Meet Me in Barcelona (31 page)

“Perfecto,”
Grace said. She paid the driver, and they piled out. They headed down the alley and reached the courtyard. It consisted of a few trees and a couple of benches. It was tiny—postage stamp–size.

“Let's help Jake get this off,” she said. They unzipped the back of his costume and helped pull the sleeves down. “Can you get the rest?” Jake nodded.

“Stan killed Brady?” Carrie Ann said.

“With my pink scarf,” Grace said. “My mother thought you had killed him. That's why she sent you away.”

Carrie Ann's hand flew over her mouth. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” Jake had stopped undressing and was standing still, listening.

“You saw the rest of the drawings. I think he killed his dad.”

“His dad hanged himself.”

“Stan left me a note to come to the hayloft. I thought it was from you. When I got there—when I saw Lionel—his shoes had just been polished. They were pristine. The leather bag where I found these sketches was filled with tins of shoe polish.”

“He has a picture of me being stabbed, and of Jake being beaten—”

“I know. We have to get to the police.”

“Why? Why would he kill his father?”

“I've been thinking about that. I think his father found out what Stan was doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Really, Carrie Ann? After all this time, you still won't tell the truth?”

Carrie Ann's face paled. “What?” Her voice cracked.

“It was Stan, wasn't it? He was the one coming into your room at night.” Carrie Ann's face said it all.

“Why did you lie?” Grace said.

“Because I was mortified! You already hated Stan's guts. I didn't want anyone to know. I just wanted to get out of there. I thought if I told you . . . I swear. I had no idea anyone else was going to find out. I had no idea Lionel would kill himself—”

“He didn't. But I didn't spread those rumors.”

“I didn't either.”

“I know. I'm pretty sure Stan did.”

“My God.”

“His dad must have threatened him with something when he found out—so Stan turned it around on him.”

“This is sick, just sick. You were right about him all along.”

“Jake—what's taking you so long—” Grace started to say. She was interrupted by the sound of clapping. They turned around to find Jake standing with his back to them, applauding. “Jake?” Grace said. He turned around. Half the white paint was gone. It was Stan. “No,” Grace said. “Where's Jake?” She screamed. “What have you done with him?”

“It's true, isn't it?” Carrie Ann said. “Everything Grace just said.” Grace grabbed Carrie Ann's hand.

“Hey, girls,” Stan said. He threw open his arms. “Just like old times.”

“Let's not do anything crazy,” Carrie Ann said.

“What did you do to Jake?” Grace said.

“I kept my promise,” Stan said. “He's not dead. Yet. I'll even let Carrie Ann go take care of him. But only if you come with me, Grace.” Stan still had the costume half on, pooled around his ankles. It didn't look like he was wearing the knives either. If they had any sort of chance of getting away, it was right now.

“Run,” Grace said to Carrie Ann. “Run!”

Stan's brilliant plan was unraveling. The costume was too cumbersome. He'd thought the Universe was on his side when Rafael finally broke down and confessed that Jake was going to show up at the festival in his eagle costume. That's when Stan knew it had all been meant to be. He would get into the costume instead, assuring that Grace would come to him as long as she thought he was Jake. It was easy enough to knock lover boy out, and with a little luck, he'd be dead by the time anyone got to him. It would all be for nothing if Grace and Carrie Ann got away. He could hear their heels clacking in the alley as he struggled to get free of the godforsaken feathers. He had to kick his damn shoes off to get the costume all the way off, and by the time he shoved his feet back into the sneakers, they had made it through the alley and hopped into a cab. He thought about chasing the cab, but it screeched away and was soon all the way to the end of the street. There wasn't another cab in sight. They were heading to the apartment to find Jake. He knew some shortcuts. He'd head over on foot, and hop in a cab if he saw one. If he was lucky, their cab would get stuck in traffic, and he might even beat them there. He liked this. All of their fates now depended on luck. Just like his father's life had ended because of a streak of bad luck.

It had changed him, killing a person. He hadn't meant to do it. Not like he'd meant to strangle that hideous cat. It was always hissing at him when he came at night to climb up in Grace's tree house. With binoculars, he could see into her room. See her cute little body in her shorts and tank tops. Once he had seen her naked. But that damn cat's yowling had spooked her, and she had pulled the shades.

