Darkling I Listen (25 page)

His lips curved as he padded barefooted over to
Brandon
. His fish eyes looked wide and watery, their color a muddy brown. "So glad you could join me this evening, Brandon."

"My mom brought me," he managed in a dry voice. "I didn't want to come."

"No? Why not?"

Brandon
looked again toward the glass doors. Where was Superman when you needed him?

Reilly touched him with his sausage
fingers,
and Brandon stumbled back. "Don't do that."

"What's wrong?" He wheezed.

"Bobby told me
…
what you do to boys. What you did to him…"

His lips curved more. "Bobby is a foolish boy, Brandon. Bobby won't be back next season. You, on the other hand, are a very, very bright boy. Your mother told me so." He caught
Brandon
's chin, and the clamminess of his fingers made
Brandon
shiver. "You're a beautiful child. Exquisite. I'm going to make you a superstar. Think how happy that will make your mother. Think of all the pretties you can buy her. A big house. Fancy cars. Expensive clothes. Someday you'll be worshiped by the entire world."

"I don't want to be rich. I don't want to be worshiped. I want to go home to Ticky Creek and play baseball."

"You want to break your mother's heart,
Brandon
?"

"No." He glanced toward the door again. The rain fell harder. He could barely see the petunias now.

"Just think how much she'll love you. You owe her, you know. She gave up her career to devote her life to your success. If you were dropped from the show, imagine what that would do to her. I don't think she'd ever forgive you
…
"

He walked to a bar and poured liquor into a glass,
then
he returned to
Brandon
. "Drink this. It's a magic elixir. Happy juice. Amnesia in a bottle. It'll relax you, and you'll feel better soon. That's a good boy. Chivas is your friend, Brandon. It chases the fear away. Blurs the memories. Erases the pain. There's more where that came from. Much more. Oh, yes. You'll be my shining star. My finest creation. The
entire world will love you. Your mother will live like a queen, and she'll adore you…"

…
Naked, he crawled into the rain that fell stinging and cold against his bruised flesh. He collapsed by the petunias, whose yellow blooms were torn and battered, lying in a sodden heap in their pots. Curling his knees into his chest, he closed his eyes and willed himself not to puke again. Willed the pain to stop. And the horror. Too late for Superman. Brandon Carlyle was going to be a superstar. And a god. The whole goddamn world was going to love him. Including his mom.

He'd simply drink the magic elixir. His happy juice. Amnesia in a bottle. Maybe if he drank enough, he'd cease to exist. Poof! Bye-bye,
Brandon
. And maybe when, or if he woke up again, he'd be home in Ticky Creek, safe with Bernie and Henry, who loved him just because…

Looking back through the rain and up into Ralph Reilly's eyes, he thought,
Too
late for Ticky Creek. Poof! Bye-bye,
Brandon
.

*

Alyson opened her eyes, heard the rumble of thunder and
the rattle of hard rain against the window. The bed was shaking.

Brandon
sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, shoulders curled in and his head down.

She sat up and reached out. Body trembling and sweating, he groaned at her touch.

Crawling to his side, she took his face in her hands. "What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong."

"Nightmares. I
…
need a drink, Aly. I need it bad."

"Why do you need a drink when you've got me?"

He flashed
her a
weak smile. "Wanna be my happy juice?"

"I've been called stranger things. Come here. Lie down." He slid down beside her, and she wrapped her arms around him, felt his intense heat and the tension in his body that continued to shake. She held him fiercely to her and kissed his face, smoothed his hair, slid her legs around him and invited him in, gasping as he breached her with a forceful thrust that drove white pain up her back.

Joined, they lay
motionless,
Brandon
's hammering heart beating against her, and inside her. Little by little, his shaking eased, his breathing quieted, his body cooled.

"Better now?" she whispered in his ear.

"Hold me," he said. "Just hold me."

«
^
»

A
lyson looked up into Betty's face, pinched with something
just short of fire-and-brimstone condemnation. Matters weren't helped by the fact that during her sleep the sheet and blanket had worked down around her waist. She snatched up the rumpled top sheet to cover her breasts, and smiled weakly.

Until that moment Alyson hadn't paid a lot of attention to Bernie's hired caretaker, but as she studied the woman's coarse features, she realized that most of the makeup on her face was the permanent sort: tattooed eyeliner, blush, and lipstick. And not to forget the eyebrows, black as the ace of spades, arched a little too high, making her green eyes look a bit bulging. There were a few dark hairs sprouting above her upper lip.

Betty, wearing a starched white uniform, drew in a deep breath, as if to calm the anger that was flushing her face. "This is a Christian home with Christian values, young woman. You might at least have had the decency to return to the other room when you were finished with your fornications."

She thought of spitefully explaining in graphic detail to Betty just where
Brandon
's "values" had been located last night. Pulling the sheet up to her chin, Alyson allowed her smile to go flat. "Good morning to you, too, Betty."

