Darkling I Listen (42 page)

The words—saying them at last—obliterated the numbing denial. Grief slammed him. It rose up from his chest in a terrible flame, erupted in a howl as he rocked back on his knees, eyes squeezed closed and fists shaking. On and on went the howl, as if every emotional wound of his past had been lanced and the old, festering memories and pain gushed forth in a fiery torrent. The tears spilled,
then
the sobs began, great gulps and shudders, crushing his chest, driving like a fist into his gut, bending him double. Clutching his belly, he rocked and groaned and sobbed, hating the sound of it, sickened by the feel of it, the awful helplessness, the wracking pain, the sinking, sinking despair of falling into a dark pit where no light would ever penetrate.

As if he had tumbled through a time warp, he became a boy again, face buried in his hands, ashamed that he couldn't stop the crying, more ashamed that he couldn't confess the reasons for his crying, sobbing at Bernie's feet while she wrapped her arms around him.
Hush, hush, my darling boy, my precious Brandon. There, there, dear, let me hold you, make it right. We love you, love you, love you, and always will—forever,
Brandon
, forever.

Shaking, heaving, he laid his head on Bernie's lap, took her cold hand, and nestled it against his cheek.

«
^
»

"
I
'm outta here," Mildred declared as she threw a handful
of panties into her suitcase. "The son of a bitch fired me. Coldcocked me just like that. 'You're fired, Mildred, now get the hell out of my life.' Just like that. Hung up in my ear. I called him back, and that freaking Doberman answered. Actually had the audacity to say I might, in some way, have caused Henry's heart attack. I was speechless. I mean—me, speechless? But I was. How the hell can you respond to something like that?"

"How did he sound?" Alyson watched Mildred dig another armload of clothes out the dresser drawer.

Mildred straightened, stared thoughtfully at her reflection in the dresser mirror. "Tired, maybe. Sad, definitely. Drunk…" She looked around at Alyson. "I couldn't tell. He was on and off so fast I simply couldn't tell. He holds his booze pretty damn well, as you know. He can be on the verge of passing out, and you wouldn't know until he was facedown on the floor. It's how he got away with his alcoholism so damn long. People just thought he was an ass on the set, a spoiled tyrant." She swallowed and shrugged. "He's a nice guy when he's sober. It's really hard not to like him, you know? Not that he's a total loser when he's boozed. You just don't want to corner
him,
you know what I'm saying? It's a little like poking a stick at a wounded animal. He just loses it."

Alyson
paced,
her hands on her hips. "I spoke with Deputy Greene. They have a couple of officers watching the place, one at the front gate, another at the back, at least for tonight."

"What about that Mitsy creature?"

"Deputy Greene put a car at Jack's place last night. She hasn't left the house since she was released from jail." Alyson stopped pacing and faced Mildred squarely. "If we're correct in our assumption that Anticipating made that bogus call to Henry, and that the disappearance of his medicine from the truck wasn't just coincidence, then Anticipating has to be someone close enough to
Brandon
to know his every move. More than that, she has to have access to the family." Alyson narrowed her eyes at Mildred and asked smoothly, "Did you know that Brandon and I were to be married this week?"

Mildred stared at her, clothes clutched to her chest. "No." She shook her head, disbelief widening her eyes. "Hey, you don't think that I…
Holy heck, you do, don't you? You think I'm Anticipating—"

"You're an employee, Mildred. You have a thing for
Brandon
. You slept with him—"

"Oh, my God!" The clothes spilled to her feet. "I might be a shark at business, Alyson, but I don't go around murdering dogs and old men. What happened between me and Brandon was just spur-of-the-moment lust brought on by too much champagne and too many Bloody Marys. I sleep with many of my clients, for God's sake. He was just better at it than most, drunk or not."

Pointing a finger
at
Alyson, Mildred added, "Hey, I wouldn't be in your shoes for anything. Women haven't nicknamed Brandon Mr. T for nothing. The man is walking testosterone. There isn't a woman alive who doesn't fantasize his jumping her. He's slept with every female costar he's worked with, and if you think marriage is going to stop him, you're in for a crash and burn, Sweetheart."

