All Fall Down (27 page)

Something hit the French doors, and they both jumped. Ashley suddenly began to bark again. “What is it?” Joan demanded furiously. “Who’s out there?”

Logan
, Blaine prayed. But Logan wouldn’t fling himself against the doors. Peering into the snow, she saw a small figure that scratched on the glass. “Mrs. Avery?” it called weakly. “Mrs. Avery, help me!”

Blaine’s heart seemed to drop into her stomach. It was Tim. So all along he’d been on his way to her house, where he thought love and safety awaited him.

“Open the door,” Joan ordered.

“Oh, Joan, please. It’s Logan Quint’s son, and he’s only seven.”

“I said, open the door!”

“He’ll go away if we just ignore him.”

Joan looked at her stonily.

“Joan…”

“
Open it!
” Joan shouted.

Blaine’s jaw clenched. “I won’t.”

“Then I’ll shoot you right now, and shoot him through the glass before he has a chance to run. Do you prefer that option?”

And she will, Blaine knew. What’s one unplanned murder to her? Rigidly, feeling frozen, she went to the door and opened it. Tim almost fell into the room.

Blaine knelt and held him to her. His little face was swollen with cold, his eyes and nose were running, his black hair was soaking wet. He was shivering violently.

“I d-didn’t think I w-was gonna m-make it,” he managed through chattering teeth. “I g-got lost.”

“Oh, Tim,” Blaine moaned, holding him against her.

“So you’re Logan Quint’s child,” Joan said easily. “It’s hard to tell much about your looks in your present condition, but I’d say the Indian blood is quite prominent.”

Tim looked past Blaine at Joan, his face puckering. “Who’re you?”

“A friend.”

Ashley was back at the kitchen door, her paws stabbing through the crack at the bottom as she barked ferociously. “How c-come Ashley’s in t-there?” he asked.

“Because I don’t want to shoot her,” Joan said.

Tim’s eyes widened, and Blaine knew they’d fastened on Joan’s gun. “You’re g-gonna
shoot
us?”

“No. I have something much more fun in mind. Blaine, stand up.”

Blaine touched Tim’s cold face, tried to smile reassuringly, and stood, never turning loose his hand in its wet leather glove. “All right, Joan. What now?”

“Now I think we’ll take a little walk.”

“But there’s a
blizzard
,” Tim cried.

“
You
made it through the snow, didn’t you?”

“But I got lost and I kept fallin’ down.” He looked imploringly at Joan. “Please don’t shoot us, and please don’t make us go back out there.”

“Pretty please with sugar on it?” Joan asked sweetly.

“Sugar and a cherry on top,” Tim said fervently.

Joan’s smile faded. “Request denied.”

As Blaine had listened to this bizarre interchange between Joan and Tim, she had been aware that Ashley was no longer barking. Now she heard a noise in the kitchen, like wood hitting linoleum. At the same moment that she realized what had happened, Ashley appeared outside the French doors, barking frantically.

“How did she get out there?” Joan demanded.

Blaine swallowed. “She must have chewed the knobs off the lock panel of the dog door leading outside.”

“Ashley, help us!” Tim yelled.

The dog hurled herself at the glass, which shuddered but didn’t break. Her lips disappearing into a slit, Joan aimed the revolver at the doors. Blaine and Tim both screamed as a shot shattered the glass. The dog yelped and was silent.

“I didn’t want to do that,” Joan said regretfully.

Tim burst into tears. “You…you
witch!
My daddy’s gonna get you! My daddy’s gonna hang you from the highest tree for what you did, you horrible, big, ugly,
mean—
”

“Timmy, don’t,” Blaine said, pulling him against her.

“But she
killed
Ashley!”

“And now I’m going to kill the two of you,” Joan said calmly. “Outside.
Now
.”

So this is how it’s going to end, Blaine thought distantly. A string of violent murders to end with the deaths of Tim and me.

Blaine felt tears sliding down her face as, coatless and still clutching Tim’s hand, she stepped out into the frozen night. The end, the end. Is this all life was? A little, innocent boy dying because he happened to come to the wrong house on the wrong night?

Then her eyes shot around her. There was no body of a golden retriever. Blood dotted the snow where Ashley had stood when Joan shot him, but it wasn’t a lot of blood. For some reason, Blaine’s heart soared. Ashley was alive. And if Ashley had made it…

Tim tugged at her hand and murmured so softly that Joan, walking behind them, could not hear. “Ashley’s okay.” Blaine nodded. Then Tim whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll get us out of this.”

