Honey Moon (53 page)

"Lilly, I don't even drink whiskey."

"She doesn't like . . . that whiskey smell," Lilly sobbed.

"And she doesn't like it when—when you turn on the radio." She gulped for air.

"And you say, 'Just shut your eyes and—and listen to the music, Lilly.'"

The horror of complete comprehension washed over him. "Christ."

"And then sometimes—" Her voice broke, became a whisper. "Sometimes the music's playing .. . and

the whiskey smell. . . and those hands."

"Oh, baby . . ."

"It's like a terrible dream, except sometimes when those hands feel good." She shattered before him,

her voice almost inaudible. "And that's the worst thing of all." With a cry, she slid down the wall and crumpled like a broken toy on the floor.

He rushed toward her, wanting to hold her, to help her. She screamed and grabbed for her purse.

"No!" she shrieked.
"No more!"

He gasped as a sharp pain pierced his side. Jerking back, he saw the blade in her hand and realized she had stabbed him. She moaned in horror and dropped the knife, staring at the blood welling from his side. Through his pain he saw her face grow ashen and knew the exact moment when the past and present clicked together in her mind.

"Dear God," she whispered. "Oh, God, no ... What have I done?"

Eric pressed one hand to his side against the welling blood. He thought it was only a flesh wound, but there was no time to make certain. For now he could think only of his daughter.

"Is Rachel with your father now?" he demanded. "Is that where she is?"

Lilly's eyes were terror-stricken but lucid. "Oh, God, Eric," she whispered. "It was never you. It was

him all along. He did those things to me, but I blocked them out. And now I've let him take the girls."

He pulled her to her feet. "Let's go."

Her eyes were dark with horror. "You're bleeding. I cut you."

"I'll worry about it later." He snatched up the T-shirt he'd thrown over the bottom of his bed earlier and wadded it against his side.

"Oh, Eric. I'm sorry. What have I done? Oh, God, I'm sorry."

"We don't have time. We have to get to them right away." But as he pulled her from the bedroom, he wondered if it was already too late.

The keys were still in the ignition of her car. He pushed her into the passenger seat and jumped behind the wheel. The tires squealed as he backed down the narrow drive. The digital clock on the dashboard read 11:48. Almost midnight.

The perfect time for a monster to molest a little girl.

Lilly sobbed next to him, her arms wrapped around her chest as she rocked back and forward. "Not Becca ... He won't hurt Becca. It's Rachel." Her sobs intensified. "How could he do it? I loved him so much. Please, Eric. Don't let him hurt her. You don't know what it's like. Please."

He gritted his teeth and shut out the heart-wrenching sounds of her pleas. Over the years he'd driven in a dozen movie car chases, but now it was for real, and as he floored the accelerator, he blotted everything from his mind except the dangerous, twisting canyon road and the little girls whose life would never be the same if their father didn't reach them in time.

30

A funny, bad smell woke Rachel. She couldn't remember what it was and then she knew it was booze

like Mommy's parties. She huddled more deeply into the covers and rolled over onto her side. Her long nightgown was twisted around her waist.

The mattress moved and she started to poke Becca and tell her not to be such a wiggly worm, but then she remembered that she was at her Grandpa Guy's house and Becca wasn't in bed with her. She heard music playing and forced her eyes open. A red light glowed from the radio on her bedside table.

The mattress moved again. There was someone sitting on the other side of the bed. She felt scared. Maybe a wild thing had slithered out of the closet and was coming to get her. She wanted to call for her daddy, but she was too scared to make a sound, and then the bed moved again and she twisted around and saw that it was only her Grandpa Guy sitting on the other side.

"I was scared," she said.

He didn't speak. He just looked at her.

She rubbed her eyes. "Did my daddy call on the phone?"

"No."

"You smell bad, Grandpa. Like booze."

"A little good whiskey. It's just a little good whiskey, that's all." His words sounded funny, not like the way he usually talked, but slower, and he was saying each word carefully, like Becca's speech therapist. His hair was messed up, too. Grandpa Guy was always neat, and she was surprised to see him with messy hair.

"I'm thirsty. I want a drink of water."

"Let me ... Let me rub your back."

"Now!" she insisted. "I'm very thirsty."

