Final Scream (14 page)

“We’re fine, really,” Lucretia called out, her voice amazingly calm. “On our honeymoon.”

“Jesus!” the voice said in awe and wonder.

“Don’t worry,” Rex added.

“Sorry to bother you. Jesus.”

Then the room was silent.

“Promise me,” she repeated, her eyes as hard as diamonds.

Rex Buchanan hadn’t cried since he was a child, but tears suddenly blurred his vision of her cringing and cowering away from him in the molded pink tub. “All right, Lucretia. I promise,” he’d said, but the words were hollow. Though Derrick had been conceived on their wedding night, and Rex had stayed away from his young wife during her pregnancy, later, he’d insisted on his marital rights and she’d given in, lying as cold as stone beneath him, not touching him with her hands, never kissing him, doing her duty as her mother had warned her she would have to. He’d felt like a fool straddling her, trying to turn her on, watching as her expression had changed from cold indifference to disgust when he’d kissed her breasts, rimmed her navel with his tongue, even, one time sloppy drunk, when he’d tried to get her to touch his erection, to maybe even take him in her mouth.

“C’mon,” he’d said, twining his fingers in the fragrant rope of her hair, trying to get her to pleasure him. “It’s not so bad.”

“It’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m your husband!”

“Well, I’m not your whore. Go find someone else.”

“You don’t mean it.”

“Don’t I?” She’d looked up at him with seductive blue eyes, scooted down on the bed and seemed ready to suckle. Instead, she’d spat on him, spraying him with her contempt. “I’m pregnant, you sick bastard.”

Awash in embarrassment, he’d somehow felt a sense of joy. Another baby might change things. He’d forgotten his anger. Tears glimmered in his eyes. “Good, Lucretia,” he said. “That’s good.”

“I want an abortion.”

“What? No, you can’t mean—”

“I do mean it, Rex. I don’t want another baby. You’ve got your son. You don’t need another.”

“But it’s a sin—”

That alone had stopped her. Her eyes had glazed in misery and she’d rolled off the bed. She, too, had been brought up in the Church, believed its teachings, knew that taking a life, even a life so frail it couldn’t live on its own, was a sin so dark she could never be absolved. “All right,” she said, snatching her robe from the corner of the bed and covering herself quickly. “But this is the last.”

“Baby, listen—”

“Don’t,” she said, her back stiff and unbending as she cinched her belt around her tiny, perfect waist. “I’ll have this one, but there will be no others.”

“I can’t promise—”

She whirled, facing him in all her wrath. “Sure you can. You can move to another room and leave me alone. Forever.”

He felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. “That’s unnatural.”

“Not to me.”

“Lucretia—”

“I’ve already talked to Dr. Williams, so it’s your decision. If you want the baby, fine, then promise to leave me alone. If not, I keep my appointment.”

“How could you?” It was his turn to be repulsed.

“This baby is for you, Rex. If you want it.”

“But you could miscarry.”

She lifted a shoulder.

His faith grappled with his lust and in the end his faith won. He moved into another suite at the far end of the hall. Lucretia paid a locksmith for a new dead bolt on her bedroom door and, true to her word, had given birth to Angie nearly seven months later. From the day the baby had come into the world, Rex had never regretted his decision, nor had he ever knocked on, listened through, or broken down his wife’s door.

He’d found other women, just as he had before he’d met her, hated himself for his weakness, and made larger offerings to the Church, hoping that through his tithing and philanthropic causes, he could absolve some of his guilt.

It hadn’t worked. The more money he gave, the more he felt compelled to give. The more foundations he headed, the more charities he funded, the more he needed to.

And all the while during his marriage he’d been unfaithful. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d been a healthy red-blooded American male and he’d needed sex—pure, raw, animal sex. The kind his wife wouldn’t give him. The kind his mistresses would—especially the one he’d had for over twenty years.

The one he still visited.

Now, as he stared up at Lucretia’s portrait, he blinked hard. God, he missed her. She was the one woman who wouldn’t bend to him, the one woman who’d been his greatest challenge, the one woman who hadn’t wanted him. And Angie looked so much like her. It was a curse he’d bear the rest of his life.

“Brig didn’t lose Remmington,” Cassidy said, facing her father in the hallway just below the stairs. Rex was holding his briefcase in one hand, his jacket was slung over his other arm.

“If he didn’t lose the horse, then who did? You?” He lifted a skeptical brow.

“Yeah,” she said on a sigh. Fidgeting, she added, “I, um, was mad because no one was letting me ride my horse and so the other night I snuck him out of his stall, rode out by the old mill pond, got thrown again and lost Remmington. Brig found me, sent me home on another horse—the buckskin he’d ridden—and started looking for Remmington.” She’d spoken quickly, trying to get the story out, afraid that her father, in his fury, would fire Brig and she couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t take the fall for her mistake. “I know it was stupid to go behind your back,” she said, sincerely repentant, “but jeez, Dad, I was tired of waiting around.”

