Shadow Creek (12 page)

No need to be shy, Val thought. It’s not as if I haven’t seen you naked.

James flipped on the television. “Oh, no. Look,” he said as smiling pictures of Arlene and Frank Wall, their arms encircling each other’s waists, quickly filled the wide screen across from the beds.

“Speculation is increasing that the murders of Frank and Arlene Wall might indeed be connected to that of slain hiker Brian Grierson,” the announcer was saying as the picture of the Walls was replaced by a photograph of a gap-toothed young man with wavy brown hair and a bulging backpack slung over his slender shoulders.

James sank down at the foot of the second bed, Val and Melissa joining him on either side.

“Police are still refusing to confirm that the two incidents are related, although sources tell us that DNA recovered from
the bodies seems to have come from the same source. And while officials continue to deny that the murders of Marie and William Carteris are connected to those of either Brian Grierson or Frank and Arlene Wall, what they can’t deny are the disturbing similarities: all the victims were stabbed and hacked to death; the Carterises and the Walls were both elderly couples who lived in relatively isolated locales; and while Brian Grierson doesn’t fit the profile of the other victims, his stabbed and dismembered body was found not far from the Walls’ cottage, leading investigators to consider that he might have inadvertently stumbled upon the killer. Or killers,” the announcer continued solemnly, “as sources tell us the police are now reasonably certain that more than one person was involved in the brutal slayings.”

“Lovely.” James clicked off the TV and pushed himself off the end of the bed. “Sleep tight, everybody,” he said as he left the room. “Pleasant dreams.”

J
ENNIFER WAS STARING AT the digital clock on the table between the two beds, the bold, blood-red numbers staring back at her, as if daring her to challenge them: 12:35, they announced. More than half an hour after midnight. Less than fifteen minutes since the last time she’d checked.

She flipped onto her right side, facing the window and trying to get comfortable, despairing that she’d ever fall asleep. It wasn’t looking good, she decided, feeling Brianne flopping around beside her like a fish out of water. Did the girl never stop moving? She was tempted to grab Brianne’s leg to keep it from twitching, or her fingers to keep them from tapping. She’d never shared a bed with such a restless sleeper before. Brianne was rarely still for more than a few seconds at a time, pulling her sheets this way and that, extending them over her
head one minute only to kick them to her feet the next. And what made it even worse was that those few instances of relative calm lulled you into a false sense of security, allowing you to relax and even start to drift off when wham!—she was at it again. As if the girl had a built-in sensor. As if she was doing it on purpose.

No, Jennifer thought, deciding to be generous. Brianne wasn’t like Val. She wasn’t mean-spirited. She wasn’t bossy and proprietary. She didn’t have an agenda. She was just a teenager. And teenagers were notoriously restless sleepers. Weren’t they? Jennifer shrugged. She could barely remember her teenage years, having stumbled through half of them in pretty much of a fog after her mother’s breast cancer diagnosis.

Jennifer was barely fourteen, her own breasts just starting to fill out and attract male attention, when her mother underwent a double mastectomy. This procedure was followed by numerous rounds of chemo, the chemo accompanied by nausea, fatigue, and the loss of her beautiful hair. Then there were the radiation treatments, which scorched her mother’s skin and robbed her of whatever energy and dignity she had left. “Hopefully we got all of it,” the doctor had said.

And miraculously the various treatments did seem to work. After five years of holding its breath, the family had breathed a collective sigh of relief when the doctor pronounced Jennifer’s mother “cancer-free.”

And then suddenly it was back. Unprompted, unexpected, unwelcome. Her mother had endured more chemo, more radiation, more surgeries, as the cancer spread its poison like a slow leak, ultimately infiltrating her lungs, her liver, her pancreas, her spine, her bones, and finally even her brain. Inoperable. Unresponsive. Terminal.

Over those last seven years, Jennifer had watched her
mother disappear a little bit at a time, her once-happy family vanishing along with her: Jennifer into her work and a series of casual affairs; Cameron into an ever-deepening well of self-absorption; her father into an ever-thickening haze.