Then, his father had come to him in the middle of that crisis, and told him he knew it was Stan going into Carrie Ann's room with his flashlight. Lionel had said he wasn't going to let Stan get away with it. Lionel was going to send him to one of those military-type detention schools. Stan had lost it. His father had made the mistake of coming up into the hayloft to confront him. Stan had seen an opportunity when his father had turned to go back down the ladder. In order to back down the ladder, he had to get on his hands and knees. When his father had assumed that position, Stan hadn't thought; he had just pounced.

Before his father could even turn his head, Stan had jumped on Lionel's back, grabbed him around the neck, and squeezed. His father had been in a crawling position, supporting himself as he had been about to step onto the ladder, and with the weight of Stan on top of his back, Lionel hadn't been able to bring his hands up to fight for his life. Stan hadn't planned it, but once his hands had been wrapped around his father's neck, rage had just seemed to funnel through his hands. His father had not had Stan's bulk; he had been just as tall, but skinny. It had all happened so fast. When Stan had finally let go, his father had slumped to the floor of the hayloft. Stan had been hit with a wave of terror and nausea. He couldn't go to jail for murder. His dad had been the one everyone thought of as the pervert. Child molester. That's when Stan had looked out and seen his tire swing, swaying in the breeze. His eye had followed up the long, thick rope. And the rest, as they say, was history. It had been easy enough to make a noose and attach one end to the rafters. Then all he had to do was attach Lionel to the noose and push him into a hanging position from the hayloft. Out of respect, Stan had shined Lionel's shoes. His dad would have liked that.

Stan had waited to get caught. He had been terrified for a long time that the medical examiner might have caught something. He had done his best to fit the rope exactly over the strangulation marks. And they had bought it. Or maybe they just didn't want to investigate the suicide death of a child molester. Either way. They had bought the suicide and closed the case as quickly as possible.

That was Stan's history. That's who Grace Sawyer was messing with.

She hadn't changed. She had thought he was a nobody back then; he'd never forget the look on her face when she had first climbed up to her tree house to find him sitting there next to Carrie Ann. The look she had given him had made his palms slick with sweat, made him want to instantly apologize, as if it were a crime to be sitting in her precious tree house. Carrie Ann had been twelve times more popular than little Miss Grace Sawyer, and he still liked—no, loved—her more than he had ever liked or loved Carrie Ann. He'd really hoped Grace had changed. No such luck.

Damn it. He shouldn't have whispered to her. That was probably when she realized that nobody else could have been in that tiny house without her knowing. Or maybe she had recognized his voice. It was possible. Again, he couldn't help himself. She looked so sweet, sitting there with her pretty eyes closed. She was so dainty! Carrie Ann had a voluptuous figure that most guys went for, T&A and all that. But Grace was so tantalizing, so petite. Her ankles alone were enough to whip him into a frenzy. How could he not whisper to her?

The leather bag in the bathroom. He'd forgotten all about it. And even if he had remembered, he certainly hadn't taken Grace for a snoop. What had she been doing in his bag? This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be on a train to Rome with Grace.

He was halfway to the apartment now. If he ran the rest of the way, he could be there in ten minutes. Grace and Carrie Ann were surely at the apartment by now. But all was not lost. He didn't have to beat the girls there—just the police.

And then it would be too late. For all of them. Stan knew what had to happen. If he found them all in the apartment, that was going to be it. The end. Not one of them was going to make it out alive. Not even him. It was too bad. He'd been telling the truth about wanting to take his last breath while lying in a rowboat and bobbing out to sea.

Something was ringing. At first Jake thought it was coming from inside his head. He tried to move his head and pain shot through it. He was lying on the floor. Rafael was shouting from the bedroom. Why couldn't he just come out? Jake's phone was in his back pocket. Stan had knocked him over the head, but hadn't taken the phone. He'd been in too much of a hurry. To get into the eagle costume. To find Grace. Oh, God, how long had Jake been knocked out? Doing his best not to move his head at all, after three tries, Jake finally reached his phone. He couldn't even say hello; he just let out a groan.

“Hello? Hello?” It was Grace's father. Jake groaned again, louder this time. He heard a woman's voice in the background.

“Is it her?” Jody Sawyer could be heard saying. “Is it Grace?”

“I think it's a wrong number,” Jim said.