Blaine almost laughed at this dear little boy with his fierce loves and his emotional strength. Already his tears had dried, and despite the snow beating their faces, Blaine could see his determined expression. At that moment he looked exactly like Logan.

Clad only in boots, jeans, and a loose-knit sweater, Blaine was immediately freezing. Her hair blew wildly in the wind, sometimes lashing painfully against her face. Tim squeezed her hand. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Go
on
,” Joan shouted above the wind. “Into the woods.”

The hem of Blaine’s jeans was soaking, and she was shivering almost uncontrollably. And what about Tim? she wondered. He’d been outside for at least an hour. Thankfully, he’d remembered to wear his gloves, but his face could already be frostbitten. What could his mother have said to upset him enough to make him run away on such a godforsaken night as this? she thought, trying to fill her mind with something besides fear. Allie Quint hadn’t said why he’d run off, but instinctively Blaine knew something disastrous was happening in the marriage of Logan and Dory. Dory. Cait had seen her once at a library reception. She’d told Blaine that Dory was blond and beautifully fine-featured, although a petulant mouth and restless, troubled eyes had somewhat ruined the effect.

Your thoughts are rambling, Blaine told herself. You have to concentrate, just like you did when Joan was chasing you through the woods at Bernice’s house. Concentrate on what you’re doing and how you’re going to save Tim, even if saving yourself is impossible.

Trees suddenly rose in front of them. In the swirling snow they had missed the entrance to the path, and Blaine paused, knowing that the floor of the woods here was a mass of vines. “Go
on
,” Joan snapped.

Blaine pushed her wet hair back from her face. “This isn’t the path. Don’t you want to find the path?”

The gun pressed into her back. “I don’t give a damn about the path. Stop stalling.
Walk
.”

The vines were frozen talons that grabbed at their shoes. Tim fell once and Blaine heard a tiny sob escape him before he quickly clambered to his feet and controlled himself again. He isn’t going to let Joan know how terrified he is, Blaine thought. He doesn’t realize she isn’t even aware of our emotions anymore. She glanced back to see Joan smiling crookedly, her eyes glazed. Somehow the sight was more frightening than the gun aimed inches from her back.

Finally they reached the path, but Joan ordered them to cross it and head back into the woods again. She’s taking us to the creek, Blaine told herself in despair. She’s going to kill us by the creek, just like she did Rosie.

They staggered over the snow and the vines. If only she’d fall, Blaine thought furiously.
Why
can’t she fall? Then I could get the gun. But Joan seemed remarkably sure-footed, much more so than Blaine and Tim, who kept tripping and clinging to each other for balance. Blaine was no longer trembling—she was numb. Probably too numb to even grab the gun if Joan did drop it.

“I really must apologize for this weather,” Joan shouted. “The night Rosie died out here was just beautiful.”

She sounded so matter-of-fact, as if she were discussing a social event. Blaine felt Tim shudder as he clung more tightly to her hand, but his eyes stared straight ahead as they crunched over the frozen vines and zigzagged around huge trees laden with snow.

Suddenly there was a rushing noise behind Blaine, followed by a stabbing pain in her arm. She shrieked and whirled, but it was too late. Joan had already plunged a syringe into her upper arm. Dilaudid, Blaine thought as Joan drew back, aiming the gun at her again. The syringe, more than half empty, still hung in Blaine’s arm and she tore it loose, letting it drop on the ground.

“What did you do to her?” Tim screamed.

“Took her by surprise,” Joan said pleasantly.

“You gave her a shot and she’s
bleeding!
”

“Just shut up and keep walking.”

They plodded on again, but within minutes Blaine felt the drug coursing through her, slowing her down, blurring her vision. Tree limbs groaned above them, battered by the unrelenting wind, and somewhere off to the right she heard a loud cracking. No doubt it was a sumac with its weak wood. The wind must be tearing a limb from it, or perhaps the whole tree was going to crash down. A night of death and destruction, Blaine thought.

And then they were at the creek bank. Blaine stiffened as she looked down into the dark, cold water.

“End of the line,” Joan said grimly. Tim looked up at Blaine, this time unable to keep the fear from his brown eyes.

“Now what?” Blaine asked, noticing that her voice sounded slightly slurred. She wanted to lie down in the snow and go to sleep.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that all the way here,” Joan said. “I think simple death is a little too good for you, Blaine. So I’ve decided to kill the boy while you’re still conscious. I want you to die with the horrible image of him being murdered dancing in your brain.” She looked at Tim kindly. “It won’t hurt, honey, really. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m
not
afraid of you!” Tim shouted.

