Winds of terror (6 page)

Melanie turned to see Cale rolling himself across the lawn. He could really get around in his wheelchair, she

reflected; there didn't seem to be any place he couldn't go.

"If you'd been in a cage for two days, you'd understand," she laughed. The smile left her face and was replaced by a look of acute embarrassment as she realized how ill-chosen her words had been. Cale was in a cage of sorts—imprisoned in that chair.

But Cale didn't seem to notice. His eyes were shining, and the wide grin added to his charm. Melanie suspected that at one time he had probably been a real favorite with the girls.

"How does Grandmother feel about your having a dog here?" he asked.

Melanie repeated what Addie had said that morning. He nodded thoughtfully.

"She really believes Todd is coming back from his grave to haunt her, doesn't she? He was a wild one, but no one is that wild. It's Mark she'd better watch out for. He's the crafty one.'*

"Mark?" Melanie had to laugh at that. "You didn't grow up here, Cale, so you don't remember how it was. Mark would jump if Todd so much as blinked at him. He hasn't got the backbone to do one devilish deed."

He frowned, and she saw his hands clench the arms of the chair.

"He's crafty, Melanie. He's going to find a way to get this whole plantation for himself."

"Aunt Addie won't let that happen," Melanie said quickly.

"Hell find a way. He'll have her declared legally insane if he doesn't kill her first."

"He's your cousin, Cale," she said sternly. "You shouldn't talk like that."

"Okay, okay, forget I said anything," he offered, patting Dutch's head affectionately as the terrier nuzzled in his lap. "I'm not going to say another word about anything," he went on. "I think it's foolish for a pretty young girl like you to bury herself alive here with a bitter old woman, a cripple, and a conniving fortune-hunter, but it's your business."

Melanie decided to change the subject. "When are you going to learn how to drive the car you talked Addie into buying?**

"After I learn how to walk," he said. "Which may take years."

"Do you ever try?"

"Sure. Sometimes ..." He stared off into the distance. •Td like to walk again, almost as much as I'd like to be able to race again. There's something about racing that gets into your blood and never gets out. The smell of burning rubber and exhaust fumes becomes a kind of perfume; your blood races and your heart pounds . . /* He took a deep breath, held it, tiien let it go all at once, his lips spreading into a big smile. "Yep, I guess I want to drive again more than anything in the world. One day, I will."

Melanie's heart filled with pity, even though she knew it was the last emotion Cale would ever want her to feel for him. Even now, with his legs paralyzed and useless, there was a vibrancy about him, an enthusiasm for living, that few people ever have.

'The thing for you to do after nearly getting killed once," she said, "is to find some nice girl and get married and settle down and have a houseful of children."

A cloud seemed to come over Cale's eyes, and Melanie was sorry she had made such a statement. His hands went to his knees, and he shook his head.

"No woman wants a man like this," he said quietly as though he were stating a fact. "I found that out You see, I was engaged when I had the accident."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Cale sighed and went on, "Sylvia just didn't want to be a nursemaid to a cripple. I don't blame her. Oh, she tried to hang on, for appearance's sake, I guess. She came around to the hospital and said all the things a guy wants to hear at a time like that. She even visited me here once or twice. I saw through it all, though, and one day I just asked her why she didn't get lost. And she did."

He laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. "Sylvia was too much of a party girl to play Florence Nightingale. The last I heard, she was in Europe chasing after some Grand Prix driver...."

Melanie almost reached out to touch him, but checked herself in time. She decided it best just to keep quiet and let him talk on.

He turned his head to gaze at her. "You know," he

said thoughtfully, "I'll bet if your husband had come back from Korea a cripple or an amputee, you would've stood by him. You strike me as the kind who'd stick by a guy, no matter what."

"Thank you," she said, touched by his compliment. "I would've stood by Robert, and I would've been glad to get him back no matter what."

He nodded quietly. "Yep, I'll just bet you would.**

Their eyes met. Melanie, feeling imcomfortable, knelt and clapped her hands for Butch, who was off in the distance happily chasing a butterfly. He romped towards her, landing square upon her, but this time she was caught off balance and toppled backwards.

