Second Child (33 page)

“He’s dead,” Tom Mallory said. He reached into the car and gently closed Jeff’s eyes. Finally, he straightened up, drawing Charles erect along with him. Issuing orders to stop cutting the smashed door, Mallory started slowly toward the base of the cliff. Just before he began climbing, though, he turned back to face Charles.

“Did you hear what he said?” he asked.

Charles hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. “D’Arcy.”

“D’Arcy,” Mallory repeated. “Any idea what he could have meant by that?”

Charles said nothing for a moment, but at last nodded once again. “I think I do,” he said. “I wish I didn’t, but I think I do.” Feeling numb, he followed the policeman back to the road where his family waited. His eyes went to Melissa, who stood where he had left her. “Come on,
darling,” he said, putting his arms around her and holding her for a moment. “I’ll take you home.”

As he led Melissa away from the suddenly silent crowd, a scream pierced the silence of the night.

Paula Barnstable had just learned that her only son had died, and heard what his last word had been.

“D’Arcy.”

Teri MacIver, who had been silently watching and listening to everything that had happened since Melissa had appeared at the door to the ballroom less than an hour before, smiled softly to herself.

Jeff’s last word, she was certain, would be enough. For already she had seen how people were beginning to look at Melissa.

After all, everyone knew there was no such person as D’Arcy.

There was only Melissa Holloway.

And it would be Melissa they would blame for Jeff Barnstable’s death.

Teri’s smile broadened in the darkness of the night, but no one saw it.

Except that, oddly, Teri once more had that peculiar sensation that she was being watched.

She turned, and peered into the darkness around her.

There was no one there.

But still, the feeling of unseen eyes watching her, looking right inside her, persisted. A slight shiver ran through her as she finally hurried away from the bluff over the sea.

“He thinks she’s crazy.”

Phyllis’s voice, crackling with a brittleness that clearly reflected the condition of her rapidly fraying nerves, broke the silence that had fallen over the Holloways’ library in the moments after Tom Mallory had left. It was past eleven now; the sergeant had been there for nearly an hour, going over Melissa’s fragmentary story again and again.

Phyllis had listened in silence, after objecting only a few minutes after Mallory had arrived that Melissa should say nothing until their lawyer could get there.

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Charles had told her. “Aside from the fact that I happen to be a lawyer …”

“A
corporate
lawyer,” Phyllis interjected, but Charles ignored her interruption.

“…  the fact of the matter is that Melissa wasn’t in the car. All Sergeant Mallory wants is for her to tell him what she saw.”

Melissa had done her best, but when she was done, no one knew much more than before. “All I remember is
hearing a horn honking. I turned around, and then the car speeded up. It raced past me and went right through the rail.”

“But what were you
doing
there?” Phyllis had demanded.

Melissa still wore the old ruffled dress, but her face had been wiped clean of the pale makeup that had given her a pallor of death. She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, her eyes fixing on the floor. “I—I don’t know,” she’d breathed.

“You don’t know?” Phyllis demanded.

Melissa shook her head unhappily. “I was in my room, getting ready for the party. I put the wig on, and then …” Her voice had trailed off and a tear trickled down her cheek. “It’s like I went to sleep or something. I don’t remember what happened until Jeff honked the horn at me.”

Now, with Mallory gone and Cora sent home, Phyllis’s eyes fixed angrily on her daughter. “You were sleepwalking again, weren’t you?” When Melissa made no reply, Phyllis repeated the question.
“Weren’t
you?”

Melissa shook her head and her eyes shifted to her father, pleading with him to help her.

“Why don’t we just leave it alone for tonight, Phyllis,” Charles said, glancing pointedly at his watch. “After what she’s been through, you can’t expect her to—”

“Been through?” Phyllis screeched, her voice rising. “What
she’s
been through? What about Jeff Barnstable? My own daughter decides to get dressed up in that”—she floundered for a moment, her eyes fixing balefully on the dress—“that
rag,
and goes out and scares him to death! Why?” she demanded, suddenly turning on Melissa and bending down so her furious eyes were only a few inches from her daughter’s face. “What possessed you? How could you do this to me?”