“Help,” Jake said. At least tried to say. It was the best he could do to form the word. Did Grace's parents know the address of their flat? He couldn't remember. And even if they did—why would they think to look in the apartment above? And why couldn't he talk?

Because before Stan had hit Jake over the head, Stan had tried to strangle him. Came awfully close too. But Jake had been able to get in a good kick to the shins, and that's when suddenly Stan had some sort of heavy vase in his hands, and the next and last thing Jake remembered was it crashing down on his head. It was no joke, the blood on the floor was all too real. “Help,” Jake said again. Not for him. But for Grace. Somebody had to get to Grace.

 

“What's wrong?” Jody said when Jim hung up the phone. They were in a cab from the airport. The driver had assured them that any minute now they would be in the center of Barcelona.

“I think that was Jake. I think he's hurt.”

“Oh, God. Should we tell the driver to go faster?”

“No,” Jim said. “We should ask him where to find the nearest police station.”

 

The taxi was taking too long.
Please let Jake be okay,
Grace prayed. She'd do anything. “You should get out,” Grace said. Carrie Ann was still holding her hand.

“What?” Carrie Ann said.

“Stan will figure out we're on our way to the apartment. He may even beat us there. But you could get out now. He'd never find you.”

“I'm staying,” Carrie Ann said. “It's my fault you're in this mess.”

“It's Stan's fault,” Grace said.

“I'm so sorry,” Carrie Ann said.

“Let's just focus on Jake right now.” When the taxi pulled up, Grace flew out of it and ran into the building. She took the stairs two at a time and burst through the door to the apartment. “Jake. Jake. Jake.” He wasn't here. She heard Carrie Ann continuing up a flight. Grace raced after her. By the time Grace got into the room, Carrie Ann was already kneeling down by Jake. There was blood on the floor. Carrie Ann just looked up at Grace.

“I forgive you,” Grace said. “Just tell me this is part of the prank, and I forgive you for everything.”

Carrie Ann reached for a phone near Jake. “It's dead,” she said.

Grace frantically searched her purse. “My cell is gone,” she said. “Stan must have it.” She ran to Jake and knelt next to him. “Is he breathing?”

“Help,” Rafael called from the bedroom. “Let me out!”

“Yes,” Carrie Ann said. “But it's shallow, Grace. He doesn't sound good.” Grace went to cradle his head.

“Don't touch his head,” Carrie Ann said. “Here. Hold his hand.” She took Grace's hand and placed it on Jake's. At the feel of his hand, Grace burst into tears. Carrie Ann put her arms around Grace.

“Shh,” Carrie Ann said. “I'm going to run and get help, okay?” Grace nodded. “I'm sorry, Grace. I never meant—”

“What's going on out there?” Rafael yelled. “Will somebody let me out?”

“Just go,” Grace said. “Please. Hurry.” Carrie Ann nodded, and then she was up and running to the door. Just as she reached it, she screamed. Grace didn't even have to look up; she knew it was Stan.

Grace bent down and whispered in Jake's ear, “You're going to be okay. You hear me? You stay right here. Don't you go anywhere. Stay here, Jake. With me.”

“Hello, Grace.” Stan's voice was deep; his accent long gone. Grace looked up. He had Carrie Ann's back pressed against him, and his arm was around her throat. Carrie Ann's eyes were wide and pleading, and even through the panic, Grace found herself thinking that there was something wrong about seeing Carrie Ann so vulnerable. As if the entire universe were upside down, and maybe it was.

“I'm in here,” Rafael yelled. “I'm chained to the bed.”

“Let her go, Stan,” Grace said. “Let them go and you can have me.”

“You had your chance, Grace. You didn't take it,” Stan said.

Grace stood slowly, put her hands in the air. “I mean it. Let me call an ambulance, and then you and I will run out of here.”

“You think I'm letting Carrie Ann get away? After what she made me do?”

“What did she make you do, Stan?”

“Always talking about how she slept in the nude. She wanted me to come into her room. She planned it.” Carrie Ann tried to shake her head. Stan gripped her tighter. “Then she ruined my father's life with her lies.”

“They were your lies, Stan. You spread the rumors,” Grace said.

“Because of her! I had no choice. She wanted me in her room. It's all her fault. Ruined my mother's life. My life.”

“Did you kill Brady, Stan?”

