenty feet below was the hard floor. With an effort, she wound one hand on the rail and held, knowing that if she was pushed any harder she’d do a back flip and fall, to land with a bone-breaking thud. Like Gran.

Pain screamed up her spine, and she was certain it would snap.

Agony tore through her muscles. She felt ligaments pop, tendons tear, and all the while her baby was crying.
Oh God, please help me, please…Jack…I love you…B.J., darling baby…
The room spun, her brain swam. She flailed with one arm while holding on for dear life with the other.

Her shoulder shrieked with the pressure, and blackness played at the edge of her consciousness.
Don’t let go. Whatever you do, don’t let go!

But she couldn’t think, couldn’t fight any longer. The sweet bliss of unconsciousness threatened to pull her under. All she could hear were her frightened baby’s cries and the pounding of her own heart.

It’s over
, she thought. The railing shifted beneath her, and the hellish pain in her spine forced her to let go. As her grip loosened and she started to give up, she saw something big and dark and looming behind Diedre. His face was twisted into a mask of hate. Blood smeared his skin.

In those last moments of awareness, Cissy saw Jack blast the gun. Diedre’s body jerked. She shrieked and fell hard against Cissy, grappling with her, both of them careening for the stairs.

Cissy tried to scream, but it was too late. Diedre’s weight pushed her down. They spun down the stairs, screaming, Diedre’s body hitting the railing, Cissy’s tumbling after her.

Cissy tried to call Jack’s name, but then she was lost to darkness.

Bayside Hospital
San Francisco, California
Room 316
Friday, February 13
NOW

What’s this? A priest? Murmuring prayers over me, pleading for my soul? Oh, no…Please, Father, listen to me…. I’m not dead, I’m not even sure I’m dying…. There are other voices, whispers…. I’ve heard their voices before, and they’re saying their good-byes…. Who are they? People who care about me? People who love me? They think I’m dying. Oh, no, no, no…They come in and they sob, they cry and touch me, whoever they are. Familiar voices offering prayers for my soul.

Then there is silence, only the sound of the machines monitoring my responses…the damned machines that don’t show the fear that makes my heart pound or the ventilator that doesn’t register when I draw in a horrified breath…. I hear someone moving through the room, and a series of clicks…. Oh God, they’re turning off a machine. The ventilator? No…Oh no…I feel a weight…it’s hard to breathe…impossible, oh, please do not do this…stop!…Help me! Please! Dear Jesus, help me! I can’t hear anything anymore, nor smell. For the love of Christ, I can’t breathe…I…can’t…

San Francisco
May 14

Cissy opened her eyes and fought the headache that had been with her since the night at the Amhurst mansion, the night she nearly died. Had it not been for Paterno and the EMTs, she probably wouldn’t have made it. Nor would her husband or child.

As it was, they were safe.

She rolled slowly out of bed and stretched, feeling pain in her back. It might be with her the rest of her life; then again, she was making a “remarkable” recovery.

Slipping out of the covers, she hobbled into the baby’s room. No longer on crutches or a cane, she fought the pain and was able to walk on her own.

“Hey there, big guy,” she said as she found her son standing in his crib.

“Big guy!” B.J. said, raising his little arms to be picked up.

With difficulty she lifted B.J. into her arms and kissed his head. Oh God, she loved this child, and to think that she’d almost lost him. In the aftermath of the battle with Diedre, the police had found B.J. safe, if frightened out of his little mind. Between Jannelle, Deborah, and Rosa, the baby had been cared for and brought to the hospital daily while Cissy recovered.

“Let’s go wake up Dad,” she said.

“Dad-dee wake!”

“Not yet, but he will be.” She let B.J. down to do the honors and watched as he ran into the other room. Coco, who had been curled in her bed in the corner, stretched and followed after him.

Life was nearly normal.

Nearly.

There were still reminders—issues to be discussed, decisions to be made. Jonathan had been laid to rest and Diedre allowed to die when they’d finally pulled the plug.

Cissy shuddered when she remembered the horror of meeting her half-sister. If it hadn’t been for Jack, she would have been pushed over the railing and surely dead. As it was, he’d caught her on the third step, just as the police arrived. The police had swarmed through the building, but she remembered little of it, only pieces of the ambulance ride to the hospital as she was in and out of consciousness, all the while wondering about her baby, her husband. Later, in the hospital, she’d learned that Jack would survive, no serious complications from a clean wound that had just nicked his spleen.

Anthony Paterno had found the baby locked in the basement, terrified but unharmed. Time would tell if there would be emotional scarring for Beej as well as the rest of them, but apart from a little extra neediness, he seemed pretty resilient. Cissy refused to worry about that now. What good would it do? She just wanted to hold tight to her husband and her baby boy. Nor would she allow herself to dwell on Jack’s father’s part in the horrible scheme to kill them all. Or how, when it came time to pull the plug on Diedre, the only family she had, Diedre’s adoptive, widowed aunt had agreed to take her off life support.

For now, she would push all those dark thoughts aside. It was over. She, Jack, Beej, and even Coco were happy. Gran’s miserable little dog had won them all over and burrowed into their hearts.

Cissy peeked into the master bedroom where Jack was playing peek-a-boo with Beej, much to the boy’s delight. Each time Jack ducked his head under the blankets, Beej squealed with delight and said, “No, Dad-dee! Don’t hide!”

“Good morning,” he said, smiling up at her from the rumpled bed. “Is it my imagination, or were you a wild woman last night?”

Cissy smiled. “You mean apart from the ‘Ouch, my back’ fifty times?”

“Love talk.”

She laughed. “I have a surprise for you. Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, throwing open the blinds and letting the spring sunshine stream into the room.

“What? Am I in a time warp? Isn’t it May?”

“But we didn’t get to celebrate, so I bought you a very special and sexy gift.”

“And you’re giving it to me in front of our son.”

She walked to the closet and pulled out a paper shredder. On its top she’d pasted a red bow with a purple heart tied to it.

Jack frowned. “Okay, I give. Have you gone out of your mind? I hear it runs in the family.”

“Not funny, Jack,” she said, but smiled as she plugged in the machine, turned it on, and first shredded the heart, then the ribbon.

He looked totally confused.

Then she pulled the unsigned divorce papers from the nightstand and slowly, page by page, shredded the entire document.

“Like I said before, Happy Valentine’s Day!” Laughing, she grabbed the basket of diamond-cut paper and tossed the shreds into the air like confetti.

Jack took her hand. “How about I give you a Valentine’s present too?” One of his eyebrows arched devilishly, and she shook her head.

“I have a feeling your present might not be appropriate in front of our child.”

He grinned and glanced at his watch. “Point taken. Just when is nap time for the little guy?”

And they both laughed.