“I—I—” Melissa began, but the fear and confusion in her own mind suddenly overwhelmed her, and she buried her face in her hands.

“That’s enough, Phyllis!” Charles snapped. “Stop badgering her. For God’s sake, can’t you think of someone besides yourself for once? What about Melissa? And what about Paula Barnstable? Her son is dead!”

Phyllis whirled around, her eyes glittering with fury.
“Yes,” she said. “He is! And our daughter may have killed him. Can’t you understand the simplest thing? It doesn’t matter what happened out there—it’s what people
think
happened. And what happened is this!” Her voice suddenly dropped and she began enunciating her words with exaggerated clarity, as if speaking to a three-year-old child. “Jeff thought he saw D’Arcy, and it scared him so badly he ran off the road. And there is Melissa—our Melissa—dressed up like a ghost! Do you understand? Am I getting through to you? We’ll be lucky if anyone in the cove ever speaks to us again!”

Charles, the veins of his forehead standing out starkly from his pale skin, raised his hand. “Stop it!” he roared. “Don’t you think Melissa feels bad enough without you accusing her of—” He bit off his own words, falling silent for a moment as he regained control over his fury toward his wife. “We’re going to bed,” he announced. “There won’t be another word said about any of this tonight.” His eyes fixed on his wife. “Is that clear?”

Phyllis’s mouth opened for a second, then closed again, her lips pressing together and her nostrils flaring with barely suppressed rage. Taking Melissa’s hand, she pulled her out of the chair and led her from the room.

“Where are you going?” Charles demanded.

Her hand tightening on her daughter’s, Phyllis turned back to face him. “I’m putting her to bed,” she said, her voice cold. “That
is
what you wanted, isn’t it?” Without waiting for an answer, she spoke to Teri, who had been sitting in a chair by the fireplace, silently listening to her father and stepmother. “I think I could use some help,” she said. Instantly, Teri rose to her feet and followed her stepmother out of the room.

Ten minutes later, with her mother and half sister watching her, Melissa struggled to pull her arms out of the sleeves of the dress. Teri moved forward to help, but before she could touch the dress, Phyllis stopped her.

“Let her do it. She can’t keep on expecting people to do everything for her the rest of her life. She’s thirteen—the least she should be able to do is undress herself!”

Melissa fumbled with the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons at the cuffs of the dress and finally succeeded in undoing them. At last she pulled her arms free and the dress
dropped to the floor. Phyllis glanced at it distastefully, then shifted her eyes to Teri. “Get rid of it, will you, dear?”

Teri picked up the dress. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“I’m sure I don’t care, as long as none of us ever sees it again. Put it in the trash, I suppose. Cora can burn it in the morning.”

Teri hesitated, seeming about to speak, then apparently changed her mind. Carrying the dress with her, she left the room. When they were alone together, Phyllis spoke once more to Melissa.

“Put on your pajamas and get into bed,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Melissa stared at her mother, her eyes widening slightly, a cold knot of fear already forming in her belly. “Wh-Where are you going?”

Phyllis smiled coldly. “To get the restraints, of course.”

“But—”

“You
did
say you’d been sleepwalking earlier, didn’t you?”

“No,” Melissa protested. “I didn’t go to sleep. I—” She fell silent. How could she explain to her mother what had happened? She could imagine the look that would come into her mother’s eyes if she tried to tell her how she’d felt as she’d gotten ready for the party.

That she’d felt as though she were changing into someone else.

“Who?” her mother would demand.

And when she told her mother she’d had the feeling she was turning into D’Arcy …

She put the thought out of her mind. Her mother’s fury would boil over, and the restraints might be the least of what would happen.

“Maybe I
did
walk in my sleep,” she breathed, her words all but inaudible.

“What?” Phyllis demanded. “I couldn’t hear you.”

Melissa forced herself to look at her mother and speak the words again. “I said, maybe I did walk in my sleep.”

“And how do we stop that?” Phyllis pressed, her voice as relentless as her eyes.

Melissa tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat, threatening to choke her. “The—The straps,” she finally mumbled.

