One Last Scream (42 page)

All of a sudden, she stumbled again and hit the damp sand. It knocked the wind out of her. Pulling herself up once more, her hand brushed against a piece of weathered driftwood. It was almost the size of a baseball ball—with a few rounded-off knobs where branches had once been. Karen picked it up off the ground, and then caught her breath for a moment. She wondered if this piece of wood was anything like the plank Annabelle had used to bash in Collin Faraday’s skull.

Clutching the makeshift club tightly in her fist, Karen hurried toward the Faradays’ house. She could see it in the distance now. The lights were on in the living room and the front hall. As she came closer, Karen could see the open front door and the silhouette of someone sitting on the front step. “Amelia?” she called.

Shivering and pale, she’d thrown a blanket over her shoulders. Even closer, Karen recognized the flannel pajama bottoms. She noticed the bloodstained dishtowel wrapped around her hand.

But Karen abruptly stopped when she saw the revolver in her other hand. “Amelia, did you—did you fire the gun?”

Tears in her eyes, she nodded.

“Did Annabelle attack you?” Karen asked.

“No. I didn’t fire it at anybody,” she replied with a tremor in her voice. “Annabelle—she’s dead. I left her alone for a few minutes, and when I went back down there, she was dead.” She let out a little cry. “I never had a chance to talk with her—to understand….”

Karen sat down beside her on the front stoop. She didn’t know what to say. She just gently patted her back and let her cry.

Hearing a noise behind them, Karen glanced over her shoulder. She didn’t see anyone in the doorway, but she noticed some drops of blood on the floor. There was a trail leading out to the front stoop, and it wasn’t old, dried blood, either. It was fresh.

Earlier, they’d managed to suppress the bleeding from the cut across Amelia’s palm. Mystified, Karen glanced at the dishtowel around her hand. Then she glanced down toward the stoop at the small puddle of blood. Another drop hit the puddle. And it wasn’t coming from Amelia’s hand.

It wasn’t coming from Amelia at all.

Karen gasped. She noticed that nearly all the color had drained from the 19-year-old’s face, and sweat beaded on her forehead. But she was smirking. And she had the gun aimed at Karen. Even with a bullet in her gut, and sitting in a puddle of her own blood, Annabelle was still smiling.

At that moment, Karen figured she was as good as dead.

A shadow suddenly passed over them both. Karen glanced back in time to see Amelia in the doorway. Amelia raised the square-edged, short-handled shovel, and brought the flat end of it crashing down on her sister’s head. It made a hollow ping as it cracked against her skull. Annabelle let out a cry, and the gun went off. A spray of dirt exploded from the ground near Karen’s feet.

Annabelle lurched forward and toppled onto the ground. The revolver flew out of her grasp. Stunned, she rolled over on her back. The blanket fell aside, exposing the gaping wound in her stomach, and two blood-soaked dishtowels.

Amelia warily stood over Annabelle, as if her sister were a wounded rabid dog. She kept the shovel in her hands, ready to strike her again if necessary. She was shivering in just her oversized T-shirt and nothing else.

Karen gaped up at her. In the distance, she heard the police sirens.

“I left her alone for a few minutes,” Amelia said, catching her breath. “I thought about killing her, and then suddenly, I started to remember everything. I felt sorry for her. So I went down there again, bringing her a blanket, and she clubbed me in the head with her shoe.”

Sprawled out on the ground in front of them, Annabelle laughed. But then she started to cough, and blood sprayed out of her mouth. She coughed again, and more blood spewed out. Suddenly, she couldn’t seem to get a breath. A look of panic swept over her ashen face. She seemed to be choking on her own blood.

Karen started to get to her feet. But Amelia moved more quickly. She tossed aside the shovel, and hurried to her sister’s side. She held Annabelle’s head in her lap.

Annabelle reached up and touched Amelia’s cheek. Her every gasp was a death rattle.

Amelia gently smoothed back her sister’s hair. “It’s okay, Annie,” she whispered.

Karen watched, and didn’t say a word as Annabelle Schlessinger struggled for her last few breaths. Amelia’s twin listlessly stared up at the starry sky. Then her jaw slowly dropped and one last breath escaped from her mouth.

Amelia kept stroking her hair for another minute. “There now, Annie,” she whispered. “There now….”

The wail of the sirens became louder and louder. The headlights and red strobes illuminated the forest behind the lake house.

Amelia didn’t have any tears in her eyes when she covered her twin sister’s face with the blanket. She finally stood up, and then wandered over to Karen. She wrapped her arms around her and dropped her head on Karen’s shoulder.

“I don’t feel the pain anymore,” she whispered.

Karen opened her eyes as the squad car turned down her street. To her amazement, there were no TV news vans or police cars parked in front of her house, no reporters or onlookers. All was quiet on her block at 6:40 that morning.

Both she and Amelia had nodded off intermittently in the back seat of the patrol car for the last forty-five minutes. This was their fourth ride in the back of a police car since leaving the Lake Wenatchee house so many hours ago.