“You wouldn’t be trying to protect him, would you?” he asked, frowning slightly, and Cassidy wished she could wipe her sweaty palms on her back pockets.

“Why would I do that?” Her heart was pounding with the truth, that she loved Brig McKenzie, and though she wasn’t lying this time, she would lie for him. Somehow, she managed to keep her face impassive.

“I don’t know. Your mother seems to think you have some kind of fascination with the boy.”

“He’s just the hired help, isn’t he?” Cassidy replied, knowing that she had to keep her secret safe and hating the superior tone in her voice. Brig was more than the hired help. Much, much more.

“Hired help you don’t mind hanging around.” Angie, who seemed to have heard the conversation on the landing, breezed down the stairs in a short white skirt, wide belt and scooped-neck top. Cocking her head to one side, she fastened her second gold hoop earring.

“He takes care of my horse,” Cassidy said nervously.

“Mmmm, right.” Angie sent her sister a knowing smile. She reached into her purse for a pair of sunglasses, and Cassidy tried not to notice how her father seemed to light up whenever Angie was near, how his face relaxed the same way it did whenever he knelt before statues of the Virgin in church.

Standing on her tiptoes, Angie brushed his cheek with her lips.

“Where’re you going?” he asked.

“Felicity and I are driving to Portland. Shopping for something to wear to the barbecue,” Angie replied, flashing a grin. “Have credit cards, will travel.”

Rex laughed, a deep comfortable laugh.

“Want to come along, Cass? You could use something new.”

“No, thanks.”

Angie’s eyes skated down her sister’s cutoffs and T-shirt. “You can’t go to the barbecue looking like a country bumpkin.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a
formal
barbecue and I know that’s weird, but Judge Caldwell, he’s a little strange. He likes to do things his way and we all know that his party isn’t a place to go in your jeans and sweatshirt.”

“Which is stupid.”

“Maybe, but that’s the way it is.”

“Look, I’m not interested anyway,” Cassidy said, wishing she could avoid going altogether.

Angie’s lips puckered in disdain. “Okay. Whatever. You can’t say I didn’t try.” Then she was off, her white sandals slapping the cool floor, a cloud of Chanel No. 5 wafting in her wake.

Cassidy didn’t want to think about the Caldwells’ barbecue because it would be torture, sheer torture, watching Brig hold Angie in his arms.

The fire was straight from hell.

Flames crackled.

Fire raged, burning and breathing, a living thing fed by a dark, malevolent wind.

Evil existed just behind the ring of fire, an unseen force that watched with cruel, hungry eyes.

Sunny’s heart pounded painfully. She felt the blast of heat, blistering against her skin, as she watched the flames burn ever upward, consuming whatever they came in contact with and separating her from her sons.

“Chase,” she yelled in a voice that was muted by the raging firestorm.

“Brig!” she tried again, but to no avail. Her vocal chords were stilled, seared to the point that no words would pass her lips.

Panicked, she knew her boys were trapped inside the wall of flame that they could not escape.

And it was all because of the evil presence that was forever creeping after them. She watched the wall of fire grow ever upward, a flaming, immense mountain that roared and breathed, and she knew in her heart that her sons were doomed.

This was their funeral pyre.

Fire and water
.

Just as she’d seen the water rushing over her young son the day that Buddy had been caught in the stream, she now saw the ghastly inferno that would destroy Brig and Chase.

In her mind’s eye, she saw pain and death. Black smoke that reeked of burning flesh billowed to the heavens, and she began to cough.

“No, no, no…please no,” she whispered aloud.

Fire and water.

“Ma, what is it?”

Chase was beside her suddenly, shaking her awake, his blue eyes bright with concern. She’d nearly fallen asleep on the couch when the vision had slammed through her brain. Startled, she blinked herself awake but couldn’t erase the image of death that lingered, like the foul breath of a demon.

“You can’t go to this party,” she said solemnly.

Chase’s concern gave way to anger. All the muscles in his face turned hard. “We’ve already been over this. I’m going—”

“And I’m serious. You and Brig, you must not go.” She shook her head violently. “No way. There’s too much danger. I won’t hear any more of it.” But her forbidding tone didn’t seem to make any difference, and Chase’s chin only tightened in stubborn defiance. So like his father. The resemblance was frightening.

“Don’t start pulling any of this crap, Ma. I’ve wanted to go to this for years and finally someone asked me. So I’m not letting Mary Beth Spears off the hook.” He offered her the hint of a smile—the grin that always broke her heart. “Besides, Ma, I’m too old for you to boss around.”