“Yes,” Phyllis repeated. “The straps. And it would make it a lot easier for both of us if you’d simply accept that they’re for your own good. Now get ready for bed. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She left the room, and Melissa slid out of her underclothes, then pulled on her pajamas. Then Phyllis returned, the dreaded leather and nylon restraints over her arm.

But as she was beginning to fasten them to the bed, Charles appeared in the doorway. “I just came in to say—” he began, but the words died on his lips when he saw his wife. “Jesus Christ, Phyllis, what are you doing?”

Phyllis glanced up at her husband. “I’m strapping her down, of course,” she said. “We can’t have her wandering around in her sleep, can we?”

“Well, we’re certainly not going to indulge in that kind of barbarism,” Charles replied, his voice harsh. “I told you we weren’t going to use those things, and I meant it.”

Phyllis froze. “It’s just for tonight.”

But Charles shook his head. “Not tonight, and not any other night, either. I won’t have my daughter strapped down.”

“But Dr. Andrews said—”

“We haven’t talked to Burt Andrews in months. And we certainly didn’t talk to him tonight.” He moved to the bed and gently stroked his daughter’s cheek. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he soothed. “Don’t be frightened. Nothing’s going to happen.” He gazed into Melissa’s eyes and frowned, recognizing what he saw there. Terror. And something else.

There was an oddly blank look, almost as if she’d sunk so far into her fear of the restraints that she wasn’t even aware of his presence. His eyes shifted over to Phyllis. “Have you been using these?” he asked.

Phyllis gasped. “Of course not,” she said. “Not until tonight—why would I?”

Charles’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t know,” he said. “And I hope I don’t find out that you have.” His gaze went back to Melissa, who was now looking up at him
eagerly, the fear and the peculiar blankness ebbing away. “Are you all right, Missy?”

Melissa nodded.

“Have you had to wear the restraints before?” he asked. “I mean, this summer?”

Melissa hesitated, but just before she was about to speak, she saw her mother glaring furiously at her over her father’s shoulder. And tomorrow night her father would be leaving for the week. Her heart pounding, she shook her head. “No, Daddy,” she whispered. “I—I didn’t even know we still had them.”

Charles put his arms around his daughter and hugged her. “And after tonight,” he assured her, “we won’t. I promise you.” He glanced up at Phyllis, “I want you to get rid of them,” he told her, his tone conveying that he would brook no argument. “Right now. Say good night to Melissa and then get those things out of the house. Tonight.”

Phyllis’s jaw worked as she struggled to keep her fury in check. Finally, taking the restraints with her but saying nothing at all, she left Melissa’s room. Within five minutes the restraints were buried deep inside a cedar chest filled with blankets that was kept in Charles’s own dressing room.

It was, she knew, the last place he’d look.

Teri stood behind the door that separated Melissa’s room from the small bathroom the two of them shared. Through the heavy wooden panels she could hear the soft murmur of her father’s voice as he comforted her half sister, and once or twice she thought she heard Melissa laughing quietly. At last, when she finally heard Charles saying good night to Melissa, Teri hurried back into her own room, leaving the hall door slightly ajar, and slipped into bed to wait.

In a minute her father would come in to say good night to her, too.

The seconds ticked by, and finally she heard Melissa’s door being closed and her father’s footsteps as he came down the hall.

She waited for the door to open and her father’s face to appear.

Instead, a shadow passed by her room, and her father’s footsteps faded away as he crossed the broad mezzanine above the stairs and turned into the wing in the opposite corner of the house, where the master suite was located.

As the house fell silent, Teri lay staring at the ceiling, her anger growing steadily.

She’d been perfect tonight—everyone at the club had thought she was the prettiest girl there.

She’d even seen the pride in her father’s eyes when he’d watched her dancing in the center of the ballroom with Brett Van Arsdale.

But then Melissa had shown up, tears streaming down her face, and Teri herself had been instantly forgotten.

And from that moment her father had barely left Melissa’s side, fawning over her, hugging her, kissing her.

Loving her.

And ignoring Teri as if she didn’t exist.

The longer she thought about it, the more her anger grew.

In her own room, Melissa lay wide awake, trying once more to understand what had happened that night.