"You're wrong," Alyson said calmly. "He'd never cheat on me, Mildred. He's just a small town boy with small town dreams, thanks to Henry and Bernie. He desperately wants the sort of love and commitment his aunt and uncle shared. Why shouldn't he? They were the only positive role models in his life. They represented stability and emotional security."

"Yeah? Well, if he's so hot to trot with you, why did he tell you to get lost?"

"To protect me. If Anticipating would eliminate Henry, she'll come after me, and this time she won't stop with a dead dog in my bed and a warning scribbled on a mirror." Dragging both hands through her hair, Alyson closed her eyes. Had it been only twelve hours since the heart-stopping moment they'd discovered Henry's truck by the road? A flurry of fresh pain ripped through her. Not just pain. Fear. Cold and creeping, pebbling her flesh with goose bumps. "With Henry gone and me out of the way, there's nothing more to stand in Anticipating's way, is there?

"I have to get my hands on his payroll records—the employees working for him one year prior to Emerald Marcella's death. His only response to that was 'Do I look like a goddamn accountant?'" She turned to Mildred. "His accountant. Of course! What was I thinking? He told me—his accountant would obviously have those records. But who is his—"

"Middleton, Travis and Wolff. Fred Wolff. I use him as well."

"Will he give us
Brandon
's files?"

"If
Brandon
calls him—"

"He can't, Mildred. Think. If Anticipating were to discover that we're trying to nail her—"

"How the hell would she know that? She'd have to be living under
Brandon
's roof…" Mildred stared back at her, the color draining from her face. Slowly, she sat on the bed, her feet tangled in the panty hose and bras she had dropped. "Betty."

Hearing her suspicion out in the open relieved a pressure on Alyson, if only momentarily. Suddenly, her knees felt wobbly, and the cold that had speared her minutes before sank deeper into the very pit of her. Her throat closed. She was forced to clear it twice before speaking.

"It all makes sense to a point. How Anticipating would know his every move, day or night. How she could get in and out of the farm to vandalize it. How she could manipulate Henry's medicine, removing it from the truck—"

Mildred shook her head. "Stop right there. Betty was with Henry and Bernie when Henry got that call about an accident. Had to have been. He never would have driven away from the farm and left Bernie unattended.

"Besides, they have no history together, not before she went to work for Henry. Hey, I'm first in line to testify that the woman defines the word 'creep,' okay? But you said
yourself,
Anticipating has been around a long time—five years. She's probably a former employee. At least an acquaintance. Betty's probably nothing more than some frumpy old maid who's become too emotionally attached
to
her patient's family. It happens."

"I'll call the Texas Medical Board first thing in the morning. She'll have to have a license to nurse in this state. She said she moved here from
Kansas
. I'll call the Kansas Medical Board as well. If there's
a
record of her working in
Kansas
before moving to Ticky Creek, we'll have to eliminate her as a suspect."

Twisting her hands together, Mildred said more softly, "Jesus, Alyson, I wouldn't like to think he's over there alone with her if you're right."

"If I'm right, Anticipating has him right where she wants him. Isolated. Controlled. She worships him, Mildred. She won't hurt him, not as long as her position in his life remains stable and unthreatened. The smartest thing we can do now is back off until we've got rock-solid proof that Betty is Anticipating."

"But we should warn him—"

"I think he knows already. Or suspects. It's why he wanted me away from the farm, out of harm's way." She tried to swallow. "Please call Fred Wolff. Call him now, Mildred."

*

The shaking of his body roused him. Like the old days, the
sorry poison slithered like snakes through his blood. His brain swam with voices and images that were as fleeting as ghost whispers. His eyes throbbed.

He floated while the blackness ebbed little by little. He wondered if he was awake or dreaming again. Or maybe he'd finally died and gone straight to hell, because that's what the terrible pain in his body felt like—torture. Fire and agony. Pins and needles. Perpetual nausea from being tossed endlessly on hundred-foot waves.

The booze did that to him, confused his reality. He had a vague memory of dancing, Ruth Threadgill laughing and blushing while he propositioned her. Her eyes had looked up into his with a yearning and pain that had speared him with guilt, because she knew she wasn't the one he needed to hold in that moment.

Stupid bastard. How could he have blown four years of sobriety?