Betty tossed a box wrapped in Christmas paper onto the bed. "Mr. Brandon asked me to give you this when you woke up, and to tell you that he and Mr. Henry will be back by
noon
. They've gone fishing. He's left you the keys to his car. Your clothes have been laundered, so you may leave at your first opportunity."

She turned on her white, rubber-soled shoes and marched to the door, then paused and looked back, one tattooed eyebrow rising like some strange bird's wing. "I knew what you were after the minute I saw you. What women like you are always
after.
I'll pray for you at Bible study tonight."

"Thanks," Alyson replied with a wide smile that made Betty's face go even darker. "And while you're at it, you might reread the part of the Good Book that says something about 'Judge not, lest ye be judged.'"

She blinked as Betty slammed the door. Her heavy footfalls vibrated the room as she stomped down the
stairs.
Another door slammed.

In that moment Alyson realized that she didn't care much for Betty. In fact, she didn't care for her at all.

Sinking back into the pillows, Alyson focused on the gift Betty had delivered. Santa's elves, looking like the dwarfs Dopey, Sleepy, and Doc, smiled up at her from slick, brightly hued paper. She carefully peeled it away to reveal a twenty-four-count Twinkie box.

"No doubt about it, Carlyle, you sure know the way to a woman's heart," she said aloud and reached inside, pulling out two spongy cakes. She tore open the wrappers and settled back to enjoy the treats as much as her sore mouth would allow.

Only then did the memories of the previous night intrude, as well as the aches and pains that, suddenly awakened, shot like nails through her.

Perhaps the rest room incident at the
River Road
had only been coincidental to the Mitsy debacle. She mustn't allow paranoia over Alan's suppositions about Anticipating to cloud her judgment. Mitsy was disturbed, but disturbed enough to actually kill a woman?

She touched her lip, then her eye. Certainly disturbed enough to assault her. Disturbed enough to believe she was a dead movie star. Disturbed enough to believe she was married to Carlyle.

Finishing one Twinkie, she started on the next.

Her thoughts drifted to Carlyle, and she smiled.

*

Alyson showered and dressed in the clothes Betty had laundered
for her. They were heavily starched and abraded her skin. She descended the stairs feeling like Daniel entering the lion's den. From below came the sounds of television interspersed with Betty humming a familiar tune. Pausing on the stairs and cocking her head to one side, Alyson listened hard, her mind trying to place the tune that dissolved behind the fiery Say Yes to Jesus or Go Straight to Hell preaching of Rod Parsley.

She moved through the kitchen to Bernie's door. Betty was in the process of hefting Bernie's frail frame out of the bed and into the wheelchair without so much as a grunt of effort.

Betty looked up and saw her. Her mouth pursed. Straightening, she planted herself between Alyson and Bernie. "What do you want, Miss James?"

"I'd like to say hello to Bernie."

"I told you. She can't hear you."

Alyson forced a smile. "We don't really know that, do we?"

"Certainly we do. The doctors—"

"Aren't infallible. I watched a PBS special on stroke victims not long ago. The brain's a mystery as vast as the universe. As long as there's some sort of brain function, which there obviously is in Bernie's case, or she'd be on total life support, there's a remote chance that she can see, hear, and understand us."

Alyson entered the room, her gaze locked with Betty's. "Brandon and Henry obviously continue to hold on to the faith that she's aware of her surroundings. Why else would they insist on providing her the stimulation of television, even reading to her?" Her smile stretching, Alyson added, "Certainly you're aware of those possibilities. You're a nurse, after all, and judging by what Brandon and Henry have told me, a very responsible nurse. They adore you."

He is the provider of miracles. Ask, and they shall be delivered! Seek Him, and His blessings will abound!

Betty looked away. Her shoulders relaxed a little.

"In
fact,"
Alyson added as she moved past Betty, "they'd be quite lost without you. They've come to think of you as a member of their family."

"They
are
my family," she said in her scratchy voice. "They're all I have in the world."

"Then you'll be understandably cautious about me. I'm certain
Brandon
is like a son to you."

Betty's head slowly turned, and her eyes met Alyson's again. The color was back in her face, watermelon red. "A son? My dear Miss James, I'm hardly old enough to be Mr. Brandon's mother."

Cast out the demons of vanity and humble yourself before Him. Dooown, I say, doooown on your knees, I said dooooown on your kneees, and cast out that devil conceit who burns in your heart! Say Hallelujah Jeeeeeesus!

"I'm sorry. A sister, then."

"I'm only forty-five."

"Certainly a sister."

"What I feel for Mr. Brandon, and Mr. Henry as well, is deeper than words can convey. I thank God every night that I've been blessed with the friendship and, yes, love of these wonderful, wonderful men."

Plant the seed and prepare for the harvest. Send whatever you can afford. Five dollars, ten dollars, ten thouuwzand—

"I'm sure. You're very fortunate, Betty. You'll be devastated when Bernie passes away. Then you'll be forced to find another position, won't you?" Alyson placed the lap blanket over Bernie's knees. "Do you live alone?"

Betty nodded.

"Do you work for a service?" Alyson rested on one knee beside Bernie's chair, smiled into Bernie's staring blue eyes. She reached for her hand.

