Banish Misfortune (18 page)

The town house was deadly silent
as Elyssa let herself in. She'd extinguished the Christmas-tree lights when she'd left, turned off everything, knowing she wouldn't be back till daylight. Slipping off her shoes, she moved on stocking feet into the pitch-black living room.

Ham and Jessica would be sound asleep. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, she told herself with the raw edge of hysteria. Slowly she moved across the inky-dark room, felt around under the fragrant blue spruce for the electric cord, and plugged it in. The tiny colored lights sprang to life, and Elyssa stared at them. Moving on leaden limbs, she sank down into the sofa, curling her feet up underneath her. The rage and misery began to build, started to bubble over, and she quickly caught up a pillow and held it to her mouth, to muffle the sounds of animal agony. Curling in upon herself, she wept into the pillow, howled and cried and screamed, until her tears had run dry, and she was a dry, lifeless hulk.
Damn David, damn his shallow soul to hell.
Still gripping the sodden pillow to her chest, she leaned back to stare out of aching, red-rimmed eyes at the shimmering lights of the Christmas tree. Maybe later she would sleep.

The Slaughterer, vol 62: Pearls of Doom

Matt Decker surveyed the carnage around him. It always surprised him, the way innocent lives intertwined. Their bodies littered the sidewalk, victims of the war with terrorism. He stepped over the old lady's body with no regret. He'd learned long ago in his righteous crusade against the powers of evil that innocent people sometimes got in the way. And if they did, he didn't hesitate to blow them away. It was more important to get his man, or men, than to worry about some bleeding-heart liberal whining about human rights.

He blew the smoke from his Beretta, tucking the hot steel back in his belt without a flinch. Glancing back at the lifeless old lady, he shrugged. One more victim of the terrorist conspiracy to rule the world, he told himself and moved onward on his lonely way down the Beirut sidewalk.

Jessica moved slowly
in the shadowy living room. The sparkling lights of the Christmas tree, combined with the muffled glow of dawn, illuminated Elyssa's huddled figure on the sofa. Her silk dress was a bright splash of blue against the white cotton. Jessica hesitated, wondering if this feeling of unease wasn't merely pregnancy-induced heartburn.

"Merry Christmas, Jessica." Elyssa roused herself, and Jessica could hear the hoarseness in her voice, the ragged edge of tears still lingering. "What are you doing up so early?"

Jessica moved into the room with her peculiar pregnant grace, sinking down into the sofa beside her friend. "I've gotten psychic in my old age. Something's wrong, isn't it?"

"Everything's fine," Elyssa said mournfully, not making much of an effort.

"Sure it is. Then why are you home? Last time I saw you, you were off to spend Christmas Eve with David. Why did you come back? Wasn't David there?"

"He was there all right. He just wasn't alone," Elyssa said numbly.

"That bastard," Jessica said softly.

"Don't blame him. I wasn't there when he needed me—haven't been there for a long time. Ham's been too sick for me to leave him, and David needs—"

"David needs a kick in the ass. How could you swallow that crap he fed you? Don't you realize that anyone so mean-spirited and selfish as to deny a dying man some love and comfort can't be worth anything? He's just too insecure to last long without some adoring female by his side. The man's a worthless piece of crud, Elyssa. He always was."

"But I could have tried harder..." she said weakly.

"Your only mistake was getting involved with him in the first place," Jessica fought back. "And I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't always know that."

"I loved him," Elyssa defended herself.

Jessica smiled then. "Past tense already. He's a jerk, Elyssa. Let him go and wait for a better man to come around. They're not all worthless."

A weak, watery smile lit Elyssa's face. "Thanks, mom," she said wryly. "Since when have you become such a staunch defender of men? I never heard you have much good to say for the species, and I wouldn't have thought your opinion would improve, given Peter's abdication."

"But Peter—" Jessica swallowed her sudden protest. "I left Peter first, remember," she said finally.

"But your situation can hardly be comfortable. Especially now that he's married to the Kerr girl. Is he going to help you with financial support?"

"I don't want financial support from Peter," she said truthfully enough. "And don't change the subject. You need to stop throwing yourself away on worthless men."

"I haven't made a habit of it, Jessica," Elyssa protested. "David was my first mistake."

"He was a big-enough one to last you for a while." Jessica leaned back, clasping her hands loosely over her rounded tummy.

"I suppose you're right. You, of course, don't make mistakes." Elyssa's faintly aggrieved note was belied by her rueful expression.

Jessica laughed. "Of course I don't. Can't you tell?" She gestured to her stomach. "You should aim for faultlessness, Elyssa."

"God protect me," she said devoutly with a laugh. It was a weak laugh, slightly forced, but a laugh all the same, and Jessica was reassured.

For a moment, when she'd seen Elyssa curled in a fetal ball of misery, she had been afraid that the pain had gone too deep. She had underestimated Elyssa's resilience, as she tended to underestimate most people's. Few people, she had come to realize, were as easily destroyed as she feared.

Elyssa put her slender hand on Jessica's. "I'll be all right, Jessie," she said softly. "It hurts, but I'll survive. Don't worry about me, worry about yourself."

"I don't need to worry about myself. I'm doing better than I ever have in my life," she said, and was surprised to realize it was true.

"Are you? Even carrying Peter's baby and not being married to him? You forget, I know you pretty well. You've got too much of that conventional Midwestern morality to go around having babies by yourself without feeling guilty."

"Whenever I feel guilty I squash it down," she said firmly. "My daughter and I will be just fine up in Vermont. That is, if it's all right for us to stay there," she added, suddenly anxious. "Ham said he wanted to talk to me about something... it wasn't the house, was it?"

"No, it wasn't the house. We're very happy to have you there, even happier knowing that you're content to be there. It's about
The Slaughterer."

