One Last Scream (39 page)

She turned off the ignition. “Listen, Amelia, on our way back, I want to stop by Danny’s again and phone your uncle. Then I might have you call his house. If Annabelle is there, we’ll need you to talk to her.”

She let out a stunned little laugh. “Karen, I don’t understand any of this. Are you saying my sister’s at Uncle George’s house?”

Karen nodded. “We think it’s possible. Are you sure you’re not sensing something? You’ve always known ahead of time what your sister’s planning. You’re not feeling anything?”

She shook her head. “Nothing about Jody or Steffie. Right now, I just feel this very strong need to go to the lake house. Please, Karen.” She opened the car door. “Don’t worry about the trail at night. Just hold on to my hand. I know it by heart by now.”

Karen got out of the car and paused at the top of the trail. In the darkness, she could barely see the path through the trees and shrubs. But she was thinking about something else that didn’t seem right. She’d figured Amelia would have been far more concerned right now about the safety of her only surviving family members. Instead, she was bent on visiting the lake house one more time for
closure
. Karen was waiting for George’s plane to land before calling and consulting him on their next move. But Amelia didn’t know any of that. It didn’t make sense that a final trip to the lake house was such a priority.

There had been a moment back at the diner, when she hadn’t recognized the waitress. A tiny alarm had gone off in Karen’s gut, then.

She thought about all the other people Annabelle must have duped before killing them. Did the Faradays, George’s wife, or Shane ever realize before their violent deaths that they were staring at Amelia’s twin?

“C’mon, Karen.” She smiled and held out her hand. “I’ll lead the way.”

Karen hesitated, but then grabbed her hand. Engulfed in darkness, she started to follow her down the trail. She took cautious little steps in the direction she was being pulled. Around her, she heard raindrops pattering on leaves, and branches rustling in the gentle wind.

She thought about her dad’s old revolver in her purse. “Amelia, remember what we were talking about in your last session?” she said, hating the nervous little wiggle that crept into her voice. She cleared her throat. “Um, you were telling me how you really resented Shane sometimes, and for no apparent reason. Remember that?”

She paused. “No, Karen, I don’t. I don’t recall saying anything like that.”

In the dark, Karen couldn’t see her face, or her expression. Did
Annabelle
know she was being tested again? Or was this
Amelia
, quite understandably, not remembering a conversation that had never happened?

“Actually, it’s weird you should mention Shane, right after you asked about those premonitions,” she went on. “I can’t help thinking something might have happened to him. And I—I feel I’ve caused it somehow. What do you make of that? Do you suppose I just feel guilty, because I borrowed his car without asking him?” She started moving again, pulling Karen’s hand. “Anyway, I’m worried about him, Karen. He’s not answering his cell, and he hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

Karen could hear the vulnerability in her voice, and it sounded so much like Amelia. She wondered how she was going to tell her that Shane was dead. There was so much Amelia still didn’t know.

Karen continued down the slope with her, blindly following her lead. She could only make out shapes in the murky blackness around her, and every step seemed precarious. She had to put all her trust in her guide.

“Careful, Karen,” she heard her say. Her grip tightened. “It’s a little slippery here. And there’s a big ditch on your right.”

Karen felt the wet ground and gravel under her shoes. She told herself: If this is Annabelle, she could have so easily killed you by now.

“We’re almost there, Karen. Thank you for doing this.” She steered her around a curve in the trail. “So, about Shane, do you think he’s okay? You don’t suppose this—
Annabelle
—has gotten to him, do you?”

“I—I can’t say for sure,” Karen replied, feeling horrible. She couldn’t tell her the truth right now. It was too much.

“There’s a railing and some flagstones coming up, and then we’re out of the woods.”

With her foot, Karen tapped around the dirt and gravel until she felt the flat flagstones beneath her. She held on to the wooden railing with her free hand. She could now see Amelia’s silhouette and, in front of them, a clearing, and the Faradays’ lake house.

They started up the stone pathway to the house.

The terrain had flattened out, but she still held onto Karen’s hand. “Y’know, when we go back to Danny’s Diner, I’m calling Shane again.” Her voice had a little tremor to it. “And then let’s try to track down this twin sister I didn’t know I had. We need to stop her before she hurts someone else.”

