One Last Scream (10 page)

“Well, you were only four, Amelia,” Karen had replied. “You couldn’t have done anything
that
awful. Except for Damien in
The Omen
, how many totally evil four-year-olds do you know? We need to explore this time period in your life.”

Amelia’s problems couldn’t be completely treated until they knew what had happened to her as a child.

Now Karen stared at a framed photo of Jenna and Mark Faraday. They stood on a dock in sporty summer clothes with their arms around each other. The beautiful lake glistened in the background. Karen wondered if it was the same spot where their son had been killed. If so, the photo certainly must have been taken before that tragedy, at a happier time. How could they have known what would occur there? And just a few months later, they would be dead, too.

With a long sigh, Karen started toward the first door on the left. According to George’s directions, it was the guest room. The door was closed. Karen was about to knock, but hesitated. She heard Amelia murmuring something. Karen couldn’t tell if she was awake—or talking in her sleep.

“No,” Amelia said in a hushed tone. “You really don’t want that to happen. You don’t mean it. You mustn’t even think that.”

“Yes, well, thank you,” George said into the cordless phone. He sat at the breakfast table with Stephanie in his lap. “I’ll be here—waiting. Good-bye.”

Dazed, he clicked off the phone. “That was the police,” he said to Jessie.

Hovering over the stove with a fork in her hand, she gave him an expectant look.

“They’re coming over to ask me some questions. Could I ask you or Karen to stick around and keep an eye on the kids until the cops leave? They’ll probably want to talk to Amelia, too. I figure my study’s the best place.” He glanced down at Stephanie and resituated her in his lap.

Jessie nodded. “No sweat. I can stay here as long as you need me.”

He reached back for his wallet. “I’d like to pay you something for all your—”

“Your money’s no good here tonight, no sir,” Jessie said. “If you need someone to cook, clean, and babysit after today, I’ll gladly take your dough. But tonight, you put that wallet away.”

Following her instructions, George worked up a smile. “I don’t know you very well, Jessie. But I have a feeling you’re a gem.”

She grinned at him, and then her gaze shifted to Stephanie. “Hey, sweetheart, could you help me fix dinner?”

Warily staring back at her, Stephanie shifted in his lap.

“Oh, c’mon, what do you say? Help me out. Stir the sauce for me, okay?”

“’Kay,” Stephanie murmured, scooting off her father’s lap.

Jessie pulled out one of the chairs from the breakfast table and put a bowl full of the sauce mixture on it. She gave Stephanie a plastic spoon. George watched his daughter, with a determined look on her face, stirring the concoction.

He felt a tightness in his throat. George told himself he wasn’t going to break down in front of her, not when she’d just stopped crying herself.

He thought about the police, now on their way. They’d have all sorts of questions about the Faradays’ personal problems, their deep, dirty secrets. They’d want to know what had driven Mark Faraday to snap and do such violent, horrific things.

George would have to tell them how Mark and Jenna’s marriage had suffered in the wake of Collin’s death. Still, he’d never imagined his brother-in-law as the type of man who could harm anyone intentionally. Then again, not too long ago, he’d never imagined Mark as the type of man who would sleep with his wife’s sister, either.

Should he admit that to the police? God, he didn’t want to go into that with them. Still, he wondered if Ina and Mark’s indiscretion had anything to do with what had happened last night. George couldn’t begin to guess what had been going through Mark’s head when he’d picked up that gun and started shooting.

The three of them were dead. Couldn’t people just leave them alone?

No. The media coverage would be crazy. What a scoop: the
love triangle
behind the bloody murders. The scandal might blow over by the time Stephanie was old enough to understand what people were gossiping about. But poor Jody—all his friends would know his mother had screwed his uncle just two months before the guy shot her, his wife, and then himself.

Part of him was so mad at Ina right now for doing this to her family and herself. The irony was she’d always been so concerned with keeping up appearances and impressing people. How would Ina have felt if she knew her sad little affair would become public knowledge?

Maybe he could strike a deal with the police to leave the more delicate matters out of the newspapers. It was worth a try. He really didn’t have much of a choice.

He thought about Amelia, napping downstairs. Telling the police about Ina and Mark meant telling Amelia, too. And God only knew how that already fragile girl would take it.