She pictured her father, alone in his stuffy apartment in Queens, a mere shell of the man he once was, with not even fond memories to sustain him. Sometimes death could be a blessing, she decided, thinking that as grisly as the awful murders they’d been hearing about were, perhaps being murdered—quickly and with ruthless efficiency—was preferable to the slow, agonizing death by cancer her mother had endured, or her father’s equally slow and agonizing deterioration.

What the hell is the matter with me? Jennifer thought in the next instant, wondering where such dark thoughts were coming from. She flipped back onto her right side, propping herself up on her elbow and peering through the darkness at the sleeping figures in the next bed, watching the steady rise and fall of Val’s shoulders. What are you doing here? How did this happen?

“Is something wrong?” Brianne asked groggily beside her.

“No, honey. Sorry if I disturbed you. Go back to sleep.”

Jennifer fell back against her pillows, praying for unconsciousness to overtake her. Is that what those poor people prayed for while they were being butchered? she wondered. Did they fight for their lives or did they hope only for a swift end to their pain? Did they think about their families or did their panic preclude any thoughts at all? Did they believe in an afterlife and if they did, did that belief provide them with any comfort?

Jennifer didn’t believe in an afterlife, although she’d tried. When her mother was first diagnosed, she’d prayed often. Prayed for the doctors to be wrong, prayed for scientists to discover
a cure, prayed for her mother to get better, or ultimately to live out what little time she had left in relative peace and comfort. But if there was a God, He hadn’t been paying attention. Or maybe He just didn’t have time to answer all the prayers He undoubtedly received on a daily basis from the families of the sick and the dying. Whatever the reason, her prayers had gone unheeded, and the day her mother died, Jennifer had stopped praying altogether.

And then she’d stopped believing.

It was easier that way. There were fewer expectations, and fewer expectations meant fewer disappointments.

“If there
is
a God,” she remembered telling her sister, “He doesn’t affect my life one way or the other.”

“God’s gonna get you for that one,” Cameron had said with a laugh.

Now Jennifer was sharing a bed with her fiancé’s daughter, listening to the soft whistle of his soon-to-be ex-wife’s gentle snores, and wondering if this was God’s revenge. For not believing. For not honoring His commandments. For having an affair with a married man.

It doesn’t bode well
, she heard her father say.

“Shut up, Daddy,” she thought, not realizing she’d spoken the words out loud until she felt movement and opened her eyes to see Brianne’s face looming only inches above hers.

“Did you just tell me to shut up?” Brianne asked, her breath warm and smelling of spearmint mouthwash.

“No. Of course not.”

“It sounded like you said ‘shut up.’ ”

“No.”

“Ssh,” Val admonished from the other bed. “There are people trying to sleep over here.”

“I thought you
were
asleep,” Brianne said.

“I’ve been trying to.”

“You’ve been snoring loud enough.”

“I have not.”

“Yes, you have. Hasn’t she?” Brianne asked Jennifer.

“It’s really not a big deal,” Jennifer said.

“That’s so generous of you,” Val said.

“For God’s sake, Mom. She was being supportive.”

“I don’t need her support.”

“Can we all please settle down?” Melissa asked groggily from beside Val.

“What’s going on in there?” James called from the next room. “Am I missing something?”

“Isn’t anybody asleep?” Brianne wailed.

“I do not snore,” Val insisted.

“Then why did Dad always say that your snoring kept him awake half the night?”

“I don’t know,” Val said, biting off each word, “but I guess it’s a good thing he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore.” With that, she flipped over with such force that both beds shook.

THEN WHY DID Dad always say that your snoring kept him awake half the night?

The question twisted through Val’s brain like a tornado. Damn it, she thought. Yes, Evan had occasionally complained about her snoring, but so what? Snoring was hardly one of the seven deadly sins.

Val suddenly found herself trying to recall exactly what those seven sins were. Pride, she thought. Gluttony. Anger.

I’ve certainly been guilty of each of those on more than one occasion, she thought.

What else?

Lust.

Ah, yes, she thought, recalling the last time she and Evan had made love. She hadn’t slept with a man since. Hadn’t had so much as an urge. Talk about sins. Although that was more of a shame than a sin, actually.

Envy.