Laughing, she turned to share this moment with Cale, but her laughter faded as she saw him rolling towards the house, determination in every slap of his hands against the wheels. She got to her feet, feeling sad. Cale was a difficult guy to figure out, but then she couldn't crawl inside of him and know what made him tick. She reasoned it must be a terrible thing to find yourself suddenly immobile, crippled in the prime of life and at the begin-mng of an exciting career.

Butch tagged beside her as she walked towards the house. It was midaftemoon, and she wondered if Aunt Addie would like tea and some sugar cookies. She would go and see, she decided, and Butch would go along; maybe his zest for life would cheer up Addie.

The first thing Melanie noticed when she entered the house was the darkness. Earlier, after cleaning the downstairs, she had opened all drapes, and the sunshine had streamed through, filling the rooms with a glow of promise and good days to come. She hurried from window to window to open the drapes once again. Only Mark would have closed them, and she would say something to him about that. To shut out sunshine was to shut out happiness, she reasoned.

Butch nosed about while Melanie filled the room with light, and when she started up the steps, he bounded up ahead of her. Suddenly, at the very top step, he froze, and a low, ominous growl bubbled from deep in his throat. Goose bumps prickled Melanie's skin as she watched the hair on Butch's back stand up instantly.

She leaned down and whispered to him, "What is it,

boy?" Ahead loomed the darkened hallway, each door along both sides closed tightly.

Butch moved forward, sniffing the faded carpeting, and Melanie stayed close behind. All of a sudden he leaped ahead and turned sharply to the left. By the time Melanie could catch up with him, Butch was scratching and whining at the doorway of the sealed room—^Uncle Bartley's room.

"No, Butch, no!" Melanie grabbed his collar and tried to pull him away. He was not a large dog, but in his fury he was stronger than Melanie. He was barking loudly now, and his front paws were flailing at the air. When his barking changed to an annoyed howl, Melanie loosened her grasp on his collar for a split second, and he charged away from her and began digging furiously at the door, his nails raking the wood.

"What's going on out here?" A voice cut into the darkness as the hallway became flooded with light. Melanie saw Mark coming towards her, an angry scowl on his face. He seemed to come out of nowhere, for she had not heard a door open or close. "Get that dog out of here," he snapped.

"I can't," Melanie said helplessly. "I'm sorry, Mark. There's something about that room. Maybe he smells the mustiness or something. After almost fifteen years, I imagine it's pretty rank in there."

Mark's face grew red with anger, and he moved forward swiftly, sending his foot viciously into the dog's side. Immediately, Butch rolled into a whimpering, frightened ball of fluff, crying in pain.

"How dare you kick my dog like that?" Melanie cried, throwing herself to her knees beside the moaning dog. "He didn't mean any harm, he—"

Butch suddenly let out a loud, pain-filled yap, drowning out her voice of protest. From down the hall, the sharp ringing of a bell could barely be heard. Aunt Addie!

"If you want that dog, you keep him downstairs after this," Mark snapped. "I won't have the mutt carrying on like that! It disturbs Aunt Addie." He turned and hurried down the hall, and suddenly, Melanie was surrounded by darkness once again.

"He could have at least waited till I got to Addie*s room before he turned out the light," Melanie muttered,

as she lifted a still-whimpering Butch into her arms and hurried towards the clanging bell. She opened the door to her aunt's room, walked in and sat down beside the bed, and recounted what had just happened to the wide-eyed old woman.

"I can't believe it,** she finished. "Mark didn't seem distressed over my bringing Butch here. He never said a word against it, and he was so nice about driving me into town to pick him upl"

"Mark isn't himself—" Addie began, but Melanie cut her oft.

"I've never seen Mark so mean and vicious," she said. "He didn't try to help me pull Butch back. He just walked up out of nowhere and kicked him as hard as he couldl He was like a madmanl" She shuddered with horror.

Aunt Addie nodded and reached out to pat the dog, who looked at her fondly. "Mark isn't the same since Todd killed himself," she said. "I've heard that it's like that sometimes with twins—one dies and the other goes insane afterwards. It's easy to see how that could happen with Mark. Todd was so overbearing and had such a strong influence over him."