“You’re going with the
reverend’s
daughter?” Sunny’s insides dissolved.

“Just because she’s related to old Bartholomew—”

“Oh, Lord, Chase. Even Angie Buchanan is a better choice than the Spears girl.”

“But I didn’t have a pick now, did I?” he said impatiently. “And don’t give me any garbage about Angie. I know how you feel about her. You don’t want Brig to have anything to do with her.”

“Of course I don’t. But Mary Beth is the reverend’s daughter, and no matter how much he pretends to be a man of God, Chase, he’s evil, do you hear me? Evil.”

“I’m going, Ma. It’s important. I needed an invitation and Mary Beth was charitable to offer one.” His voice was sarcastic, like acid. “Besides, I can meet a few people who might help my career; senior partners of law firms who might be looking for a law student or an intern to work in their offices. Believe it or not, I’m not going to spend my life working for old man Buchanan and kissing his ass like everyone else in this town.”

She decided against wringing her hands but shook her head. Trouble. Big trouble. Mary Beth Spears and Angie Buchanan. Again the mountain of fire flashed through her mind. “I can’t believe that Earlene would allow her to go with you.”

“The woman’s a dishrag. Does whatever her husband says.”

“Okay. So why is he allowing his daughter to date you?”

“For crying out loud, Ma. Am I so bad?” He chuckled.

“Of course not,” she said proudly. “You’re the best.”

“Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I can only hope.” But her voice belied her confidence.

“Hey, don’t be such a prophet of gloom and doom. This might just prove to be the best night of my life. Look—” He walked to the room he shared with Brig and brought a tuxedo wrapped in plastic back to the couch. “This is the big time, Ma. So quit pouting and wish me good luck.”

“I do, son,” she said. “But the vision…”

His eyes clouded, but Sunny would have none of his disdain for her predictions. Curling her fingers around his forearms, she held on as tightly as possible, her fingernails biting into his skin like snake fangs, the tuxedo quivering in its plastic sheath as he held onto the hanger. “Listen to me, Chase. Do not mock me. Did I not see the water, just before Buddy—”

“I don’t want to hear any of this mumbo jumbo, Ma.” He jerked away from her then, straightening and pinning her with his vicious glare. “You’re starting to sound crazy again.”

“I speak only the truth.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. You make predictions, Ma. Half the time you’re wrong. Most people think you’re a nutcase.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know,” he said, honesty evident in his features. “I don’t want to.”

“Then trust me, Chase. This tragedy will happen.”

“Unless I give up the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“Yes.”

“God, help us!” He hung the tuxedo on the drapery rod and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. Sunny understood his feelings. He’d been taunted for years, called the son of a crazy woman who couldn’t keep her husband, or accused of being a mama’s boy to a woman who was considered at the very least mentally incompetent, at the worst a sayer of evil. Chase had found the dead cat hung over the mailbox and he’d buried it himself, hiding his tears as he kicked the shovel into the ground. No doubt he wondered how he’d been so unlucky to have been born to such a strange woman.

Sighing loudly, she pushed herself onto her feet. She understood why he envied the people with money, those who didn’t have to struggle as he had for years, helping put food on the table. He’d had a paper route when he was only seven, graduated to a busboy when he wasn’t legally old enough to work but was willing to lie about his age just to make a little more cash. Eventually he’d started working in the same mill his father had worked, but that wasn’t enough for Chase. He seemed to survive on less than three hours sleep while putting in eight-or ten-hour shifts. He managed to get straight A’s, earn himself a couple of scholarships and now was nearly finished with his undergraduate studies. He planned to go to law school winter term.

She was proud of him, her firstborn, and she understood that he’d sacrificed everything, his pride, his social life, and his dignity, just to better himself. It had taken him extra years to graduate because of his devotion to her, and she felt a little jab of guilt at that.

It was time he settled down with a nice girl, started his own family, lived his own life.

He sat glumly at the table and even she, with her knowledge of the future, couldn’t deny him a little bit of happiness. “Just be careful tomorrow night,” she said as she stopped at the sink, turned on the faucet and let the small stream of water fill a glass.

“Is the bogeyman gonna get me?” he mocked.

“I hope not.” She stared out the small window and bit her lower lip. “I hope to God that I’m wrong.”

“What about Brig? Him, too?” He didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm in his voice.

“One of you or both. I can’t tell which.”

Chase swore under his breath. “Ma—”

Knowing his argument before he uttered the hideous words, she held up a hand to silence him. “I’m not going to any psychologist. They cost a lot of money and usually have more problems than their patients.”

“They’re trained professionals.”

She rested a hip against the sink and took a sip of the water from her glass. “They should be coming to me for advice,” she said.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn?”