"No." Betty clasped her hands together beneath her breasts.

"Then how did you happen to land this position?"

"As luck would have it, I rented a room from their previous nurse. I had met the Carlyles on occasion, through Johanna—"

Say goodbye to debt and hello to heavenly prosperity!

"What happened to Johanna?"

"Dead."

Alyson's gaze went back to Betty. "What happened?"

"She drowned in Ticky Creek. A boating accident. Mr. Henry was devastated, naturally. I volunteered to step in until the service could provide him a replacement, but we clicked, and here I am."

"Lucky you."

"Yes. Lucky me."

Hallelujah!

Curling her fingers around Bernie's cold hand, Alyson asked, "Where did you get your training?"

"
Kansas City
. I'm a licensed registered nurse."

"So you moved here from
Kansas City
?"

"…
Yes."

"What brought you to Ticky Creek?"

"What generally makes a woman pick up and leave home to relocate?"

"A man?"

She nodded.

"A husband?"

"No." She shook her head and averted her eyes. "I've never been married."

"Are you still together?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't dwell on what might have been, Miss James. Rather I choose to focus on the present. I'm happy and content with my life, and those with whom I choose to share it."

Amen, Brothers and Sisters. Amen.

*

The clouds were dark and low, the air thick and cool, and
growing cooler by the minute. Calm before the storm, Alyson thought as, settling behind the Jaguar's steering wheel, she glanced up at the towering pine trees with their limbs, saturated by the night's rain, drooping motionless toward the ground.

She punched the remote on the console and watched the giant black
iron gate
roll to the right. She knew the Jaguar's engine was running, but she couldn't feel it. Or hear it. Not like the Rent
A
Heap with the broken heater that was waiting for her back at the motel. She glanced into the rearview mirror, knowing what she would see there. Betty, standing picture-framed behind the screen door, arms crossed, face expressionless. Well, not exactly expressionless. If looks could kill, Betty would have had her dead and buried within five minutes of finding her, naked, in
Brandon
's bed.

The heater automatically kicked on and breathed a warm stream of air over her feet. She shifted her gaze away from Betty and back toward the gate.

A woman was there, just beyond the gate, at the verge of the highway. Alyson blinked and looked harder, thinking that her eyes were playing tricks on her. The figure stood in the middle of the drive just beyond the opening gate, her white legs spread a little, looking like a gunslinger preparing to draw and fire. She wore baggy flowered pants, a pink tube top, and blue and white flip-flops on her feet. After her initial jolt of fear passed, it occurred to Alyson that the woman had to be freezing. For an instant, she'd thought the woman was Mitsy Dillman, but her hair was
longer and
not as blond as Mitsy's. And she was thinner. Too thin. She stared back at Alyson with dark, liquid eyes that looked too big for her gaunt face. Alyson recognized her then
…
the odd woman she had seen at the Pine Lodge Café the day of Henry's attack.

Alyson shifted the car into Drive and eased off the brake. The Jag crept forward while the woman continued to watch her, her arms hanging limply at her sides and her face a blank stare. Alyson allowed the car to move within three feet of the woman, and still she didn't budge. She braked and opened her hands as if to ask, "Are you going to get out of my way?"

A smile touched the woman's lips, and she raised one hand like a traffic patrolman, indicating that Alyson should stay where she was. Then she moved toward the car.

Alyson hit the locks, and although instinct shrieked at her to floor the gas pedal, she could only grip the wheel and watch the woman move up to the driver's window and stoop slightly to look in at her. She was still smiling a genuinely warm smile, which helped to alleviate some of Alyson's tension.

Alyson touched the window button, allowing the glass to slide down a few inches.

The woman's smile widened. "I have to speak to you," she said in a pleasant voice, a voice that one would use with an old friend—certainly not with a stranger who must have been looking at her as if she would, at any second, produce a butcher knife out of her flowered pants.

The woman tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She glanced toward the house, and the smile disappeared, replaced by a deep furrow between her eyebrows. "This is where he lives, isn't it?" she said in a dreamy voice. "Mick Warner. That rock singer guy. The one I saw on HBO last night."

Oh, boy, here we go again.
Alyson jabbed the remote, and the gate began to slide closed.

"It's okay," the woman said. "I didn't come here to see him. I came to see you. We really have to talk. I promise to be brief." She looked away, as if she were listening to something or someone, and having a hard time hearing them. Again she frowned and rubbed her temple with two fingers. "I'm really rusty at this. In fact, I'm not even sure if I'm getting the messages straight. But I must be, mustn't I, or I wouldn't have found my way here? Sometimes there are just too many talking at once. It's a little like radio interference. It takes a while to tune in just right, and like I said, I'm really rusty. Do you mind if I get in the car? I've been walking awhile. My car is a couple miles up the road. I ran out of gas. Forgot to fill up before leaving White Sands. Dumb, dumb, dumb. And I didn't even bring my purse." Again with the smile. Only it was tired now, and the look in her eyes suggested that she knew the thoughts in Alyson's head.