It had been during that first trip—to the Wenatchee Police Station—that Karen told Amelia about her biological father and mother, and about something Amelia had wanted to know for a long, long time. The cops and the ambulance only used their sirens when other vehicles or pedestrians were around, but their red flashers remained on for the whole trip. “Back when we had our very first session, you mentioned something to me,” Karen said during one of those quiet periods. Amelia clutched her hand. The ambulance, carrying Amelia’s dead twin was in front of them, and the red strobe illuminated the back of the police car. “You mentioned that when some of those other therapists tried to hypnotize you for information about your childhood, what you wanted most of all was to remember the name of that nice neighbor, the one with the playhouse.”

Amelia nodded. “Yes, I still feel that way.”

“His name was Clay Spalding,” Karen said, smiling. “And he was a good man.”

Two policemen from Moses Lake came to the downtown Wenatchee station at around midnight. Karen made certain to set the record straight with them about Clay. She knew Naomi Rankin had always held her head high at work and around town. She’d never been ashamed of her friendship with Clay. And now, people in town would understand why.

A doctor was called in to patch up both Amelia and Karen. Amelia didn’t need stitches in her hand, but the doctor bandaged it up. Karen received an ice pack for the bump forming on her head, where Annabelle had hit her with the blackjack. They both got a dose of Tylenol, too.

Between the two of them, they drank about a gallon of bad coffee in the police station while answering scores of questions over and over again. The Wenatchee station was surrounded by reporters, TV news crews, and spectators. The precinct had become a hub of activity with e-mails, faxes and phone calls coming in and going out to Moses Lake, Salem, Seattle, and Issaquah.

There was a TV on in the officers’ lounge. It was tuned to CNN. They’d made the national news. Karen and Amelia caught a brief clip of George being interviewed. He stood by the West Seattle Police Station’s main entrance. He looked tired and haggard, but still handsome. Off-camera reporters held microphones in front of him. “No, I don’t think I’m a hero or anything,” he said, shaking his head. “My friend, Jessie Shriver, my son, Jody, and my daughter, Stephanie—they’re the real heroes. And I want to thank Jody’s friend Brad Reece for all his help. He was really there for us. And most of all,” George went on, “I want to thank Karen Carlisle. She’s a friend of my dear niece, Amelia Faraday. More than anyone, Karen helped save my family.”

By dawn, Karen heard that Salem police and local FBI, working through the night at the old Schlessinger ranch, had so far excavated seven bodies from shallow graves on the property. They planned to continue digging through the day. They were also reexamining missing-person cases, all young women in the Salem and Moses Lake areas, as well as in Pasco, where Duane Lee Savitt lived until his death in 1993.

Exhausted, yet wired from so much coffee, Karen and Amelia were taken by helicopter to Issaquah. Once they landed, they had another trip in the back of a cop car to Cougar Mountain Wildland Park, where Karen pointed out for the police the path she’d used in her fruitless search for Detective Russ Koehler’s body.

With Karen’s assistance, and in the light of dawn, the local police had better luck than she’d had two nights before. They found Koehler’s picked-over, half-buried corpse in less than an hour.

Karen suggested they check to determine if he’d been shot with the same gun used to kill Shane. She had no doubt that Annabelle had pulled the trigger each time.

Someone had tipped off the press about the Cougar Mountain Park expedition; so the place was swarmed with TV cameras and news vans by the time Karen and Amelia were whisked out of there.

That had been forty-five minutes ago, and Karen had expected more of the same as they approached her house.

“I shouldn’t jinx it by saying this,” she murmured, waking up from her nap in the back seat of the police car. “But I can’t believe there aren’t any reporters here.”

“Well, the newspeople got to sleep sometime, I guess,” replied the cop behind the wheel. “Enjoy the peace and quiet while you can.”

Amelia was practically sleepwalking as they started up the front walkway together. Karen kept an arm around her, almost holding her up. Before they even reached the front stoop, Jessie opened the door and Rufus scurried out. Whining, he excitedly nudged Karen’s leg with his snout over and over. She petted him and scratched him behind the ears. Amelia petted him, too. His tail wagging, Rufus seemed to lap it up. Only twenty-four hours before, he’d growled and bared his teeth at her twin. Somehow he knew the difference. He let out a happy yelp.

“Hush, Rufus!” Jessie whispered. She wore a blue sweat suit, part of the limited wardrobe she still kept at the house from the days when she’d looked after Karen’s father. Considering what she’d been through the night before, Jessie looked surprisingly rested and fresh.

“Well, you two are a sight for these sore ones,” she whispered, waving them in. Then she put her finger to her lips. “The kids are asleep in the second guest room. George got in at three this morning. He tried to wait up for you, but conked out on the living room sofa.”

She gave Karen a long hug. “Oh, sweetie, thank God you’re okay,” she said, patting her back. “Did you girls get anything to eat?”

“Doughnuts,” Karen murmured. “I think we need sleep more than anything.”

