Fade to Black (44 page)

Then he regains control.

Close call.

I need a stiff drink after that one. Christ
.

Shaken, he slows his speed, peering through the fog that seeps onto the road. He lights his cigarette, takes a deep drag. Another.

Then, frustrated, he presses the gas pedal again. No need to drive like somebody’s grandmother.

I’ve been driving roads like these for years
, Flynn thinks as he expertly guides the Jag around a narrow hairpin turn.
And this is a great car. No problem. Just …

Where the hell is that flask?

He feels again on the seat beside him. Nothing.

It must have rolled onto the floor.

Keeping his left hand on the wheel, he shoves the cigarette between his teeth as he leans forward and moves his right hand along the floor mat in front of the passenger seat, his fingers clawing for the familiar hard metal rectangle.

Nothing.

Maybe it rolled under the seat.

He reaches his hand underneath, straining to stretch far enough back to find the flask.

The sound of a car horn startles him.

Sitting up, he looks through the windshield and sees that he’s drifted across the line into the oncoming lane.

And a pair of headlights is bearing down on him from around a sharp curve.

Panic seizes him.

He instinctively steers off the road to avoid the car.

Too late, he realizes he chose the wrong side of the road.

The left side.

He’s airborne the next instant, the Jaguar sailing off the edge of the cliff.

For a moment he feels as though time has stood still, as though he is somehow hovering in midair in that car over the raging Pacific Ocean, hovering on the narrow threshold between life and death.

Then he’s falling, swiftly, through the black void.

A bloodcurdling scream of anguish …

An explosion of bone-shattering pain …

And then …

Nothing.

“G
ood morning, Mal. Rise and shine!”

Rae’s singsong voice invades Mallory’s slumber and she stirs reluctantly, resisting, wanting to slip back into her dream.

Because in the dream she and Harper had been on a sleek sailboat together, rocking gently on the calm blue sea. The sun was beaming down and Harper was standing solidly behind her, his strong arms wrapped around her, and she was utterly at peace …

Except that it wasn’t real.

Harper isn’t here.

And now she’s opening her eyes, and she’s in her bed in a suite in the Treetop Inn.

Rae, standing in the doorway, is looking pulled together as usual. Her hair is damp and combed back from her face and she’s wearing a crisp white sleeveless blouse, khaki shorts, and hiking boots.

“I already took my shower,” she says cheerfully. “Your turn. And then we’ll hit the trails.”

Mallory groans and burrows into the blanket. “Already? Can’t I sleep in? I’m so tired.”

“Come on, Mal, you know how much you’ve always loved this time of day up here.”

“I like any time of day up here.”

“Yeah, but at this hour we’ll have the trails to ourselves.”

Rae is right.

Mallory throws off the covers and grumbles all the way to the shower.

As she stands under the hot spray, yawning and stretching the muscles in her exhausted body, she slowly comes fully awake.

And as she does, she realizes that the sense of trepidation from yesterday hasn’t waned over a good night’s sleep.

The anxiety is still there, making her tense despite the steaming stream of water gushing over her.

There’s something wrong, something she can’t quite put her finger on.

And Mallory can’t help feeling as though the day ahead isn’t something to look forward to …

But to dread.

S
he’s so close.

After so many years, Mallory Eden is actually here, actually within reach.

All you have to do is
—

But not yet.

It isn’t time yet.

Not now, in the wee hours of the morning, when You’re too exhausted to think clearly. You need your wits about you. You need to rest, so that you’ll be ready when the time comes …

If
the time comes.

That would depend on Mallory.

Your destiny is in your own hands, Mallory. You don’t have to die. I don’t want to take your life …

But 1 will if I have to
.

Tomorrow will come soon enough.

And slowly, like the fog seeping off the waer and snaking around the silent inn, sleep steals in …

Bringing, as always, violent nightmares.

Nightmares about a long-ago August night, and a gun clutched in trembling fingers that pulled the trigger, a split second too early … or was it too late?

A moment earlier, and the bullet would have sailed past Mallory, close enough to scare her, yet leave her unharmed.

A moment later, as Mallory started to crouch to protect herself, and the bullet would have struck her in the head instead.

But she had been hit in the stomach, a flood of wet crimson soaking her pure white cotton nightgown as she lay motionless on the bed.

And then there was the uncertainty …

Did she glimpse your face?

Did she know it was you who shot her?

The agonizing hours of waiting for her to regain consciousness, your own fate hanging in the balance with hers.

And then, exhilaration.

She never knew. She never saw you. She never suspected …

And she still doesn’t.

Maybe she will never have to know.

Or maybe, tomorrow, she’ll discover the terrible, shocking truth … in her dying moments.

W
ith Rae right behind her, Mallory steps out onto the porch of the inn and is startled by the sound of someone calling her name.

“Mallory! My God, you look different. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Gasping, she spins to see the figure of a woman striding toward her from the small gravel parking lot alongside the winding drive.

Her eyes are momentarily blinded by glare from the rising sun. All Mallory can see is the woman’s silhouette, and that she’s wearing a broad-brimmed hat.

“Who is that?” Rae asks in a low, nervous voice.

“I don’t know …” Panic slices through Mallory. Should she turn and run?