" The Slaughterer
?" she echoed. "What does Ham's male adventure series have to do with me?"

Elyssa hesitated. "Ham would kill me if he knew I talked to you before he did, but I'm just as glad to have the chance. It means so much to him, and I'm afraid he might not broach it the right way..."

"Broach what?" Jessica was mystified.

"He wants you to ghostwrite
The Slaughterer
for him."

"But what about Johnson? I thought he'd been Ham's ghostwriter for ages."

Elyssa laughed. "Heavens, don't say that to Ham. He thought no one knew that he didn't write them himself anymore. He has his image to protect, you know."

"But what happened to Johnson? Did they have a fight?"

"You might say so. Johnson has been more than scarce since Ham's been sick. He's been acting like it's AIDS or something, which has been hard for Ham, after all the years they've been together. And then he found out that Johnson hasn't even been writing them, either—he's been farming them out to various young male friends of his."

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. So my poor Ham has had to deal with betrayal on three levels from Johnson—as a friend, as a business associate and as a lover. It hasn't made things any easier."

"But why in the world would he want me to ghostwrite them? Surely he could find someone much more qualified."

"You don't have to be very qualified to do
The Slaughterer.
Just get the names of the guns right, have lots of killing and a tiny bit of sex, and you'll do fine. Your best qualification is that you're a natural parodist. Ham's always kept that thing you did for Christmas."

"But..."

"He wants you to do it, Jessica. He wants to ensure that
The Slaughterer
keeps on for a while, to show Johnson that he doesn't need him. And he wants to do something for you.
The Slaughterer
brings in quite a comfortable sum of money, you realize. It could give you a nice start on a nest egg for you and your daughter."

"Elyssa, it's a ridiculous idea."

"Perhaps. But it means a great deal to him. He's been thinking about it ever since you left, and he's got his heart set on it. Even if you won't do it, lie to him, Jessica. Tell him you will. It would set his mind at ease about both of you."

"Me and the baby?" she queried, confused.

"No. You and Matt Decker. Ham's very sentimental under all his cynical bluff—he loves
The Slaughterer.''''

"Then why doesn't he write it anymore?"

"Everything just dried up on him about four years ago. He tried everything—drugs, therapy, hypnosis, but it wouldn't come back. That's when Johnson took over, and sales, unfortunately, increased. That set the seal on Ham's writing block."

"I don't think that had anything to do with Johnson's dubious talents—I think the market improved for male macho fantasies."

"Of course, I agree with you, but Ham still took it hard. He won't if sales improve after you write one; as a matter of fact, he's counting on it. Unfortunately, he won't know. They've got
Slaughterers
scheduled till the summer—he'll probably be dead before yours would get released."

They were both silent for a moment in the slowly lightening living room, the cheerful lights of the Christmas tree a counterpart to their dark thoughts. "I'll do it for him, Elyssa," she said suddenly. "At least, I'll try."

Elyssa's relief came in a breathy sigh. "That's all he can ask. Thank you, darling. It will mean a great deal to him." She hesitated a moment. "Uh... he won't want you to tell anyone, you realize. Apart from someone like Marianne Trainor."

"I wouldn't think of it."

"Not even Springer," she added, and the name hit Jessica like a blow.

"I can't imagine that I'd even have the chance, much less the inclination," she said lightly. "Speaking of which, he called just after you left."

"He did? Damn it—I was sure he wouldn't. Was he surprised to hear your voice?"

"A bit," Jessica said dryly. "He said he'd call back in a few days. He just wanted to wish you and Ham a merry Christmas. Do you really think it fair that he doesn't know?"

"No, I don't think it's fair at all. But there's nothing I can do about it—Ham's adamant. I've given up arguing—maybe you can make him see reason."

"I don't want to have anything to do with it," Jessica shot back, trying to squash down the panicky feeling that came over her at the thought of Elyssa's son. "Springer's problems have nothing to do with me— I'm much better off not involved."

"I suppose you're right," Elyssa said doubtfully. "Did he have anything to say?"

"Just that he and Katherine wished you both a merry Christmas." She kept her voice diffident.

"How nice," Elyssa said vaguely, her mind wandering.

Who's Katherine,
Jessica wanted to scream.
For heaven's sake, tell me who Katherine is.
But she said nothing, merely bit her lip and told herself it didn't matter. Katherine was just another in a long, endless line of Springer's ladies, and she could thank God she wasn't a part of it, had never been a part of it. And the baby gave her a swift kick beneath the ribs.

Elyssa had turned to view the tree with its gaily wrapped packages piled beneath it, missing Jessica's expression. "We'll have a good Christmas," she said fiercely. "Despite everything, we're going to make this a wonderful Christmas for Ham. Won't we, Jessie?"

No one called her Jessie but Springer. Inwardly, she cringed at the sudden memory, but she smiled at Springer's mother. "Yes, we will, Elyssa. A wonderful Christmas."

April in Vermont was a godless month. For every warm, wet spring day, with the smell of the damp earth and the sap in the trees, came a heavy, blanketing snowstorm that paralyzed any vehicle that managed to navigate the mud. After getting stuck for the third time in two weeks, when even her four-wheel-drive Subaru couldn't get her out, Jessica decided to wait it out. Winter couldn't last forever in Vermont, could it? Marianne assured her it could.

This was the fifth snowstorm of the month, she thought, staring out into the swirling white. And it was only April fifteenth. The Ides of April, the taxpayers' bane and her due date. Thank God babies never get born on their due date—she'd be in big trouble if she had to try to make it to the hospital in this stuff.

She put a hand on her aching back, rubbing with an absent touch. During these past few weeks it had been particularly painful, but not quite so bad as it was that morning. She must have slept on it the wrong way. It wasn't surprising—at this stage in the game she had to get out of bed to change positions, and it took a great