The Unwanted (34 page)

There was a moment of dead silence as everyone in the room realized what had happened.

Then, from a few feet away, another laugh broke out.

And another.

And another.

Lisa, her dress stained with punch, struggled furiously to her feet. “It’s not funny!” she screamed, her voice trembling with fury and her face contorted into a twisted grimace of rage. “Look what she did to me!” She turned to Allayne and Teri, but they, too, were laughing.

“She got you,” Allayne told her, unable to suppress her giggling. “She got all of us!”

As the laughter swept through the rest of the room, Eric appeared at Cassie’s side, his eyes glittering. “Well?” he asked. “You didn’t answer Cassie’s question. How did you like it?”

Still trembling with fury, Lisa glared at her laughing classmates. “You did it,” she spat at Eric. “She couldn’t have thought of anything like this. It was you!” Her hand lashed out and she slapped Eric across the cheek.

Instantly the humor disappeared from Eric’s eyes, replaced with a chilling cold. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice tight, anger boiling inside him. “You shouldn’t have done that at all.”

Lisa only slapped him again, her face scarlet with fury. “I’ll do anything I want!” she screeched. “I’ll get both of you for what you did! You’ll be sorry! You’ll both be sorry!” Then, tears of rage and humiliation streaming down her cheeks, she shoved her way through the crowd and stormed out into the night.

A moment later, as her classmates crowded around her, Cassie realized that Sumi was gone. “We’ve got to find him,”
she whispered to Eric as soon as she could get close enough for him to hear her. “What if he finds Lisa? What’ll he do to her?”

But as they made their way out of the gym, and Eric still felt the sting of Lisa’s slaps on his cheek, he knew that he didn’t care what the cat did to Lisa.

In fact, if he had his way, Sumi would kill Lisa Chambers.

Rosemary Winslow glanced at the clock for the fifth time in fifteen minutes. She had promised herself not to do any of what she thought of as “serious” worrying until midnight, but it was becoming harder to keep that promise as each minute dragged by.

What could Cassie have been thinking of? That moment still burned in Rosemary’s memory—that eerie moment of certainty that she was actually seeing a ghost—when Cassie had stood in the doorway, her face all but lost in the shadows of Miranda’s shawl. If her intention had been to frighten Rosemary, she’d certainly succeeded. But what would happen when she got to the dance?

By the time Rosemary had recovered enough to go after Cassie, the girl was gone, swallowed up into the night. For a moment Rosemary had considered going after her in the car, but then gave up the idea, certain that even if she found Cassie, there would only be a scene as she demanded that Cassie come home and change her clothes and Cassie refused. So she’d spent the evening with Jennifer, half expecting Cassie to come home early in tears, humiliated by the taunting of her classmates.

But Cassie had not come home.

Rosemary put Jennifer to bed at nine, and settled down in the den with her knitting, deciding that everything must have turned out all right after all. Then the clock in the living room had struck eleven and her worries returned. For the
last fifteen minutes she’d been pacing restlessly through the house, wondering what to do.

The radio that could put her in instant contact with Keith seemed to beckon to her, but so far she had resisted its seduction. Still, she was standing at the den door for the fourth time in the last hour, chewing at her lower lip as she once more weighed the seriousness of the situation, when the soft tapping at the back door intruded on her consciousness. Had it not been for that, she would have given in and called Keith, begging him to come home. Of course, she would have had to call him back when Cassie finally did come home—as Rosemary was positive she sooner or later would—and tell him that it had all been a false alarm. She was thinking this as she abandoned the den and hurried into the kitchen.

To Rosemary’s surprise, Laura Cavanaugh was standing on the back step, her face pale and drawn in the light from the service porch. When she opened the door and saw her neighbor more clearly, Rosemary couldn’t stifle a gasp.

Laura’s eyes were puffy, each of them circled with a dark ring of bruises. There was a cut on her left cheek extending nearly to her ear, and her right cheek was swollen, its edematous flesh mottled with an ugly purplish color.

The two women stared at each other in silence for a moment as tears welled in Laura’s damaged eyes. “I know how I look,” she said apologetically. “I suppose I shouldn’t have come over—”

Rosemary’s hands rose in an instinctive gesture of protest. “Not come over? Why on earth not? Laura, what’s happened? Did Ed—” She broke off when she saw Jennifer, rubbing sleepily at her eyes, standing in the kitchen door and staring curiously at Laura.