Melanie laughed in spite of the distress she was feeling. "Oh, Aunt Addie, you can't mean that," she scoffed. "Mark just has a temper that we don't know about. Maybe he's showing a side of himself that we never saw before because he was so dominated by Todd. Anyway, I don't think Butch is really hurt. His feelings suffered more than anything else, I guess, but it could have been serious, and I'm sure mad at Mark about it."

"Just the same," Addie warned, "I'd be careful if I were you. I've been thinking about it all day, and I have some suspicions about Mark."

"What kind of suspicions?"

The old woman shook her head and smiled. "I'm going to keep my thoughts to myself until I'm sure. I'm tired of being called crazy every time I open my mouth."

"Have I made you think that / thought you were crazy. Aunt Addie?"

The yoimg woman looked hurt, and Addie smiled at her. She was so like the woman who had adopted her— warm, sweet, sensitive to the feelings of those around her. No, Melanie had never given any indication that she thought her crazy. She could trust her, Addie felt

"It wasn't Mark that kicked your dog, Melanie. Not really." She lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. Melanie looked at her, obviously puzzled, and Addie went on. "It was Todd . . . Todd moving about in his twin's body, because his evil spirit will never rest in peace. Not in this world! Mark is possessed, because Todd had such a hold over him in life that he can have the same hold from the grave. Todd is a demon now, and demons come back from the dead and take possession of other folks' bodies!"

Melanie didn't scoff at her, nor did she say that she thought her idea was crazy. She wanted to choose her words carefully, because she knew the old woman was firm in what she had just said and Melanie did not want to ridicule her and risk hurting her feelings.

"Aunt Addie, I think maybe you are just superstitious.** She put Butch on the floor and watched in anger as he limped about the room, favoring his injured side.

She gave Addie a sympathetic smile and leaned over her. "You see, you always had animosity for Todd. Maybe you hated him a little, even though he was your own brother's son, your own nephew. It's easy for you to keep right on blaming him for everything that happens, even though he's dead. I say let Todd rest in peace. He's dead, and he can't hurt anyone ever again."

"It was Todd." Addie's voice rose, and her lips trembled. Melanie wasn't laughing at her, but she knew that the yoxmg girl did not believe her, and that someone had to before it was too late. "Todd is moving about in Mark's body because his evil spirit will never rest in peace!"

Melanie rose to her feet and moved towards the door. In spite of Addie's cantankerous ways, she loved the old woman. She was a part of her life and her childhood memories; she would never deliberately hurt her, especially now, when she was obviously sick.

"Aunt Addie, Todd is no longer in this world and neither is his spirit. Now I'm going to fix you some tea and sugar cookies, and I'm also going to call Dr. Ambrose and have him come by and take a look at you. Maybe he can give you something that will help you sleep better tonight."

Addie merely nodded, then turned her head to gaze out the window at the fields in the distance. Soon the

fields would be covered with cotton, as though snowballs had fallen from the sky and refused to melt.

Addie knew that Melanie did not believe her theory, but it was no matter. The young folks always think they know more than the old folks. Let her think whatever she chose. Someday, she'd realize old folks had a lot to teach the young.

Butch limped along beside Melanie as she made her way downstairs. In the kitchen, Melanie found Mark pouring himself some cold water from the refrigerator jug. When he started to leave, she could keep silent no longer.

"I want to know why, Mark, why?" She had wanted to keep her voice level, but the urge to scream was too strong to overcome.

He turned slowly, a wary expression on his face. "You want to know why... what?" he asked quietly.

She pointed at Butch. "You know very well what I'm talking about. I didn't know you could be so mean, Markl I didn't know you would deliberately be cruel to any animal. You could have really hurt Butch, kicking him that way."

He looked from her to the dog, then swallowed hard and said in a rush, "Look, Melly, I'm sorry. I do things sometimes, and even I don't understand myself why I do them. I didn't mean to hurt Butch, okay?**

He didn't sound very contrite and she didn't mellow.

"All he was doing was sniffing at that door. I imagine there's a lot there to sniff, too. Why, it's not even sanitary. As I recall, Uncle Bartley's last supper tray was still beside the bed ..."