She couldn’t if she wanted to. Her feet are rooted to the wide board floor, her body frozen as she stares at the approaching stranger.

“It’s me, Mallory,” the eerily familiar voice calls as the woman draws nearer. “Remember me? You’re not the only one who looks different.”

Mallory is trembling now, bracing herself for whatever is going to happen next. She takes a step backward, bumping into Rae, who steadies her with two strong hands on her upper arms.

Suddenly the woman steps out of the glare and her face comes into view.

Mallory gasps at the hideous sight in front of her.

“My God. It’s Gretchen,” Rae whispers.

Mallory nods, speechless.

The once-beautiful face of her assistant, framed by matted blond hair, has been mangled beyond recognition. Where there should be smooth white skin, there is mottled red and pink and purple scar tissue.

“Look what you’ve done to me, Mallory.” The words are slightly muffled, coming from a stiff, mutilated mouth that barely moves as Gretchen speaks.

“Gretchen, I didn’t do this to you.” Mallory is incredulous. “I didn’t—”

“When you faked your death and disappeared, you doomed me to the life of a freak. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

“I was there. I called you in the hospital; I paid for your treatment.”

Gretchen gives a bitter laugh. “You think that was all I needed?”

“What … what else did you need?”

“I needed money to pay a surgeon to fix my face, Mallory. The kind of money a normal human being doesn’t have. Only a movie star has that kind of money.”

Mallory fumbles for something to say.

“I would have helped you if I could, Gretchen. If I had known …”

“Help me now.”

“I …” Her thoughts are whirling. All she has left in the world is the cash in the zippered pouch up in the suite. Everything else went to set up the foundation when she “died.”

“Gretchen, I don’t have any money now.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffs, coming closer so that they’re separated only by the flight of steps leading up to the porch. “How can you not have money? What have you been living on for the past five years?”

Mallory falters, glances at Rae, who is simply staring at Gretchen, her expression a mixture of disbelief and pity and, yes, anger.

“I need your help, Mallory,” Gretchen says again, putting a foot on the bottom step.

“She can’t do this,” Rae mutters. “You don’t owe her anything.”

Mallory opens her mouth, uncertain what she’s even going to say. “Gretchen—”

The word is interrupted by the sudden sound of crunching gravel on the drive.

Mallory glances up to see a long black limousine pulling toward them, trailed by a blue van.

Her heart pounding, she clutches the railing for support and watches as both vehicles draw to a stop and the back door of the limo opens.

A woman she’s never seen before in her life climbs out and waves. “Mallory Eden? I have a surprise for you!”

At the same moment, several men spill out of the van, camera equipment in their hands, all of it trained on Mallory.

“My God,” Mallory breathes, shaking her head to clear it.

Is this a nightmare?

It has to be.

This can’t really be happening.

“It’s the press,” Rae murmurs. “I
knew
someone was following us yesterday.”

The woman calls some instructions to the camera crew, then turns back to the limo, and Mallory realizes that another person is stepping out.

At first the figure is unrecognizable. A stranger. And then she speaks.

“Cindy? It’s me. Mama.”

That voice, those words, slam into Mallory like a falling piano.

She shrinks back, away from the haggard woman who is moving toward her, away from Gretchen, who is still poised at the foot of the stairs as though she might advance at any moment.

“Rae,” Mallory says, turning to her friend for support. “God, Rae, help me.”

“Come on.” Rae grabs her hand and pulls her into the inn, slamming the door. “Let’s go.”

Mallory’s feet leap into action, following Rae a few steps through the still-deserted lobby, and then through a door leading to a corridor running the length of the building.

“They’ll think we’ve gone back to our room,” Rae says breathlessly, pulling her along. “But we won’t.”

She opens another door, and Mallory realizes what she has in mind. This is the passageway to the back garden. The door at the end opens into a small courtyard edged with lush, blooming foliage.

Rae pulls Mallory across the cobblestones, through a hedge, and onto a short path. It winds away from the inn through a dense thicket of pine trees, ending at a rocky, wooded incline where the wilderness trail begins. Wisps of morning mist hang in the air, making it impossible to see beyond the trees.

“Are you ready to go on that hike?” Rae asks, wearing a wry smile.

Mallory nods gratefully, unable to find her voice.

They scramble forward, disappearing into the fog-shrouded forest.

“W
hat’s going to happen now?” Manny asks his grandmother, who is sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of her. Her eyes are red and swollen, and Manny knows his must be the same way.

“I don’t know,” Grammy says, shaking her head slowly. She reaches a gnarled hand for the cup, starts to lift it, and sets it down with a plunk, sloshing tea on the table. “I’m going to lose the house now. We’ll have to move.”

“Where?”

“There’s that senior subsidized housing over in Warwick—but I don’t know …”

When she doesn’t finish, Manny prompts. “You don’t know … what?”

“I don’t know if they allow children there. If they don’t, we’ll think of something else.”

He swallows hard. “Or,” he says miserably, “I could go with her.”

“With who?”

“You know … my mother. If she wants me so bad, she can take me.”

“Manny,” his grandmother says gruffly, “you’re not going anywhere with her. She signed away her rights years ago. And if she tries to take you again, we’ll go to the police. I don’t think she will though. Now that Rafael—” She breaks off, tears filling her eyes again.