“Of course you’re not,” Joan said in a patronizing tone. Then she looked at Blaine. “Tell me, are all children such habitual liars?”

“I really wouldn’t know,” Blaine answered. “But I
do
know that he’s afraid. He’s terrified.”

Tim’s eyes blazed up at her. “I’m
not!
I’m not a bit—”

Blaine squeezed his hand so hard he winced. Then, with her head turned slightly away from Joan, she winked at Tim. He frowned, and she wasn’t sure he realized she was winking, or if he thought she’d simply developed a twitch from the cold. “Admit it, Tim. You’re scared to death, aren’t you?”

Tim hesitated. She held her breath, releasing it only when he said, “Well, kind of.”

“And you’re going to do whatever this lady tells you,
aren’t
you?”

Blaine’s heart beat in heavy thuds coming too far apart. If she could only make him seem weak and cooperative, maybe Joan would take her eyes off him long enough to let him get away. It was already too late for her. In a couple of minutes she wouldn’t be able to stand. Another excruciating five seconds passed while Tim looked at her. Then his face suddenly puckered in a good imitation of sobbing. He turned to Joan. “Yeah, lady, I’ll do anything. Only
please
don’t hurt me!”

“That’s better,” Joan said. “That is much, much better. I’ll tell you what I want you to do. I want you to sit down by that tree over there.”

Tim stood absolutely still, and Blaine could feel fright rushing through him. “Do as she says, Tim.”

“B-but she’s gonna
kill
me!”

“Just do as she says, and she might change her mind.”

Tim looked at her imploringly. “Mrs. Avery?”

“Don’t call her that!” Joan snapped. “She’s plain old Blaine O’Connor, nothing but trash.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Just go ahead,” Blaine said, nudging him. Joan stood about two feet behind her and she staggered, as if the drug were having an even more profound effect on her than it was. Joan tensed as Blaine regained her balance nearly six inches closer to her, but Blaine kept her eyes on Tim. “Go on, Timmy. Go stand by that big oak.”

Tim released her hand and with dragging steps walked to the tree. He looked so small against its wide trunk. He stood with his back to them until Joan said, “Turn around, little boy. I don’t want it said that I shot someone in the back. Besides, I want Blaine to see your eyes when you die.”

Joan took a step forward. Blaine’s breath labored in her chest. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to refocus. And she prayed for strength.

Very slowly, Tim turned around. His hands were clenched; his swollen face was defiant. Blaine felt rather than saw Joan aim the gun at Tim before she hurled herself to the left.

A shot exploded as Blaine and Joan both crashed to the ground. “Tim,
run!
” Blaine screamed, not knowing whether or not the little boy had been hit.

“Mrs. Avery!” he yelled.

“Run!” she screamed again as Joan cursed and threw Blaine off her. Blaine toppled sideways, her face pressing into the snow. “Where is it?” Joan shrieked. “Where
is
it?”

The gun, Blaine thought. I knocked the gun out of her hand. And then she saw it lying in the snow near her left foot. She could never raise herself up, grab it, and shoot Joan. She just didn’t have the strength to sit up or to hold onto the gun if Joan fought her for it. Instead she flung out her leg. Her booted foot connected with the gun and sent it skittering a couple of feet through the snow and over the bank into the dark waters of the creek.

“You bitch!” Joan gasped as she crawled toward Blaine. “You think you’ve won, don’t you? But you haven’t.”

Suddenly Blaine felt Joan’s strong hands on her shoulders, lifting her, dragging her through the snow toward the creek. Blaine kicked weakly, trying to struggle, but her strength was almost gone.

Joan rolled her over the bank of the creek. Blaine landed faceup, swallowing dirty, frigid water. Gagging, she managed to raise her head out of the shallow water and draw a breath, although her lungs felt as if they didn’t really work anymore. The drug was slowing her respiration. Her head went under again, and this time she held her breath as long as she could before weakly lifting it once more. Joan pounced on her like a cat.

“Drown, dammit!”

Blaine’s hands sank in the dirt of the creek bottom. She raised them and tried to claw at Joan, but all she managed was weak flailing. She gasped frantically, but there wasn’t enough air. But there was sound. Was that a dog barking? Blaine wondered foggily as Joan pushed her head under the water again. No. It must have been her imagination. Everything was such a horrible jumble. All that existed was black, foul-smelling water. Hands on her face. Knees on her chest. Her lungs screaming for air.