Okay, yeah, all right. You got me. I’m envious all right.

Sloth.

Probably guilty of that as well.

What else?
Pride, gluttony, anger, lust, envy, sloth
. That’s six. What’s the seventh? “Melissa,” she whispered into the back of her friend’s black silk pajamas. “Melissa, are you asleep?”

She felt Melissa wiggle around to face her, her head joining Val’s underneath the covers. “Did you say something?”

“What are the seven deadly sins?”

Even under the covers and in the dark, Val could make out the look of disbelief on her friend’s face. “Are you kidding me?”

“I can only think of six.”

“Pride,” Melissa said sleepily. “And anger.”

“Got those. Also envy, lust, gluttony, and sloth.”

“I hear whispering,” James called from the next room.

Melissa whipped the covers off her head and sat up. “We’re trying to remember the seven deadly sins.”

“I don’t believe this,” said Brianne from the next bed, underlining her displeasure with a prolonged groan.

“Lust,” said James quickly. “Anger. Gluttony. Envy.”

“Pride and sloth,” Val and Melissa said together, their voices overlapping.

“What’s sloth?” Brianne asked.

“We can’t think of the seventh sin,” Melissa said.

A moment of quiet, then, “Covetousness,” Jennifer said quietly from beside Brianne.

“Of course,” James said. “As in ‘Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s …’ ” He stopped abruptly.

How appropriate for you to know that one, Val thought.

“What’s next?” Brianne asked. “Twenty questions? Charades?”

“I love charades,” James said.

“Can we all just get some sleep?” Brianne begged. “Please?”

“Sorry, darling. Good night, everybody.”

“Good night,” Melissa said.

“Good night,” echoed Jennifer.

James laughed. “This is just like
The Waltons
.”

“Who are the Waltons?” Brianne asked. Then quickly, “Never mind. Don’t tell me. Just please, everybody—get some sleep.”

BRIANNE’S THUMBS WORKED furiously beneath the sheets.
I can’t believe it
, she typed angrily into her BlackBerry.
They’re still up
. She flipped onto her side. This way she’d be able to see when Jennifer came out of the bathroom.
Try 2 b patient a little while longer
, she continued typing.
I’ll b there as soon as I can
.

It was after one o’clock in the morning. Why wasn’t anyone asleep yet? Why did everyone seem intent on drawing out their misery by staying awake as long as humanly possible?

Almost as if they knew.

Except how could they?

And what was with all that nonsense about the seven deadly sins? They must have made those up, Brianne decided. She could think of far worse sins than any of the ones they’d
mentioned. Anger and envy? Big deal. If they were considered deadly sins, the entire population was going to burn in Hell. And covetousness? Wasn’t
committing
an act far worse than just
wanting
to do it? And what was the matter with pride? Pride in your work, your appearance, your accomplishments? Wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing?

As for gluttony, well, okay, there were definitely too many fat people in the world, but was being a glutton really as bad as being a thief or a child molester?

What about assault? Rape? Torture?

And in what kind of warped universe did sloth trump murder? Guess murder isn’t deadly enough, Brianne thought with a smile as Jennifer returned from the bathroom.

“My turn,” Brianne said, climbing out of bed as Jennifer crawled back in. At least in the bathroom she’d be able to text in peace. Besides, it was getting hot lying in bed with her clothes on underneath her pajamas.

Once in the bathroom, she locked the door, turned on the taps, and tore off her pj’s. Holding her breath to keep from being overwhelmed by the thick cloud of Jennifer’s perfume, she sat down on the edge of the tub and began texting.
Sorry about this, babe. These morons seem intent on ruining my life. I promise I’ll make it up to u. Tonite will be the best ever. Don’t start without me
.

Minutes later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Brianne,” her mother whispered, “are you all right?”

Brianne bristled with annoyance. “I’m fine, Mom.”

Silence, then, “You’re not texting in there, are you?”

Brianne immediately buried her BlackBerry underneath her arm. “Go back to bed, Mom.” Brianne waited until she was sure her mother was no longer standing outside the door, then
entered one last text:
2 dangerous 2 text anymore tonite. Hopefully everyone will conk out soon. Then the fun begins
.