Christ, he had to get home. To Henry and Bernie. Henry would know, of course. He always did. No matter how good he'd become at hiding the fact that he'd been drinking, Henry would take one look at his face, and that shadow of despondency and helplessness would settle in his uncle's eyes.
Brandon
could feel the punch of it in his gut.

Never again. I promise you, Henry, never again.

He opened his eyes, or thought he did. Couldn't really be certain, could he? Not until he'd sweated the alcohol out of his system, or pissed it away. The haze, of course, would remain, stuffing up his brain like thick cotton.

I promise you, Henry, never again.

There was a vague hint of light: streaks and shadows, swirls of mist like some cheap horror flick. Christ, it felt real, as real as the pounding in his head and the lead weight of his body. Something was there. Someone. Smiling down at him.

"There, there, Mr. Brandon. Sleep. I'm close at hand, here to take care of everything, now that Henry's gone."

Henry's gone.

Groaning, he closed his eyes. The memories crawled back, then the grief. He recognized it now. The pain squirming through his body wasn't from alcohol.

Cool hands stroked his brow.

"Aly?" he called. Had she come back? "Aly, is that you?" He tried to sit up, to remember. There was pain in his throat and chest—crying, yes, he'd been hysterical, and Doc Simpson had been there, bending over him, stabbing something into his arm. The world had instantaneously become melting colors and sounds, then the floor had opened up beneath him and he'd fallen into a hole of pitch darkness.

"Dreadful woman is gone,"
came
the words. "You sent her away. Banished her and her sinful ways from your life."

Forcing open his eyes, he focused on Betty's smiling face. Only she wasn't smiling, exactly. Her mouth was pulled into a flat, thin semblance of a smile.

*

Alyson showered, hoping the hot, pounding water would relieve
the tension in her shoulders. Impossible, of course. She felt as if someone had
beat
her with a tire iron. With water raining down over her head and steam almost suffocating her, she began to cry again. Squatting over the rusty drain, her face buried against her knees, she bawled so hard her ribs ached and her eyes throbbed.

The image replayed over and over in her mind's eye:
Brandon
sitting on the slushy road shoulder, cradling Henry in his arms, heartbreak and helplessness reflected in his eyes, rocking rocking rocking in the cold, pleading with God to give Henry back. It had taken two paramedics and Deputy Greene to pry Henry's body away from him. The worst had come when they brought out the body bag. Dear God, she prayed never to see such emotional anguish in another human's face as
long as she lived—especially not
Brandon
's. How
much suffering
could
one man
endure
before he broke? That's what frightened her most. Was he despondent enough to harm himself?

No. Not as long as Bernie needed him. That, if nothing else, would give him the will to continue.

She dried and dressed and ordered room service, delivered by a gangly teenage boy with a severe case of acne. "Food's on the house," he declared as he bounced to ward off the cold. "Heard about Henry. Old dude was okay, not like most of the old fans around. He was cool, ya know? Helped him bale once. Paid me real good. Louise threw in a piece of coconut pie. She remembered Henry comin' in not long ago and ordering a piece. You tell
Brandon
we're real sorry. Henry's gonna be missed around here. Ya know?"

"I know," she replied, swallowing a fresh lump in her throat.

She choked down half the sandwich then tossed the leftovers into the trash. A half-dozen times she walked to the phone, wanting to call
Brandon
. But she'd never get past Betty, so why try? Best to leave well enough alone, for the time being. Still, she didn't like to think of him suffering through his loss alone. Like Mildred, she didn't like to think of him alone with Betty, if their suspicions about her were correct.

She'd call Alan. He, of course, would know exactly what to do. Perhaps he might even talk her out of believing that Betty Wilson was Anticipating.
Don't rush to any conclusions, A.J. And by the way, keep your nose out of this and let the police do their job.

Grabbing up her purse, she dumped it out on the bed, spilling keys, gum wrappers, a partially smushed Twinkie, her change purse
…
and two phones.

Alyson frowned, picked up the spare phone, turned it over, examined it one way, then another. Then she remembered. Her purse had spilled in Betty's car. She'd been forced to scramble for her things in the dark. She must have grabbed Betty's phone
…
hidden under the car seat.

She tossed it on the bed as if it were a snake, wiped her hand on her T-shirt,
shivered
.