He swallowed the rest of the whiskey in his glass, then rose slowly from the side of the bed and left the room.

Wide awake now, Rachel waited until he had disappeared before she pushed back the covers and climbed out. Her bare feet padded across the carpet as she made her way into the hallway. It was long and as dark as a castle's, with a heavy wooden chest, big, ugly vases, and a wooden chair like a throne. Some swords that Grandpa Guy had used in one of his movies hung on the wall, and yellow lights that looked like candles were set into the dark red wallpaper.

They glowed dimly, making her shadow huge.

Her tummy felt scared—Grandpa Guy's house was so big and dark—but she moved cautiously down the hallway until she got to her sister's room. She turned the knob carefully and pushed with both hands on the heavy door until it opened far enough for her to slip inside.

Becca was curled up in the middle of the bed making a funny ptt-ptt-ptt sound with her mouth like she did when she was sleeping. Sometimes the sound woke Rachel up and she'd give her sister a little kick, but now the familiar ptt-ptt-ptt made Rachel feel better. Rachel liked knowing that her sister wasn't scared or crying or something. Being Becca's sister was a big responsibility. Daddy used to tell her that she was sometimes too much of a fussbudget with Becca, but Daddy wasn't around now and Mommy was sort

of scared of Becca, so Rachel felt responsible.

Her brow furrowed as she gazed at the bed. Becca was starting to forget Daddy, but Rachel couldn't forget. Mommy said Daddy was too busy to see them, but Rachel thought maybe he didn't want to see them anymore because she did so many bad things. Maybe if she was a goody-goody like Becca he would come get them. Her lips set stubbornly. And when he did come, she was going to hit him hard

right in the middle of his heart because he shouldn't have made them stay with Mommy so long.

Becca moaned in her sleep and her mouth moved like she was getting ready to cry. Rachel crept over to the side of the bed and patted her. "Don't be scared, Becca," she whispered. "I'll take care of you."

Her sister quieted. Rachel was turning to leave when she saw a dark figure standing in the doorway. Her legs went all Jell-O, and then she knew she was just being a big scaredy cat because it was only Grandpa Guy.

She crept quietly over to meet him. He stepped back from the doorway to let her out of the room and closed the door. She looked up at him. He held her glass of water in his hand and another glass of booze in the other.

"Go back into your bedroom," he said, still talking in that funny, slow way.

She was getting sleepy again and she followed him. He was walking a little crooked, and he spilled some of her water on the carpet near her bed. When she spilled, she was supposed to clean up her mess, but Grandpa Guy didn't seem to notice.

He pulled back the covers on her bed. She got under them and took the glass from him. Holding it with both hands, she took a sip before she handed it back.

"Is that all you wanted?" He sounded like he might be mad at her.

She nodded.

"All right, then. Lie down and go to sleep." He had started to whisper, and she wondered if he was afraid he might wake Becca, but Becca was far away.

"I'll just rub your back," he said. "I'll rub your back for a little bit."

She didn't like the funny way he was talking, and she didn't like the way he smelled, but she liked getting her back rubbed, and she rolled obediently over onto her stomach and shut her eyes.

Grandpa Guy's hands reached under her nightgown. She lifted her hips so he could push it up far enough to reach her back. He began to rub. His hands felt nice, and she yawned. The music on the radio was soft and pretty. Her eyelids drifted shut. She thought about Max and the wild things in her favorite book.

Maybe tomorrow Grandpa would read it to her. Maybe tomorrow . . .

She drifted on her bed like Max in his private boat.

And then something terrible jerked her awake.

* * *

The gold and black wrought-iron gates, some of the most elaborate in Bel Air, came into view. Eric jammed on the brakes, and the car fishtailed as it skidded to a stop. The clock on the dashboard read 12:07. It had taken him nineteen minutes to get here. What if he was too late?

He knew Guy didn't have live-in help. Everyone arrived in the morning and left after dinner. At night, Guy slept in the big mausoleum of a house alone. Alone except for two little girls.

Lilly's eyes were glued to the gates. "I forgot about the gates. Oh, God, Eric, they're locked. We can't

get inside."

