One Last Scream (7 page)

Karen immediately fired off a two-page, single-spaced tirade that began: “Dear Asshole,” and went on to tell Kurt what a lousy father he was. She cited several examples.

But at the end of the day, Karen didn’t send the e-mail. She didn’t have it in her to fight with Kurt at that point. Things were getting worse with her dad. He’d become quite paranoid, and a few times the previous week, he’d been so disoriented he hadn’t even recognized her or Jessie. He’d slapped poor Rufus on the snout for barking on two occasions, and that was totally unlike him. Karen’s brother and sister kept calling long distance for updates on his condition. They wanted her to start looking for nursing homes, and she almost came to blows with them on the subject.

“I know you don’t want to give up on him,” her brother argued. “But you’re being selfish keeping him at home, Karen. He’s better off in a full-care facility. It sounds horrible, but for his sake, you’ll have to let go.”

Karen knew he was right, but she wasn’t ready to let go, yet.

And she wasn’t ready to abandon Haley either; though she wondered if maybe—just maybe—Kurt was right, too. Even with all her efforts not to badmouth Kurt, her friendship with Haley still threatened the father-daughter relationship. How couldn’t it? Perhaps she was being selfish there, too.

Haley phoned her on the sly a few times over the next two weeks. In each call, she cried hysterically and cursed her father. “How could he do this? He has no right! I can’t believe you’re going along with him on this.”

Karen tried to explain that until she was eighteen, her father, indeed, had every right to slap a moratorium on their friendship. But it was only temporary and, in the meantime, why didn’t she give this Jennifer a chance and cut her some slack? And what was this about her drinking again, and some trouble in school?

“C’mon, honey, you shape up, okay?” Karen told her, with a pang in her gut. “And you really need to stop calling me. You’ll get us
both
in trouble.”

Haley promised to stop calling if they could meet one more time. Karen reluctantly agreed to a dinner together at the Deluxe Bar and Grill, a cozy, trendy burger joint with an old-fashioned bar and a modern gas fireplace. She and Haley sat in a booth. After all those semi-hysterical phone calls, Haley was surprisingly calm and collected—almost at peace with the situation. She explained she wasn’t going to plead or argue with her over her dad’s decision. And she wasn’t going to Kurt-bash either. No, this was about having a nice last dinner together.

“Now, don’t make it sound so
final
,” Karen said. “We’ll be back in touch after you’re eighteen, which is in—what—less than a year? By then you’ll be in college and making a whole new batch of friends. You’ll be fine, Haley. So don’t cry in your Cobb salad about it.”

Haley just nodded, and gave her a strange, sad smile.

Karen was mostly concerned about her recent setbacks with the drinking, and her problems at school. “I know you’re not happy about this, but I understand why your dad thinks it’s for the best. Do me a favor, and don’t screw up your own life just because you’re mad at him. You were doing so well for a while there, honey. Don’t mess it up. If you’re pissed at your father and want to get even with him, do it some other way. Short sheet his bed, bust up that awful country-and-western CD collection of his, poop in his favorite shoes, I don’t care.”

Haley rolled her eyes and laughed.

“Just don’t ruin your own life to hurt him,” Karen whispered. “Promise me you won’t.”

“I promise.” Haley fiddled with a strand of her hair.

“And stop tugging at your hair.”

Obediently, she smiled and glanced down at her plate. She played with her fork instead. “Karen, you’re not going to forget me, are you?”

Karen reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “How could I? Every morning I have my coffee out of that tacky ‘Karen is a Cool Cat’ mug you gave me. I couldn’t start my day without it.”

They hugged good-bye alongside Haley’s father’s Toyota. Haley offered her a ride, but Karen decided to walk home. It was only a few blocks. She’d been keeping up a brave, everything-will-be-swell front with Haley, and needed time alone to have herself a good cry.

When she got home, she found her dad asleep in front of the TV. Jessie had fixed him fried chicken. Karen washed his dinner dishes, then woke him and got him into his bed. She was about to take a shower when the phone rang. She snatched up the receiver on the second ring, hoping her dad hadn’t awoken. “Hello?”