“I couldn’t sleep,” the little girl said. “I thought maybe Cassie was home.”

“Go back up to your room, sweetheart. Mrs. Cavanaugh and I are just going to have a little talk.” Jennifer hesitated, frowning, then decided that this was not the time to argue with her mother. A moment later she was gone, and Rosemary turned her attention back to Laura. “Did Ed do that to you?” she asked, the hardness in her voice indicating that she assumed he had.

Laura started to shake her head, but then, almost against her will, nodded. “It’s not too bad, though—really. And it’s not why I came. It’s Eric—he hasn’t come home yet. I—well, I was wondering if he was over here with Cassie.” Her eyes went to the ceiling, as if she might be able to pierce the wood and plaster that separated the two floors of the house. “I hate to be a bother, but Ed could come home any minute, and if Eric’s over here, well …” Her voice faltered, then she fell silent, sinking helplessly onto one of the straight-backed kitchen chairs.

“Have you called Gene Templeton?” Rosemary asked. Without asking Laura if she wanted any, she began preparing a pot of tea.

“Gene?” Laura echoed vaguely. “Why would I call Gene? It’s not like something’s happened to Eric—”

“I’m not talking about Eric!” Rosemary broke in. “I’m talking about you. For heaven’s sakes, Laura, how long are you going to put up with this? You can’t just let Ed beat you up every time he gets mad!”

Laura shook her head helplessly. “He doesn’t—”

“Yes, he does!” Rosemary insisted. “My God, Laura, it’s not as if it was a secret. Everyone in town knows what he does to you. But if you won’t stick up for yourself, what can anyone do?”

Laura’s hands went to her face, and she rocked back and forth in her chair. Rosemary watched her for a moment, wondering if she should go to Laura, put her arms around her, try to comfort her. She knew, though, that what Laura Cavanaugh truly needed was not pity, but a discovery of the strength that would finally allow her to walk out on Ed. And no amount of comforting would give her that. Sighing heavily, Rosemary poured hot water over three tea bags, let the tea steep for a while, then poured a cup of the steaming brew and set it in front of Laura Cavanaugh. At last Laura seemed to regain control of herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you’re right! But it’s Eric I’m worried about right now. He said he was going to the dance with Cassie—”

“And Ed hates Cassie,” Rosemary broke in. “I know. But he’s not here, and neither is she.”

“But where are they?” Laura gasped. “If Ed comes
home—” Once again she fell silent, but this time her eyes went fearfully to the kitchen window. Following Laura’s gaze, Rosemary saw Ed Cavanaugh’s white pickup truck weave down the driveway, its brakes squealing as he slammed it to a stop. Both women watched in silence as he slid out of the truck and lumbered unsteadily toward the back door of his house.

“Drunk, of course!” Rosemary said disgustedly as he disappeared from their view. Then they heard him roaring his wife’s name, and his son’s. A few seconds later he reappeared at the back door and Laura and Rosemary could see him staring speculatively at the Winslows’ house. The sharp intake of Laura’s breath rasped with unnatural loudness as Ed started across the driveway separating the two houses.

She lurched to her feet. “He can’t find me here,” she whispered. “If he does—”

But it was too late.

Ed Cavanaugh, his bloodshot eyes glowing with malevolence, jerked the back door open without knocking and was suddenly framed in the service-porch door, his fleshy mouth twisted into a scornful sneer.

“Mighta known you’d come sniveling over here.” He spat the words at Laura with a viciousness that made her wince, then turned his attention to Rosemary. “Where’s Eric?” he demanded. “He with that crazy brat of yours?”

Rosemary rose to her feet, her fear of his drunkenness washed away by indignation. “Eric isn’t here, and neither is Cassie,” she told him. “They’re still at the dance. And if you’re still here in two minutes, I’m going to call the police.”

Ed regarded her with contemptuous eyes, then waved his hand dismissively at his wife. “Get the fuck outta here, Laur—me and the uppity lady here are gonna have a little talk.”