“We will, Amelia,” Karen said.

“My God, look at this,” she muttered, stopping to stare at the front door. The strips of yellow police tape fluttered in the wind.

“Are you sure you want to go in?” Karen asked gently.

“Yes, it’s something I’ve got to do,” she said. Letting go of Karen’s hand, she stepped toward the door. “We keep a key hidden up here.”

Karen watched her reach up and pat along the top of the doorway frame. The sleeve of her oversized rain jacket slipped down her bare arm. Karen saw an ugly scar on the back of her wrist. She stifled a gasp.

Amelia had remembered the pain. But Annabelle still carried the scar.

“Here it is,” she announced, the key in her hand. “I was afraid the police might have found it and taken it.” She brushed aside some of the loose yellow tape, and put the key in the lock. “My, God, it’s not even locked….”

Karen couldn’t move. She just stared at her, and tried to get a breath.

Annabelle opened the door, then turned toward Karen. “Do you want to lead the way this time?”

Karen shook her head. She waited until Annabelle stepped inside the house, then she reached inside her purse for the revolver. She came to the doorway, and saw the 19-year-old standing in the middle of the living room.

“Oh, my God, Karen, look at the blood,” she cried. Annabelle was a very good actress. She recoiled, then opened her bag and frantically dug into it. “God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Karen already had the revolver out—and pointed at her. “Stop it, Annabelle,” she said.

But Annabelle pulled something out of her purse.

“Hold it right there!” Karen yelled.

Annabelle froze. Karen still couldn’t see what was in her hand.

For a moment, there was dead silence, and then a faint murmuring sound. It came from the basement, and yet seemed so far away, too. “Karen? Is someone there? Karen! Help me!”

Karen recognized Amelia’s voice.

She didn’t see the blackjack in Annabelle’s hand, the same deadly little leather-covered club her father had used on Tracy Atkinson and several others when he’d knocked them unconscious.

All at once, Annabelle swiveled around.

Karen didn’t even realize what was happening. She was still thinking about Amelia, downstairs somewhere. She saw Annabelle swinging her arm toward her. Then she felt the awful pain on the side of her head. She didn’t even have time to raise the gun.

Karen crumpled onto the floor just inches away from the bloodstains left by Ina McMillan.

“Hi, you’ve reached the McMillans,” Ina said on the recording. “Sorry we’re not here to take your call. But if you’d like to leave a message for George, Ina, Jody, or Stephanie, just talk to us after the beep!”

The beep sounded, and then George’s voice came over the answering machine. “Jessie?” he said anxiously. There was a lot of noise in the background—car horns honking, a whistle blowing, and people talking. “Is anyone there? Hello…”

“Let’s keep Daddy in the dark a little longer,” said the young man in the sunglasses. “It just means he’ll be all that more anxious to get here.”

Jessie didn’t say anything. She stared at him with dread. She couldn’t feel her arms anymore, and it was hard to get a normal breath. But she was more worried about the children. She hadn’t heard a peep from Stephanie’s room in almost an hour. Jody had let out a few muffled coughs about ten minutes ago, but not another sound. She wondered if they could hear their father’s voice right now.

“I can’t figure out why you’re not picking up,” George said on the machine. “I’m thinking maybe Steffie had another asthma attack, and you had to go to the hospital. Um, Jessie or Jody, if you get this, call me on my cell as soon as you can. Let me know what’s happening. It’s 9:15, and I’m at the airport. The line for taxicabs is nuts. I’ll try to get there soon. It might take another half hour. Jessie, thanks for waiting around. I know you need to fly out to Denver tonight. You might need some money. I don’t think you know about the safe in the house, but I certainly have more than enough in there to pay for your ticket. When I get home, I’ll make sure you’re covered….”

The young man chuckled. “Jackpot,” he whispered. He snatched the cordless from the counter. “Make him tell you where this safe is, and then get the combination.” He reached for the kitchen phone.

“I think this machine’s about to cut me off,” George was saying. “See you soon—I hope.” He clicked off, and the recording beep sounded.

“Shit,” the young man muttered. He put down the cordless, and hung up the kitchen phone. “Well, we’ll have to call Daddy back in a little while.” He smirked at Jessie. “So, it sounds like you don’t know anything about this safe, huh?”