“This is the Seattle Police calling for Karen Carlisle,” said the man on the other end of the line.

“Yes, this is Karen.” Her grip tightened on the receiver.

“Your name and phone number are listed in Haley Lombard’s wallet as her emergency contact.”

Karen had no idea. For a moment, she almost couldn’t breathe.

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” he said.

“Where? Is Haley hurt?”

“She went off the freeway overpass at Lakeview and Belmont.”

Karen knew that overpass. It curved above Interstate 5, and had a low guardrail along the edge. At one point, the drop was several stories down to the freeway.

“Is she—is she going to be all right?”

“They’re taking her body to Harborview Medical Center,” he answered grimly. “I’m sorry. Were you her parent or legal guardian?”

Karen closed her eyes. “No,” she heard herself answer. “No, I was her friend.”

The rest of the night was a blur. She couldn’t get hold of Kurt, and there was no answer at Haley’s mother’s house, not even a machine. Karen didn’t want to leave her dad alone; he’d woken up in the middle of the night before, and not known where he was. But she had no choice. All she could do was quietly hurry out the door, and pray he’d sleep until morning.

In the car, she was so frazzled she passed Twelfth Avenue, probably the quickest way to the hospital. The next possible route, Broadway, was gridlocked. Flustered, she headed downhill to Belmont and the overpass where Haley had had her accident. That overpass eventually led to the highway on-ramp, and once on the interstate she could be at the hospital within two minutes.

But her thinking was muddled. Of course, they were rerouting traffic at the accident site. Cars lined up bumper to bumper as she approached the overpass. A detour sign had been placed at the last turn before the overpass, and a cop waved at her to make a left, where traffic seemed to move at a crawl. Ahead, Karen could see cones lined up, emergency flares sizzling on the concrete, and swirling red strobes from police cars parked at the start of the overpass. She saw something else, too: Kurt’s Toyota.

“My God, they made a mistake,” she whispered to herself. The cop had told her on the phone that Haley had gone off the overpass, yet there was Kurt’s car, all in one piece. The front door was open, and someone shined a flashlight around inside the car. All she could think was
Maybe Haley’s okay after all, maybe they got it wrong….

“Keep moving!” yelled the cop in front of the detour sign. He waved at her impatiently.

Karen rolled down her window. “The police called me fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “They told me to go to Harborview. I’m a friend of Haley Lombard. But I think they made a mistake—”

“Okay, you can go ahead,” he grumbled, motioning her forward.

Karen slowly continued down the hill, where the police kept onlookers at bay. She caught another look at Kurt’s Toyota. The man inside with the flashlight was inspecting the glove compartment.

“You need to turn your car back around!” another cop screamed at her.

She shook her head and called out the window to him, repeating what she’d told the first patrolman. “I think there was some kind of mistake about the victim’s identity.” She nodded toward the Toyota. “That’s Haley Lombard’s father’s car over there.”

The cop had her pull over to a small lot by a chain-link fence overlooking the freeway. “Lemme get someone to clear this up with you,” he grunted.

Karen parked her car and climbed out. For a moment, her legs were unsteady. She kept looking for a mangled section of the overpass’s guardrail, some indication that another vehicle had plowed through it and careened down to the freeway. But she didn’t see any damage at all. She wandered toward the railing edge and peered over it. About five stories below, on the interstate, a line of emergency flares cordoned off two lanes, and traffic was at a near standstill. Several squad cars, their flashers going, surrounded a smashed-up SUV. A tow truck was backing up toward it. From the skid marks on the pavement, it looked as if the SUV had swerved to avoid hitting something, and then crashed into the concrete divider. The tire markings on the pavement veered in front of a pool of blood. It almost looked black in the night.

Confused, Karen glanced to her right and tapped a young policewoman on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I’m a friend of Haley Lombard’s, and they called me. They said she went off the overpass. But her father’s car is right there, and I don’t see where anyone could have driven off—”

“Haley Lombard, yes,” the policewoman said, nodding. She seemed distracted by a voice crackling over the walkie-talkie on her belt. “Hell of a mess down there. An SUV almost hit the body. Thank God no one in the vehicle was seriously injured. Your friend didn’t
drive
off the overpass. She
jumped
. It looks like she was drinking. They found a bottle of bourbon in her car. She was DOA at Harborview ten minutes ago. You need to talk to somebody there.” She turned away and started barking a bunch of police code numbers on her radio.

