Terrified (51 page)
All at once, the lights went on in the room. She realized he’d made every effort to make the little cell like her bedroom at home—the brass bed, the sage brocade-pattern spread, the framed palm-tree print on the wall. Had he done this to make her comfortable—and more at home?
Megan turned toward the long, horizontal mirror on the wall. That wasn’t in her room at the townhouse. But it was here, and she’d been on the other side of that mirror, looking in. She knew he was watching her right now.
“Welcome home, Megan,” he said over the intercom.
There was a sudden
whoosh-clink.
Megan turned toward the door, where a drawer had popped out of the bottom panel.
whoosh-clink.
Megan turned toward the door, where a drawer had popped out of the bottom panel.
“You’ll remove your clothes and place them in the drawer,” she heard him say.
“What?” Megan asked.
“I forgot to search you. And I don’t allow my guests to have cell phones. Take off your clothes—in front of the mirror so I can see you. You’ll get them back shortly.”
Megan stared into the mirror, knowing he was on the other side.
But something up on the TV caught her eye—something in that green-glowing image of the SUV parked between the farmhouse and the barn. A grainy, almost indistinguishable figure was hobbling past the elm tree to the barn. She knew it had to be Dan. He was alive, and he was going to get Josh out of there.
She quickly turned toward the mirror again. “I’m not undressing for you,” she announced. “You almost got me to do that a few days ago, and it didn’t work then. It’s not going to work now… .”
She stole another glance up at the TV. The barn door was open now.
Travis had the same image on one of the monitors outside this room. Had he noticed yet?
Megan eyed the mirror once more. “Are you looking at me?” she asked.
“Of course,” she heard him reply. “I’m always watching you, Lisa.”
She started shaking. “I—I’ll take off my sweater for you, and nothing more.” She pulled off the sweater, and slipped her hand inside the pocket. She clutched the revolver. In her head, she could still hear Candy asking her if she’d ever fired a gun before.
“You’re trembling,” he commented. “You shouldn’t be nervous, Lisa. You’ve undressed for me many times before. You just didn’t know it at the time.”
Megan caught a glimpse of the TV again. The door was still open, and she saw two grainy figures emerging from the barn. One seemed to be helping the other.
“Are you still looking at me?” she asked anxiously. The balled-up sweater covered the revolver in her grasp. She aimed at the mirror. “Travis?”
“I’m watching …” he started to say.
He didn’t finish.
Cringing, Megan squeezed the trigger. Her arm jerked back as a deafening shot resounded in the little room. The mirror cracked around the singular bullet hole. The pattern looked like a spiderweb, but for only a second. Megan fired again and again. She couldn’t help screaming out at the loud blasts. There was an explosion of glass as the mirror shattered. She fired one more time, and heard him let out a wounded cry.
She stared at the gaping hole, where the mirror had been just moments ago. Jagged silver shards still lined parts of the window frame. She was shaking uncontrollably. Tears streaked down her face.
Taking a step forward, she saw Travis on the other side of the window. He was writhing on the cellar floor amid the shattered silver glass. His face must have been sprayed with fragments, because it was freckled with blood. Around the area of his left rib cage, the gray sweater with blue and white fleurs-de-lis was crimson. The gun had been knocked out of his hands, and he was gasping for air. The way he breathed, it sounded like a death rattle.
Still, Megan wished she could get into that next room and grab the gun off the floor. But she was helpless. The mirror frame was too high for her to climb through.
She gazed up at the TV, and saw two police cars parked in the driveway, near the SUV. Someone must have called the police. There were several blurry figures with that emerald glow around them. They were heading toward the farmhouse. One of them seemed to take the lead, but others kept trying to hold him back. She was pretty certain it was Josh.
Megan put her sweater back on. She stood at the opening in the wall with the gun ready—in case Travis tried to make a move. She didn’t know how many bullets she had left, but neither did he.
She would call to them when she heard the first floorboard creak. The police were on their way. Her fifteen years of running, hiding and worrying were over. She’d broken several laws when she’d first moved to Seattle, and now she’d have to take whatever they gave her as punishment for that.