Wide-eyed, she just shook her head at him.

George clicked off his cell phone. He nodded to the eleven-year-old. “Thanks, Brad,” he said, over all the noise from the cop show on TV. “You can turn that down now.”

He stood in the Reeces’ family room, an open area with a vaulted ceiling right off the kitchen and breakfast nook. He looked out the sliding glass door at the Reeces’ back lawn. Amid the trees and tall hedges at the far end of the yard was a little pathway Brad and Jody used to go back and forth to each other’s houses. George couldn’t see his house from here. The bushes were too tall.

Jody’s best friend since first grade, Brad was a slightly beefy red-haired boy with thick glasses. He wore jeans and a T-shirt advertising
My Name Is Earl
, his and Jody’s favorite TV show. He had the tough, surly look of a wrestler, but he was very sweet. Lucky, too, it turned out.

George’s helicopter pilot had radioed ahead for a taxi, and a cab had been waiting for him when they’d touched down at Boeing Field. George had tried to phone his neighbor across the street, Sally Bidwell. He’d thought about using her house as a sort of command post and holding area—a safe haven for the kids and Jessie, if he could get them out of the house. But Mrs. Bidwell hadn’t picked up her phone. So George had tried the Reeces, and gotten Brad. His parents had gone out for the night, and he was home alone. In fact, he’d tried calling Jody earlier in the evening to invite him over for pizza, but no one had picked up. He’d thought about cutting through the backyards, knocking on the McMillans’ back door, and inviting Jody in person. But at the very last minute, he’d decided against it. Lucky.

Jody’s friend had certainly come through in a pinch, too. Brad had already scurried around the house and come up with everything George had figured he might need: a crowbar, a screwdriver, and a sharp serrated-edge kitchen knife. The items were laid out on the Reeces’ breakfast table.

George put his cell phone back in the pocket of his sports jacket.

Brad aimed the remote control at the TV and hit mute. “Do you think you ought to put some of that black stuff on your face, too, Mr. M?” he asked.

“That’s not a bad idea, Brad,” he said. “But I think I’m okay without it.”

He glanced over at the mute TV. George wasn’t sure if, over the phone, the cop show had sounded like an airport taxi stand. He wasn’t even sure if his message had gotten through to anyone. He could only hope it had. He hoped his fabrication about a safe full of money in the house would keep whoever was there preoccupied. They’d wait for him now. He’d made it clear that no one else had the combination. And they’d need to keep his children alive if they wanted his cooperation. It might even prompt them to have Jessie phone him back.

He knew Annabelle Schlessinger—or her friend—hadn’t broken into his home for money. But he also knew that a 19-year-old on the lam wasn’t about to pass up the chance for a safeload of cash.

If they thought he was still at the airport, they wouldn’t be expecting him within the next five minutes.

His hand shaking, George slid open the glass door.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with?” Brad asked anxiously.

“No, thanks, I really need you here,” George said. His stomach was full of knots as he collected the crowbar, screwdriver, and knife from the kitchen table. He slipped the knife and screwdriver into the side pocket of his sports jacket. “If I can get Jody, Steffie, and Jessie out of there, I’ll send them over to you, Brad. Then you can call the cops.” He’d already told Brad this, but it merited repeating. “And if in twenty minutes, you don’t see any of us—”

“Then I call the cops, and get them to haul ass over to your place—9203 Larkdale,” Brad interjected.

George nodded, then he mussed Brad’s red hair. “You know, Jody’s very lucky to have you for a friend,” he said. “You and he will be talking about this night for a long time.”

He stepped outside.

“Good luck, Mr. M,” Brad whispered, standing in the doorway.

George gave him a nod, then ran to the hedges bordering the Reeces’ backyard. Weaving through the bushes and trees, he saw the back of his house. It had been nearly twenty hours since he’d left home to catch a flight to Portland and drive to Salem. Now, that seemed like days ago. He was beyond tired, running on his wits and pure adrenaline. And he still couldn’t stop shaking.

He noticed lights were on in the kitchen and living room and master bedroom. The kids’ rooms were dark. George couldn’t see anyone, or anything else. From the edge of the yard, he crept up toward the house, to Jody’s bedroom window. But it was too high to see inside.