“Am I doing good, Daddy?” Stephanie asked, looking up from her work.

“Oh, you’re doing great, sweetie,” he said.

She went back to stirring the cream of chicken soup and sour cream concoction. With tears in his eyes, George leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

“Amelia, are you awake?” Karen whispered. Opening the door, she peeked into the dimly lit guest room.

Amelia was lying on one of the twin beds. The pale-green paisley quilts matched the material for the drapes, which were closed. The place looked like something out of a Pottery Barn catalogue. The décor—with all the carefully chosen accents—had that pleasant, slightly generic ambiance. There were two framed Robert Capra posters on the walls—black-and-white Paris scenes.

Stirring, Amelia sat up and squinted at Karen. “Oh, hi.”

“Were you on your cell just now?” she asked. “I heard you whispering to someone.”

“I—um, must have been talking in my sleep,” she said, shrugging.

Karen closed the door behind her, then sat down on the bed across from Amelia. She reached for the lamp on the nightstand between them.

“No, don’t, please,” Amelia said.

So they sat in the darkness for a few moments. Karen heard muffled sobbing, and looked up toward a vent in the ceiling.

“That’s coming from Jody’s room,” Amelia explained.

Karen listened for another moment, and then sighed. “You’re not feeling in any way responsible for what happened at the cabin last night, are you?”

She quickly shook her head. “God, no.”

“Honey, it’ll help you to talk about it.”

Amelia glanced up toward the vent. Jody’s muted sobbing seemed to devastate her. She wiped a tear from her cheek.

“You’re not responsible for that,” Karen whispered.

“Yes, I am,” she murmured. Grabbing her pillow, she reclined on the bed and curled up on her side. “It’s just how it happened when Collin was killed. All day yesterday, I had these awful feelings that Mom, Dad, and Aunt Ina deserved to die.”

“Why did you feel that way?”

“I don’t know. It was something evil inside me. I thought about going to the Lake Wenatchee house and shooting them all. It’s horrid, I know. It doesn’t make any sense. I was so confused. I tried calling you, but you weren’t home. I couldn’t talk about it with Shane. We went to a party last night, and I just wanted to get drunk. I only had a couple of beers. But it was enough to make me a little crazy. I stole a half-full bottle of tequila, borrowed Shane’s car, and just started driving. That’s all I remember. I blacked out.”

“Oh, Lord,” Karen whispered, shaking her head.

“Next thing I knew, I woke up this morning in this empty parking lot in Easton. Do you know where Easton is?” Amelia sat up and stared at her. “It’s off I-90, halfway between here and Wenatchee. I must have stopped there to rest on my way back. At first I thought I’d had a nightmare. I kept praying it wasn’t real. But I knew it was. I didn’t need you to tell me they were dead. I knew how it happened, too, because I’m the one who killed them.”

“But you said you had a blackout,” Karen argued. “You can’t know for sure—”

“It wasn’t a dream, Karen. I remember my dad in the rocking chair by the fireplace.” Amelia started weeping inconsolably. “I—I shot him in the head. My mom, she must have woken up. God, I can still see her running out of their bedroom. I shot her too—I shot her in the face….” She curled up again, and sobbed into the pillow. “Aunt Ina…with her it seemed like later, but I’m not sure. I just remember her standing there in the living room, staring at my dad, and then at me. She said, ‘My God, honey, what have you done?’ And I didn’t say anything. I just shot her in the chest….”

Horrified, Karen gaped at her. “Amelia, you couldn’t have. You’re just not capable of that kind of coldhearted—”

“Then how come I know what happened?” she cut her off. “Nobody in this house knows yet except me. I must have been there, don’t you see? I’m the one who killed them all.”

“It’s not true, Amelia,” she said, rubbing her shoulder. “It didn’t happen like that. Listen to me. Are you listening? If you really did this, what kind of gun did you use?”

Amelia shrugged. “I’m not sure. My dad’s hunting rifle, I think. I remember it felt like someone hitting me in the shoulder with a baseball bat every time I fired it.”

“Was that the first time you’ve ever used it—last night?”

“I guess so.”