It didn’t matter right now. Dan was all right. And she heard her teenage son’s familiar booming footsteps above her.
Josh was on his way.
From inside the ambulance, lying on a collapsible gurney, Dan lifted his head and smiled at her. Then he gave her a feeble wave. He’d been shot in the back and in his left thigh. Megan had overheard one of the paramedics say he’d lost a lot of blood. Though groggy, he was still conscious when they loaded him in the back of the ambulance.
Hovering outside by the emergency vehicle’s door, Megan tried to keep out of the paramedics’ way. She smiled and waved back at him. She mouthed the words,
Thank you, Dan,
just seconds before one of the attendants shut the door.
Thank you, Dan,
just seconds before one of the attendants shut the door.
She stepped back as the vehicle turned around and started up the driveway, which was lined with eight police cars, parked over to one side. All the red flashers and spotlights were on, illuminating the front of Travis’s farmhouse. Two more ambulances were parked near the house. Static-laced announcements were coming over radios every few seconds. Megan guessed there were at least twenty cops and paramedics on the scene.
One solemn-faced blond policewoman with a ponytail hadn’t wandered far from Megan’s side ever since they’d left the basement. Another cop, tall with dark eyes and curly black hair, had already grilled Megan about what had happened. She knew it was the first of many police interviews to come tonight. Josh, standing nearby, had heard most of it. But obviously, he was still confused about a lot of things.
“Hey, Detective Goldschmidt!” one of the cops yelled. He stood in the farmhouse’s doorway. The policeman with the curly black hair looked up—and so did a few others. “Down in the basement,” announced the cop. “We found something in the freezer.”
The detective and three uniformed policemen quickly headed for the front door.
Megan turned and watched the gravel dust rise as the ambulance churned up the long driveway. Then she gazed over at Josh. His arms folded, he was leaning against Teresa’s car and looking very serious. One of the cops had moved the Mazda closer to the house to clear the way. Josh wore an oversized slightly garish sweater Megan didn’t recognize, and he didn’t have any shoes on.
He’d already been grilled by another cop. Between her and Josh, the police questioning had quashed some of the joy from their reunion—for Josh, especially. After everything he’d heard, Megan knew she must seem like a stranger to him now. Not helping matters any, she even looked different—with her bandaged hand, and her hair cut and dyed.
The policewoman shadowed her as she strolled over beside Josh and leaned against the car, too. “How are you doing?” she asked.
He shrugged and glanced toward the driveway and the ambulance in the distance. “So—that Dan guy who got me out of the U-Haul,” he said. “How do you know him?”
“I met him thanks to you,” Megan replied, nudging him. “He was the one Matefinder date I liked. Dan’s been a lot of help to me through all of this. He saved both of us.”
Josh just nodded. Frowning, he looked over at the paramedics, wheeling an unconscious Travis toward the back of the waiting ambulance. One of the medics was holding an oxygen mask over Travis’s face.
“I still don’t get who he was,” Josh muttered. “He’s not my father, right?”
“No, he’s someone who knew your father, and despised him—with good reason, I’m sorry to say. He— he murdered your father sometime within the last few days.” She slowly shook her head. “Josh, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about your—your dad, and so many, many other things. I hope you don’t hate me.”
Inching away from her a bit, he let out a long sigh. “I just don’t know who anybody is anymore.”
Megan felt herself tearing up. “Well, do you know who I am?”
He didn’t say anything.
Wiping her eyes, Megan glanced down at the ground—and the dirty, worn socks covering his feet. “Oh, honey,” she murmured. “We really should get you some shoes. Maybe one of these policemen has an extra pair. Your feet must be freezing. You’re going to end up with a cold… .”
She looked up at him.
Josh cracked a tiny smile. “That question you asked me earlier,” he said. “You’re my mom, that’s who you are.”