“Your dad caught you on the Channel Five Sunrise News in the lounge at the rest home,” Jessie said. “He phoned here just a few minutes ago. You might want to call him before you hit the sheets, let him know you’re all right.”

Jessie broke away and led Amelia inside the house. “Poor thing, you’re asleep on your feet, just like a horse. I changed the sheets in the guest room for you. There’s even a sound machine in there. You can sleep as long as you want. I’ll try to keep the kids quiet.”

From the doorway, Karen watched Jessie and Amelia go up the stairs. With a sigh, she sat down on the front stoop, and pulled her cell phone out of her purse. She had Sandpoint View Convalescent Home on her speed dial. When they answered at the front desk, Karen asked to be connected to the lounge. She recognized the voice of the nurse on duty there.

“Hi, Lugene, it’s Karen,” she said quietly. “Is my dad there in the TV room?”

“He sure is, Karen. We’ve been seeing you on the news. You’ll have to give out autographs next time you’re here. How are you doing? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m pooped.”

“Well, I’ll get Frank. I know he’s eager to talk to you. By the way, it looks like it’s one of his good days, Karen.”

While Karen waited for her father to get on the line, Rufus wandered over and set his head on her knee.

“Is this my girl?” her father said on the other end. “My famous daughter?”

“Hi, Poppy,” she replied, patting Rufus’s head. “I understand you saw me on the news.”

“Are you all right? Are you home yet?”

“I’m sitting on the front step right now with Rufus. I’m pretty tuckered out.”

“Jessie said that good-looking fellow who was on the news is staying there with his kids. Sounds like you have a full house there. It’s been a while since that’s happened.”

Karen smiled wistfully. “You’re right, Poppy. It’s been a long time.”

“Must feel good,” he said. “Well, I should skedaddle. I have to get dressed. I don’t like going to breakfast in my bathrobe like some of these folks here. We’re having blueberry pancakes this morning. They make very tasty blueberry pancakes here. Get some sleep now, honey. Okay?”

“Okay, Poppy. Have a good breakfast, and I’ll see you soon.”

“My angel,” he said, before hanging up.

Karen waited until Rufus trotted inside, then she quietly closed and locked the front door after him. She heard the shower running upstairs, and knew it was Amelia. Though she felt grimy, Karen wasn’t certain which she needed more, a bed or a bath.

Peeking into the darkened living room, she saw George curled up on her sofa. His shoes were off, and the sports coat he must have used to cover himself had slid down past his hip. Karen went to the hall closet and retrieved her dad’s old robe, the one she still used to cover herself when napping on that same couch. She tiptoed into the living room and gently draped the robe over George. With his slight beard-stubble and that sweet, peaceful expression, he looked so handsome while he slept.

Then his eyes opened, and he took hold of her hand. “I tried to wait up,” he said with a sleepy smile. “Are you okay, Karen?”

Hovering over him, she nodded. “Fine, just tired.”

He squinted at her. “Jody has a bump on his forehead in the exact same place as you do. Sure you’re okay?” He squeezed her hand.

She nodded again.

“Jessie says you and I need to go out to dinner soon and discuss how much overtime we owe her for yesterday and today. I think we should, don’t you?”

Karen smiled and nodded once more.

He brought her hand to his face, and then kissed it. “Thank you for my family, Karen.”

“Karen?” Amelia called from the guest room.

She was just emerging from the bathroom. A waft of steam drifted out the doorway after her. Karen wore her terry-cloth robe and had a towel wrapped around her head. She’d decided to shower before turning in, and was glad now that she had. It felt as if she’d washed away everything from the last twenty-four grueling hours.

Jessie had ducked into Karen’s dad’s bedroom for a catnap. She planned to go shopping in an hour so she could fix breakfast for everybody—bacon, eggs and waffles, the works.

Karen had thought she was the only one still awake in the house.

“Karen, is that you?” Amelia called softly.

The guest room door was ajar. Karen pushed it open and looked in on Amelia.

The shades were drawn, and the sound machine was on. Amelia sat up in bed, wearing one of Karen’s T-shirts. Her dark hair was in tangles from her shower twenty minutes before.

“Can’t you sleep?” Karen asked, padding into the room. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I was just lying here, thinking,” Amelia whispered over the sounds of waves and seagulls. “It’ll be nice to spend some time later today with Uncle George, and Jody and Steffie. Ever since Collin died, I haven’t been able to really look them in the eyes. As much as I tried and you tried, I couldn’t quite get over the feeling that I’d killed him. Now I know the truth. After so many months, it’ll be good to look my uncle and cousins in the eyes again.”

Karen reached over and smoothed back Amelia’s tangled hair.

Amelia glanced at a black onyx ring on the night table. Beside it was a worn, faded photo of two identical, dark-haired little girls in overalls. They were smiling and holding hands in the picture.

Amelia sighed. “I realize now what Annabelle went through, and how much she must have suffered.” She shrugged and shook her head. “But I—I can’t cry for her….”

Amelia wrapped her arms around Karen, then rested her head on her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Karen said, holding her. She knew the tears would come later.

And she would be there to help her through it.