“And you knew how to operate it right away? You knew how to load it and work the safety?” Karen didn’t wait for Amelia to answer. She switched on the nightstand lamp. “Are those the same clothes you had on last night? To hear you tell it, you shot them all at close range. Where’s the blood on your clothes, Amelia?”

“I must have washed it off,” she muttered, glancing down at herself.

“Where? When? During your blackout? Blood doesn’t wash off that easily.”

Amelia just shrugged and shook her head.

“Honey, you weren’t there,” Karen said. “I mean, just consider this. How much money did you have on you last night?”

“I don’t know, about twelve dollars. Why?”

“It’s—what—a hundred and fifty miles to Lake Wenatchee? That’s at least three hundred miles round-trip, even longer if you took I-90. You’d have had to stop for gas. Do you remember going to a gas station?”

Biting her lip, Amelia shook her head again.

“Of course not,” Karen said. She felt like she was starting to get through to her. “You didn’t have enough money for gas, and you couldn’t have used your credit card, because you told me during your session on Thursday that you maxed out your Visa. You were talking about how you had to control your spending. Check your purse. I’ll bet that twelve bucks is still there.” Karen reached for Amelia’s purse on the floor between them. “Can I look through this?

Amelia nodded. “Go ahead.”

Karen rummaged through the purse. She found a loose dollar bill, some change, and then in Amelia’s wallet, two fives and a single. “I have exactly twelve dollars and sixty-two cents here, Amelia. You didn’t buy any gas.”

“Maybe not,” Amelia said. “But—well, I’ve driven to Wenatchee and back on one tank of gas before.”

“Then call Shane. Find out when he last filled up the car. Have him look at the fuel gauge now. That’ll give us an idea how far you drove. You may have headed off to Wenatchee last night, but I’ll bet you never got there.” She tucked the money back in Amelia’s wallet, and dropped it in her purse. Then she fished out Amelia’s cell phone. “It’s bad enough this horrible thing even happened. Please, Amelia, don’t make it worse by blaming yourself for it. You couldn’t have done it. So here—call Shane. Ask him about the gas.”

Amelia hesitated, and then took the cell phone from her.

Karen heard something outside. She got up, parted the curtain and peeked out the window. A white sedan and a police car both pulled in to the McMillans’ driveway—one after the other. “It’s the police,” she murmured almost to herself.

“Oh, my God.” Amelia switched off the cell phone. A look of panic swept across her face. “They’ll want to talk to me. Karen, please help me. What am I going to say to them?”

Karen turned toward her. “You won’t have to say anything.” She grabbed her own purse on the bed and found the bottle of diazepam. “You’re in no condition. I want you to take another one of these pills. I’ll tell the police you’re sleeping and can’t be disturbed. And you will be asleep, honey, if you just lie back and relax and let the pill take effect. Go ahead and call Shane, just be quiet about it. I’ll get you some water.”

Karen slipped out of the guest room and found the bathroom next door. She could hear someone in the foyer upstairs. She quickly rinsed out the tumbler, then filled it with cold water. She paused in front of the mirror, then pulled it open to inspect the medicine chest. There it was: a bottle of aspirin in cylindrical tablets, like the diazepam. They weren’t light blue, but in the dark bedroom, Amelia probably wouldn’t notice. Karen didn’t really want her taking another diazepam; she just needed Amelia to think she should be relaxed and sleepy.

As Karen stepped out of the bathroom, she heard them talking upstairs.

“I think she’s asleep right now,” George was saying. “Her therapist is looking after her downstairs in the guest room. Could you let her rest for a while longer, and question me first?”

Someone—whoever he was talking to—muttered a response.

“Thanks,” George said. “We can talk in here….”

Karen ducked back into the bedroom, then quietly closed the door.

“I’ve really got to go,” Amelia was whispering into her cell phone. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise. Love you, too. Bye.” She clicked off the line and gazed up at Karen, a tiny look of hope in her eyes. “He just picked up the car at your place. The gas is just under a quarter of a tank. He said it was about three-quarters full when we went to the party last night.”

Switching off the light, Karen sat down next to her. She handed her the aspirin and the tumbler of water. “That’s about right, isn’t it? Approximately a hundred and sixty miles to and from Easton, that’s around half a tank. You couldn’t have made it to Wenatchee and back without refueling.”