“That stupid cat? You want to talk about that stupid cat now?” Grace just wanted to keep him talking, period. Jake's foot suddenly tapped her. She made sure not to react, but slowly looked down. There, kicked underneath a small table, was a leather cuff. She had no idea what it was, but she bent down as if groaning over Jake. Once she was eye level, she saw what it was. Rafael's knives. It was time to find out if they were real. She prayed harder than she'd ever prayed in her life, even though she didn't want to have to do it.

“Please. Tell me what I can do,” Grace said. She wailed, hoping the noise would distract Stan as she fell to the ground in front of Jake. She reached her arm out and found the cuff. She whipped it behind her back and stood. Her heart hammered as she waited to see if Stan had noticed.

“I'm going to kill Carrie Ann, and then I'm going to beat your boyfriend until he stops breathing, and then if you still want to go with me, we can leave.”

“No,” Grace said. “I won't go with you. If you kill Carrie Ann, or Jake, I won't go with you.”

“Then all four of us leave here in body bags. That's the way it was going to be anyway. We all knew that.”

“It was a Tuesday night, he was a working man, he had a son named Stan.” Grace stomped her foot.

“Stop that,” Stan said.

“Stan had a tire swing, he liked everything, he was a boy with hope.” Grace stared at Carrie Ann until she made eye contact. Grace raised her eyebrows and stomped her foot again.

“Stop singing,” Stan said.

“His feet could touch the sky, he could really fly, it was a long, thick rope.”

“Enough!” Stan roared.

Carrie Ann wasn't getting it. This time, Grace mimed stomping on her own foot. The light finally came into Carrie Ann's eyes, and she pulled up her foot and stomped as hard as she could on Stan's foot with her heel. Stan let go for the briefest second as he yelled out. Grace didn't have time to think. He was going to kill them all; she'd seen it in his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she screamed. She rushed Stan and aimed the knives at his shoulder. He twisted the wrong way, and she had no choice. She plunged the knives straight into his chest. He screamed. The loudest Grace had ever heard. It almost didn't even sound human. Then, clutching his chest, he slumped to the ground.

Stan was alive, but barely. Carrie Ann immediately searched Stan's pockets for a cell phone, but just then, they heard sirens. A ton of them. Getting closer. Carrie Ann ran to the window as Grace ran back to Jake. “Hang on, hang on, hang on,” she kept repeating. “Please hang on.” She had no idea who had called the police and the ambulance, but whoever it was had just given Jake and Stan a fighting chance.

Because Grace felt as if her heart were in her throat, the wait felt like forever, but eventually they heard footsteps pounding up the stairs, and seconds later the police swarmed in. They were followed by Jim and Jody Sawyer. Grace was so thrown, for a minute she thought she was dead and seeing things.

“Mom?” Grace said. “Dad?”

“Gracie,” her mother said. She clasped her hands under her chin and grinned at Grace. “Spain is so exciting,” she said.

“Dad?” Grace said.

“Jake called us,” Jim said. “He said you were in trouble.”

“How did you know where to find us?” Grace asked.

“Jake,” her father said. “We were meant to be here from the beginning. To surprise you for your birthday. Thank God or I never would have known where to send the police.”

Grace looked down at Jake, and another sob tore from her. She clung to him until they physically pulled her away so they could place him on a stretcher. Others attended to Stan, although Grace could not have cared less right now. Carrie Ann was speaking to the police in Spanish. Hopefully, she was telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Although Grace realized now that not everything Carrie Ann had said back then had been a lie. Just the truth as she believed it to be. That was the thing about truths; they were all subjective. Being true to yourself simply meant telling the truth as you knew it. Singing from the heart meant singing whatever the hell you wanted, as long as you really wanted it. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't know her mother was beside her until Jody was squeezing her hand.

“I like this play,” she said to Grace. “It's very exciting.”

“I'm glad you like it, Mom.” Grace leaned over and put her head on her mother's shoulder.

“Is that stud muffin going to be in it?”

Grace looked at her father. He gave a little smile. “I'm right here, darling,” he said with a wink. Then he smiled at Grace and shrugged. “At least she's in Spain,” he said. “At least we're all here in Spain.”

A scream tore from the bedroom. Her parents jumped. “Oh, shit,” Carrie Ann said. “I forgot about Rafael.” Jake was on the stretcher now. Grace followed him out. For all she cared, Rafael could stay in there forever. All that mattered now was Jake.