E
PILOGUE
PILOGUE
H
is mom had tried to talk him out of it, but Josh still wanted to meet her at the townhouse. He guessed it was about an hour until sunset on that cool, crisp Saturday afternoon in early November—and probably his last chance to ride his bike without getting rained on or freezing his ass off. He’d have to switch to his winter jacket after today, too. It was too cold for his orange Sunset Bowl jacket. Considering his mom thought the jacket was pretty ugly, it made him smile to think she’d carried it around with her while on the run for two days.
is mom had tried to talk him out of it, but Josh still wanted to meet her at the townhouse. He guessed it was about an hour until sunset on that cool, crisp Saturday afternoon in early November—and probably his last chance to ride his bike without getting rained on or freezing his ass off. He’d have to switch to his winter jacket after today, too. It was too cold for his orange Sunset Bowl jacket. Considering his mom thought the jacket was pretty ugly, it made him smile to think she’d carried it around with her while on the run for two days.
He’d ridden this bike route between Darren’s house in Wallingford and his home at least five hundred times. Unless the University Bridge went up, it took only fifteen minutes each way. Today, it seemed much longer than usual—maybe because this was the last time.
Josh tried not to think about that as he pedaled down Eastlake Avenue, with the wind whipping through his hair. His fingers were getting pink on the handlebars, and he felt the cold air off the lake kissing his cheeks.
The last few weeks had been pretty crazy-weird. What with everything that had happened, they were big news. He and his mom were all over the Internet, TV and in the newspapers. There was even an article about them in
People
magazine, for God’s sake.
People
magazine, for God’s sake.
At school, he felt like a total freak. Suddenly, everyone knew who he was—including upperclassmen who were complete strangers. Josh felt like punching the next anonymous guy who came up to him in the hallway and asked if his kidnapper had molested him. The other question he always got was, “Hey, is your mom going to jail?” In answer, Josh would shrug and say he didn’t know.
While in the hospital recovering from the bullet wound that left him with a punctured lung, Travis McClaren—a.k.a. Lyle Duncan Cassidy—had given the police a full confession. He’d admitted to killing eleven people, including two women in Chicago; the father and the cousin Josh hadn’t known he had; five Seattle-area women who resembled Lisa Swann; the brunette the cops found in his deep freeze, Monica Zayle; and a lethal pedophile named Lionel Schreiber.
Josh barely remembered the incident at Westlake Center from ten years before, when Lyle Cassidy had saved his life. To hear Cassidy tell it, he was a big hero. But Josh couldn’t understand how the same guy could have killed all those other people—and locked him up for over three days.
After his detailed confession, Cassidy had turned around and pleaded not guilty at the pretrial hearing. Josh figured that sealed the deal about him being a major psycho. One of Josh’s mom’s lawyers said Cassidy didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of getting off, and he was probably looking at two consecutive life sentences.
“He just wants his day in court,” Josh had overheard the lawyer tell his mom during a recent visit to the townhouse.
The attorneys were talking with her every day—and sometimes coming over to the house. Josh usually left the living room, where they had their powwows, but he never strayed too far. Whether lurking at the top of the stairs or pretending to be focused on schoolwork at the kitchen counter—he’d listen to them. Though he now understood why his mother had kept so much from him for all those years, a part of him still couldn’t completely forgive her. He’d never been one to sneak around, eavesdropping on conversations. But he really couldn’t trust his mother to be open and honest with him now—especially if it was bad news. So whenever the lawyers came over, Josh tried to listen in.
“I think Lyle wants another shot at seeing you—even if it’s across a courtroom,” one of the attorneys told his mom. “Plus he’s probably itching to get it on record that Glenn more or less killed his sister, Cassie. In the long run, that’ll work in your favor, Megan. We can show that Glenn could have killed you, too. It explains why you had to do what you did. We’ll use that to help swing a deal with federal prosecutors… .”
Josh couldn’t keep track of all the federal charges his mother faced: aggravated identity theft, Social Security fraud, income tax fraud, and forgery, among others. The state of Illinois wanted to slap her with obstruction of justice charges, but because of “extenuating circumstances,” they’d backed down.