“Just a sassy, know-it-all son who thinks he’s gonna be some hotshot lawyer.”

One side of Chase’s mouth lifted. Lord, he was a handsome man when he smiled. “I don’t think, Ma. I know.”

“So do I, son,” she replied, pride welling up inside her. “So do I.”

Brig put his Harley through its paces, listening to the engine whine long and loud before he switched gears. The wind tore at his hair, screamed past his ears, and he hunched low, leaning into each corner, watching the countryside flashing past in a blur.

He’d managed to dodge Derrick ever since their fight, but it wouldn’t last. No doubt he’d run into him at the damned barbecue and Brig would be with Angie. That should set her older brother off as well as her old man. Bobby and Jed, too, would see red. Come Monday he wouldn’t have a job and there was a good chance he’d be sporting a broken nose. However, the thought of Jed Baker and Bobby Alonzo trying to beat the piss out of him made him smile. Let ’em try.

But what about Cassidy?

He gritted his teeth. She was a problem. A kid. Jailbait. Didn’t even have much of a chest. But she got to him. In the worst way. Not only was she slim and athletic, her small butt round, her waist tiny, but she was smart, too, and had an irreverent wild streak that appealed to him. Squinting against the wind, he wished he’d never touched her, never kissed her, ’cause now he wanted her. Bad. And he respected her enough to keep his hands to himself. She deserved better than he had to offer.

As for Angie, well, she was a different story…she was begging for it. Why, he didn’t know. He didn’t trust her, she was one of those manipulative women who could turn a man’s thinking around, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. But it was damned hard not to take what she so willingly offered. She, too, was beautiful. Drop-dead gorgeous with a body that wouldn’t quit. Trouble was, she knew it.

Well, he wasn’t one for planning the future—he left all that worry to his brother. He’d just go to the damned party for a little while, then he’d leave.

But not before having one dance with Cassidy Buchanan. Screw the fact that she was just a kid. He was going to hold her in his arms one time and the devil could take care of the rest of the night.

In the hallway near Angie’s room, Cassidy heard the soft sobs, mufffled by a quilt and a door. She knocked softly.

“Go ’way!” Angie said, sniffing loudly.

“What’s wrong?” Cassidy couldn’t imagine why her older sister, the girl with everything, would cry.

“Just leave me alone.”

Cassidy hesitated, took a calming breath of air and twisted on Angie’s doorknob. It didn’t budge. “Come on, Angie, let me in,” Cassidy said.

“Would you just go away! Oh, God, why me? Wait a minute, will ya?” A minute later the door opened and Angie stood barefoot in her bathrobe, one hip thrown out, her face drawn in irritation. “What d’ya want?” Her eyes were rimmed in red, her face flushed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“But you’ve been crying—”

“Oh, for the love of God!” She opened the door a crack, pulled on Cassidy’s arm and shut the door firmly behind her. “I have
not
been crying.”

“I heard you.”

“Just allergies—” Angie grabbed a Kleenex from her vanity and dabbed at her eyes.

“No way.”

Sighing, Angie walked to the window, arms crossed over her waist. “It’s nothing.”

“Sure.”

“Just my time of the month, you know how that is. And tomorrow’s the barbecue and all. I’m just nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because the shit hit the fan, okay?” She sniffed defiantly. “Dena and Dad found out that I asked Brig to take me to the Caldwells and they both hit the roof—told me I couldn’t go with him. So much for Dad championing the little people. As far as I’m concerned, his philanthropy is all for show. Big talk; no action. A crock of shit.”

“Oh.” Cassidy, despite her sister’s misery, felt her heart leap in joy that Brig wouldn’t be able to escort Angie. “That’s—that’s too bad.”

“Is it?” Angie turned and her eyes filled with tears again. “I’ve seen you around him, Cass. You’re half in love with him yourself.”

Cassidy gasped. “No, I’m—”

“Save it for someone who’ll believe it.” Sniffing loudly she blinked back her tears and thrust her chin forward defiantly. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter how you feel or what Dena and Dad think, because I’m going to the barbecue with Brig.”

“They’ll kill you.”

“I don’t think so.” A darkness slid across her eyes and Cassidy felt a premonition of doom. Angie swallowed hard and fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “You see, Cassidy, I really don’t have much of a choice.” She sounded bitter—so bitter. “Brig and I—” She lifted trembling fingers to her temple and rubbed, as if trying to ease a headache out of her skull.

“Brig and you what?” Cassidy asked, her voice sounding far away, her heart beating in desperation as the seconds ticked by, and Angie fought a losing battle with her tears.

Clearing her throat, she managed a weak smile as she stared straight into her sister’s eyes. “Brig and I are going to get married.”