“Ed—” Laura began, but before she could speak another word Ed raised his hand and, in what seemed to Rosemary an almost idle gesture, spun Laura around and shoved her out of the kitchen. Laura hesitated only a fraction of a second before pushing through the back door and hurrying into her own house, her hands once more covering her face as she sobbed in pain and humiliation. Only when the Cavanaughs’ back
door had closed behind her did Rosemary finally speak, and when she did, it was from the telephone.

“I’m calling Gene Templeton,” she said. “I’m going to tell him exactly what happened, and I hope Laura will finally file some charges against you.”

But before she could finish dialing, Ed had crossed the room, the bulk of his body pressing Rosemary against the wall as he twisted the receiver out of her hand and dropped it to dangle from its cord a few inches above the floor.

“That what you gonna do, uppity lady?” he asked. “Now why would you want to do a thing like that? I didn’t hurt her none. Fact is, she likes it. But now she’s gone, and ain’t nobody home but you and me, is there? Your snotty husband ain’t coming home at all, and his creepy kid’s off gettin’ my kid into more trouble, ain’t she? So what do you say you and I get in a little trouble of our own?”

His face moved closer to hers, and Rosemary suddenly realized what he intended to do. His mouth was only a few inches from her own, and his sour breath made her gorge rise. She tried to push him away, but his weight seemed immovable. Then, from the door to the dining room, she heard Jennifer’s voice.

“Mommy? Mommy, is he hurting you?”

Rosemary struggled, but Ed’s hamlike hands had closed on her wrist and he held her immobile against the wall. She twisted her head to one side just as his mouth was about to press against hers. “Get out, Jenny!” she yelled. “Run across the street and get help. Tell them to call the police!”

“Goddamn you—” She heard Ed growl as his hands tightened on her wrists like twin vises.

“Now
, Jen!” she yelled. She heard Jennifer yelp in sudden fear, and out of the corner of her eye saw her daughter dart away. Finally, summoning the last reserves of her strength, she jerked her leg up, plunging her knee into Ed Cavanaugh’s groin.

A strangled howl burst from his throat, and his grip was momentarily loosened by the searing pain that rose from his groin to slash upward through his body. Rosemary twisted away from him, shoving hard.

Losing his balance, Ed tumbled backward into the kitchen
table then fell to the floor, his hands gripping his crotch as he glared furiously up at Rosemary.

“Crazy,” she heard him say as she dashed past him, toward the back door and the safety outside. “You’re as crazy as the girl. All you hadda do was be nice.…”

A few minutes later, from the shelter of the neighbors’ house across the street, Rosemary saw him stagger out the back door of her house, pause for a moment as if making up his mind what to do next, then get back into his truck. Thirty seconds after Ed was gone, Gene Templeton turned onto the block, the red lights flashing on top of his car.

Ed drove blindly, fighting the nausea that roiled through his body. The pain in his groin seemed untempered by the alcohol in his blood; indeed, the two seemed to combine into a raging fury that grew within him like a separate being, driving him on, banishing the last vestiges of reason from his mind.

He knew where he was going; knew where to look to find the source of his fury.

And he knew what he would do when he got there.

Cassie Winslow was just like Miranda Sikes.

She’d put a spell on the boy, and if Ed didn’t do something about it, she’d put a spell on everybody else too.

He decided she’d already put some kind of spell on Rosemary Winslow. She must have, or Rosemary wouldn’t have done what she did. After all, Rosemary wanted him as bad as he wanted her, didn’t she? Sure she did—he’d seen the way she’d looked at him, seen the lust in her eyes.

But today, when she finally could have had him, she’d kicked him.

She’d actually tried to hurt him.

No woman had ever done that.

So Cassie must have done something to Rosemary.

Maybe he should go back and try to explain it all to her.

That was it! That was where he’d gone wrong!

He’d gone over there to talk to Rosemary, but Laura had been there and he hadn’t had a chance to explain things to Rosemary.

It was all Laura’s fault! She’d spoiled it for him, just like she’d always spoiled everything for him!

And now it was too late. Rosemary Winslow wouldn’t listen to him now. None of them would, not as long as Cassie could keep working her witchcraft.

Witchcraft
.

The word echoed in Ed’s fogged mind, but as he kept driving, his eyes barely seeing into the darkness beyond the windshield, he knew he’d stumbled on to the truth.

She was a witch, just as Miranda Sikes had been, and she’d cast a spell over his son, just as Miranda had!