Josh figured those
circumstances
had something to do with the fact that his dad was a complete asshole. It was one of the toughest things he’d had to face. His mom tried to convince him that his dad hadn’t been a total creep. He’d been a fine surgeon, who had saved many, many lives, and blah, blah, blah. She said she’d fallen in love with a handsome, charming, compassionate man. But he’d had a dark side, and he might have killed her if she hadn’t run away.
circumstances
had something to do with the fact that his dad was a complete asshole. It was one of the toughest things he’d had to face. His mom tried to convince him that his dad hadn’t been a total creep. He’d been a fine surgeon, who had saved many, many lives, and blah, blah, blah. She said she’d fallen in love with a handsome, charming, compassionate man. But he’d had a dark side, and he might have killed her if she hadn’t run away.
All Josh could see was the dark side. No one had anything nice to say about his dead father. But then the police uncovered a tape recording Lyle Cassidy had made while beating Dr. Glenn Swann with a small baseball bat. Apparently, his father had been gagged most of the time, but every once in a while, Cassidy took the gag out to hear him beg and cry. Josh still remembered those wounded-animal sounds on the other side of the mirror a few hours before he’d broken out of the locked room. He realized those muffled sounds had been his father screaming in agony during the beating. Josh never heard the recordings, but one of his mother’s attorneys had access to them. He’d said Dr. Glenn Swann had pleaded with his attacker to spare his son’s life. The lawyer said he’d counted—and fourteen times, Josh’s dad had said the same thing: “Please, don’t hurt the boy.”
So Josh figured his dad wasn’t one hundred percent rotten. There must have been some good in him—or at least, he told himself that.
He pedaled past the spot along Eastlake where he’d saved the stroke victim, Dr. Hewitt. Now he understood why his mom hadn’t been able to attend that ceremony with the mayor, the press, and all those policemen. He’d thought it was because she didn’t care. That seemed like so long ago. Josh turned down the side street and checked his wristwatch. It was 4:20. His mom was probably at the house, waiting for him.
They’d spent last night at a hotel. He hadn’t been home since yesterday afternoon, when the storage company came to take everything away. His mom had told him that he could keep whatever he wanted—any of her DVDs, books, framed photos, or his favorite coffee mug, anything. He’d taken his desk chair and a few other items from his bedroom—whatever would fit okay in Darren’s basement room. He would be staying with the Willinghams for a while. They were pretty cool about it. He’d already moved practically all his stuff over there.
His mom had wanted to say good-bye to him at the Willinghams’, but Josh had insisted since she was going over to the townhouse, they should say good-bye there—with nobody else around. Mrs. Willingham had picked him up at the Double Tree Suites this morning so he could hang out with Darren. Meanwhile, his mom went over some last-minute stuff with her lawyers—who were probably charging a fortune for working on a Saturday.
His uncle’s boyfriend was paying for the attorneys. Josh had never even known he’d had an uncle. But then, he hadn’t missed anything. By the time he was born, the guy had already been dead. It was weird seeing all these pictures his mom had been hiding—photos of her with her brother. He was this good-looking gay guy named Cliff. And Cliff’s boyfriend, Sean Hurley, was the blond-haired man his mom had passed off as his dad in those framed pictures she kept around their apartments. Josh had never felt any real connection to the man in those photographs. Apparently, Sean Hurley had made a ton of money selling off a dot-com company at just the right time back in the late nineties, and he’d gotten a ton more after Uncle Cliff had died. As soon as this Sean guy had found out his mom was alive—and in trouble—he’d hired this team of attorneys for her. If it weren’t for them, his mom would have been a hell of a lot worse off than she was.
Even though he still hadn’t met him yet, Josh could now look at the blond man in those photos with his mother, and finally feel connected to him. At the last minute yesterday, Josh had grabbed that photo of his mom and Sean Hurley on the deck of a cruise ship, and he took it to Darren’s house this morning.
His mother had to drop off the apartment keys and sign some papers the landlord had left for her on the bottom step of the front stairs. It was for the damage deposit or something. Josh wasn’t sure.
He just knew it was the last thing she had on her list of chores today. At six o’clock tonight, she had to report to the Federal Detention Center in SeaTac. In the deal her lawyers had made with federal prosecutors, she was sentenced to a term of a year and one day. With good behavior, she’d be paroled in about nine months.
As he turned down their block, Josh had a lump in his throat. That was why he didn’t want anyone else around when they said good-bye. He was afraid he’d start crying, and didn’t need an audience. He could see the lights on in the windows of their townhouse. His mom was there, waiting for him.