Karen couldn’t hear what she was saying. She just stood there by the overpass’s guardrail, with the wind whipping at her. She was thinking that it all made sense now. She should have seen the signs. Some people about to commit suicide can appear very calm. After a period of torment, they can suddenly seem at peace, because they have come up with a solution for their problems. That had been Haley only two hours ago. She’d taken control of her situation and made up her mind about what to do.

“Karen, you’re not going to forget me, are you?”

A loud
beep, beep, beep
from below made her turn toward the guardrail again and gaze down at the freeway. A cleanup truck had backed up toward the dark puddle. Its hoses went on and started to wash the blood away. Pink swirls formed in the water that rippled across the pavement to the highway’s shoulder.

Kurt and his ex-wife both blamed Karen. Haley had lied to them about where she’d been going that night. Kurt pointed out that he’d asked Karen to stop seeing Haley, but she’d met with her anyway, and just look what had happened. She must have said something to Haley during their secret dinner that helped push their girl over the edge.

Karen didn’t have it in her to fight with Haley’s grieving parents. She didn’t go to the funeral. She knew she wasn’t welcome.

Just three weeks after the burial, Karen had her first meeting with Amelia Faraday. For a while, Amelia reminded her so much of Haley, it hurt. But since then, she’d gotten to know Amelia, and really couldn’t compare her to anyone.

The telephone rang, and Karen jumped up from the breakfast table. She figured it was Amelia again, and grabbed the phone before Jessie even had a chance to wipe off her hands. “Hello?” she said into the phone.

“Is Karen Carlisle there, please?” The man sounded as if he had asthma or something. His breathing wasn’t right.

“This is Karen,” she said.

“Um, my name’s George McMillan. My niece is one of your patients, Amelia Faraday….”

“Is Amelia all right?”

“She isn’t with you?” he asked. “I just spoke with her five minutes ago, and she said she was at your house.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. McMillan, but she isn’t,” she replied. “Amelia called me, too. She indicated there was some kind of emergency. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” He cleared his throat, but it still sounded like something was wrong with his breathing. “She—she had this
premonition
. She phoned saying she thought her parents and my wife—that’s her aunt—”

“Yes, Amelia has mentioned her.”

“Well, see, they went away for the weekend at the family cabin on Lake Wenatchee, and Amelia was convinced they’d all been killed last night.” His voice cracked, and Karen realized he was crying. That was why his breathing sounded so strange. “And she—she was right. I talked to someone who lives near the Lake Wenatchee house, and this neighbor, she found the bodies.”

“Oh, my God,” Karen whispered. She sank down in one of the chairs at the breakfast table. “I’m so sorry….”

Karen heard him trying to stifle the sobs. He explained how he’d spoken to this neighbor—and then the police in Wenatchee. It appeared as if Amelia’s father had shot his wife and sister-in-law with a hunting rifle, and then he’d turned the gun on himself.

“My God, Mr. McMillan—George—I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “Poor Amelia. You—you said she had a
premonition
about this?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t know yet that it’s true. I called and tried to persuade her to come over here. But she said she needed to see you. I—I couldn’t tell her over the phone what happened…”

Karen’s front doorbell rang. Rufus started barking and scurried toward the front of the house.

“I think that’s her at my door right now,” she said into the phone. She turned to the housekeeper. “Jessie? Could you? If that’s Amelia, could you please have her wait in my office?”

Jessie nodded, wiped off her hands and started out of the kitchen. “Rufus, knock it off!”

“Mr. McMillan, are you still there?” Karen said into the phone.

“Yes. Would you—would you mind driving Amelia over here? We live in West Seattle. I don’t want her to be alone. And it might help my kids if their cousin was here.” His voice cracked again. “They’re playing outside. They still don’t know. My son’s eleven, and my daughter—she’s only five years old. God, how am I going to tell them their mother’s dead?”