"I'll get in." He jumped from the car, ignoring the pain in his side where Lilly had stabbed him. He could do it all, he told himself. Drive fast cars at supersonic speeds, climb impenetrable barriers, break into locked houses, save the innocents. He'd done it a dozen times. He'd done it with his bare fists and with

an Uzi in his arms. He'd done it bleeding from his gut and blind in one eye. But when he'd done it before, it had been make-believe, and this time it was all too real.

He found a toehold in the ironwork. The fence wasn't difficult to climb, but the pain in his side encumbered him. His shirt was blood soaked, and he hoped Lilly hadn't hit anything important when she'd cut him.

The house and grounds were protected with a series of photoelectric eyes. As he reached the top of the gate and threw his leg over the curling grillwork, he hoped he was setting off alarms everywhere—inside the house, at the security agency, right in God's ears. He dropped to the ground and sucked in his breath at the bolt of pain that shot through him. As he ran toward the house, he kept his hand shoved against his side where the blood was wet and slick. He sprinted to the front door and leaned on the bell with one hand while he pounded with the other on the carved panels.

"Open up! Open up, you son of a bitch!" As he slammed his fist against the door, he prayed that his daughters were safely tucked in bed, alone and untouched, but he wasn't enough of an optimist to believe it.

Seconds ticked by, each one lasting forever. Guy didn't appear, and Eric knew he couldn't wait any longer. He ran toward the thick growth of trees at the side of the house then along the east wing. As he reached the gardens at the back, the memory of the first time he had been here passed through his mind, the night Lilly had taken him to the playhouse and the twins had been conceived.

The attraction he had once felt for her was so different from the meeting of the souls he experienced with Honey that it seemed to have happened to another person. He pushed away thoughts of Honey. They were an indulgence he couldn't afford.

Over the sound of his breathing, he heard water running in the hexagonal Mediterranean fountain. He

ran toward the door that led into the kitchen. With one hand clasped to his side, he lifted his foot and smashed the lock.

The door splintered as he crashed through. For the space of a few seconds the pain in his side numbed him. He steadied himself as he became aware of the persistent beep of the security alarm. And above

that beep, he heard a sound that froze his blood. Rachel's shrieks for help.

* * *

Rachel had wedged herself into the corner of her mommy's old bedroom. She was wearing only her underpants and she was screaming because the wild thing wasn't a friendly monster anymore but her

own Grandpa Guy.

"Stop that screaming!" he yelled as he came toward her. "Stop it!"

The whole house was beeping, but Grandpa Guy didn't seem to hear it. He shoved a chair out of the

way as he came nearer. He wasn't talking in that careful way anymore. His words were running together like too much food in his mouth, and he kept bumping into things, and his pants were open. She'd seen what was in there, and it was ugly.

"No!" she screamed. "No! I'm scared!"

She was crying and her nose was running. Everything had been nice at first when he was rubbing her back, but then he'd put his hand in her underpants.

She knew about good touches and bad touches, and

it woke her up. She had started yelling, but he had done another bad touch, so she had kicked him and jumped out of bed. But now he was coming after her.

"Come here, Rachel!" Grandpa Guy commanded. His teeth showed, and they were big and fierce. "Stop screaming and come here! I'm going to punish you if you don't come here."

He lurched forward and she screamed again. She ducked to run past him, but he caught her.

"No!" she screamed as his fingers dug into her arms. "No! I'm scared!"

"Be quiet!" His breath was stinky as he picked her up, squeezing her so tightly that he hurt her.

"Be quiet! I won't hurt you. Shh. I'm just going to rub you."

"I'll tell!" she screamed, trying to kick him. "I'll tell my daddy you touched me bad!"

"You won't tell." He carried her toward the bed and dropped her there. "If you tell, you won't see your mother again."

She started to sob.

He pulled away the covers that she had grabbed and reached for her underpants.

"No! No, don't do that!" Rachel kicked as hard as she could.

Grandpa Guy gave a grunt as one of her kicks landed. But then he pressed down on her and reached for her underpants again. Her arms and legs were so tired and shaky that she couldn't fight hard, but she didn't stop. She remembered her daddy and Patches and the pirate raids where girls could fight just as good as anybody else. She kicked again and screamed again and said the same words over and over.