Josh left his bike unlocked at the bottom of the steps leading up to the front door. He found the door ajar and pushed it open farther. He paused at the threshold.
Sitting on the stairs, his mother clutched her purse in her lap and had a Kleenex wadded up in her left hand. They’d finally taken the bandage and the splint off her finger two weeks ago. It was scarred, but working okay. She gave him a pale smile. It looked like she’d been crying. She wore a black sweater and gray slacks. She was starting to look like herself again lately. Her hair had grown out and it was turning a light chestnut brown.
“Hey,” Josh said, trying to pretend he didn’t notice the tears in her eyes. “Did you get the papers signed?”
Nodding, she cleared her throat. “I left them on the kitchen counter along with the keys. Honey, it’s getting too cold for that jacket.”
“I know, Mom,” he said. “I’m switching over to the other one tomorrow.”
He wandered into the empty living room. The shelves that had once held her books and DVDs and photos of him were vacant now. The blank walls looked dirty somehow. He forced himself to go through every empty room—the same way, years ago, he’d approached the open casket at old Mr. Preebe’s wake. He’d been curious, morbid, and sentimental—and what he’d seen had been just an empty shell of his kind, old neighbor.
Looking at his own room was the worst, because he no longer saw anything of himself in there. Josh didn’t linger long. It was all he could do to keep from crying like a baby. He ducked into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. Now he knew why his mom had tried to talk him out of meeting here. It was an incredibly dumb idea. This wasn’t their home anymore. It was just an empty shell.
He used some wadded-up toilet paper to pat dry his face. Then he plodded down the stairs. His mother scooted over, and he sat next to her on a step near the bottom.
“You okay?” she asked, patting his back.
He shook his head. He knew if he tried to talk he’d start crying.
“Honey, like I told you before,” she said, still caressing his back. “It’ll only be nine or ten months. Then all this will be behind us, and we’ll find a nice place to live. Just think of this period as a dress rehearsal for when you go off to college. You’re a big boy, you’ll be okay. You love spending the night at the Willinghams’. So—this is like an extended overnight… .”
“She’s a nice lady, but Mrs. Willingham’s cooking sucks,” he said, half-laughing, half-crying. “Last time I was there, we had Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, and she forgot to add the cheese powder. She served us cooked noodles in warm milk. And Darren ate it up like it was just fine! I couldn’t believe it. I swear to God, Mom, I’ll starve to death before you even get out of jail… .” He turned toward her and buried his face into her shoulder. He couldn’t help it. He’d stopped laughing, and was just crying now. “What’s going to happen to you in there?”
“Listen—listen to me,” he heard her say. “We’re going to be okay. We can email every day, and as long as I’m at the SeaTac facility, you can visit me every two weeks. The conditions of the federal places are much better than the state facilities. They’ve already told me I can work as a teacher in the adult continuing education classes. Teaching was my first love. You know, I couldn’t do it here. I was worried if they ever went looking for me, they’d start with teacher listings. This—this is going to be very fulfilling. I’ll keep busy. I’ll catch up on my reading. I’ll exercise… .”
“Give me a break, Mom,” he grumbled. Gently pulling away from her, he wiped his eyes. “You’re making it sound like Club Med.”
“Okay, it won’t be easy,” she said, her voice a little strained. “But it won’t be something out of
The Shawshank Redemption
either. I’ll get through this. All right?”
The Shawshank Redemption
either. I’ll get through this. All right?”
Josh gave her a dubious look. It was just like his mom to try and make it sound better than it was. She’d been doing the same thing the last few weeks, finding nice things to say about his dad, who had nearly beaten her to death. She’d spent the last fourteen years keeping the cold, hard truth about her background from him. But she hadn’t done it to protect herself. All this time, she’d been protecting him.
Josh worked up a smile for her and nodded. “Okay, Mom,” he whispered.
He heard a car outside, turning into their driveway. He got to his feet and went to the door.
“That must be Dan,” his mother said, dabbing her eyes with the Kleenex.
They walked outside together. There was something so final about the sound of the lock clicking as she shut the door behind them.
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