Love Lies Bleeding (33 page)
Greg leaned forward. “Sam, last night you said you wanted to prove that it was Blanche who was haunting your dreams. If Alice can confirm what you told Anne, it’s one more piece of evidence.”
“Evidence that I’m not crazy,” Sam murmured with her eyes downcast.
Anne grasped Sam’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go.”
Sam stared out the window while Anne parked the car in front of the beauty shop. Signs announcing specials decorated the windows, and beyond them, she saw a beautician working on a client. She didn’t spot Alice’s signature hairstyle.
“I don’t think she’s here,” Sam told Anne warily.
“Do you want to wait in the car while I run in and check?”
“I don’t know—I think my time would be better spent talking to an attorney.”
“Why are you so reluctant to talk to Alice?”
She didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to learn why she was having these dreams. Another part of her was afraid. What if the answers only confirmed that something was seriously wrong with her? What if her dad was right and she should be committed? She couldn’t handle another stint of confinement in a hospital.
Without waiting for Sam’s answer, Anne hopped out of the car and returned in a few moments. “You were right,” she said, getting in the car. “Alice didn’t come in today—she’s at home.” After starting the car, she pulled out into traffic. “It’s not far. We’ll be there in a minute.”
True to her word, a short time later, Anne stopped in front of a small ranch-style house. Sam knew instantly that the house belonged to Alice—poodle lawn ornaments were scattered across the yard, and by the door, two Love Lies Bleeding bushes bloomed profusely.
Reluctantly, Sam got out of the car and followed Anne to the door. Alice answered the knock right away and, not masking her surprise, invited them in.
“What can I do for you ladies?” she asked, leading them to the back of the house.
“Um—well—” Sam stammered, not knowing how to begin.
Anne saved her. “We want to ask you some questions about Blanche Jones,” she said bluntly.
That’s right, Anne,
Sam thought,
get directly to the point. Don’t ease into it.
Alice’s eyes widened. “Blanche? She hasn’t lived around here for years.”
Anne tugged Sam forward. “You know she’s staying in the old Jones cabin and we’re curious. Someone mentioned you’d been friends.”
“People don’t like talking about Blanche,” Alice mumbled.
“Why is that, Alice?” Anne asked.
“She could be . . .” Alice paused. “Well, difficult.”
“But you two were friends?” Anne persisted.
“Yes.” Alice’s attention moved to the kitchen clock. “This isn’t a good time. I don’t want to rush you off, but I have an appointment.” She crossed to the counter and began fussing with some papers that were stuck behind the telephone.
Sam stepped toward her. “We won’t keep you, but I have to ask you a question. Did Blanche plant the bush growing at the cabin?”
“That old thing still alive?” Alice asked, obviously without thinking.
Sam nodded. “You gave her the seeds, didn’t you?”
Alice shoved the papers into a drawer. “I really have to be going.”
“I’ve one more question,” Sam said, edging closer. “Was Blanche with Edward the night of his accident?”
Alice’s hand flew to her throat. “How did you know?” Her head wobbled back and forth in confusion. “I’ve never said a word.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did Edward tell you?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
Sam cut her off. “Where’s Blanche now, Alice?”
“How should I know? I haven’t talked to her in years.”
She was lying; Sam was sure of it. A terrible suspicion crept through her mind. The bloody corpse in her bed. She knew the truth. She knew why Blanche had been literally haunting her.
“Blanche never left the lake, did she, Alice?” she demanded.
Alice tried to dodge around her, but Sam blocked her.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
Anne gasped while Alice suddenly crumpled into a nearby chair. She covered her face, her shoulders beginning to shake. Kneeling in front of her, Sam placed her hands on Alice’s legs.
“What happened, Alice?” she asked gently.
Alice’s hands fell away from her face and she stared at Sam with her eyes full of tears. “She’s not dead, but she might as well be.”
Sam sat back on her heels in shock. She’d been so sure.
“He should’ve just taken a gun and shot her,” Alice continued with passion. “It would’ve been a mercy.”
Standing, Sam looked down at her. “I don’t understand—”
Alice surged to her feet. “No? I thought you had all the answers.”
“Calm down, Alice,” Anne said, rushing over and taking her by the arm. She guided her back to the chair. “Now tell us what happened.”
All the breath seemed to leave Alice’s body as she dropped to the chair. Lifting her eyes, she looked first at Anne then at Sam. Turning her attention to the window, she stared blindly at the poodles cavorting in the backyard. “My first Pumpkin was her dog, you know,” she said, her voice trembling. “Pumpkin was the one who found her.”
“Found Blanche?” Sam prodded.
Alice bobbed her head and sighed. “I suppose it won’t make a difference now . . . he’s dead and they say she soon will be.”
Sam felt as if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole.
“Alice—”
“Sit down, sit down,” she said. “I can’t keep staring up at you.”
Sam and Anne both pulled up a chair and quickly sat.
Watching her two visitors, Alice took a deep breath. “Blanche isn’t dead. She’s in the care facility over in Hankton.”
“It was you I saw in the parking lot, wasn’t it?” Anne exclaimed.
“I was afraid you had recognized me. I visit there once a week and have for the last twenty-five years.”
“Did Blanche have some sort of a breakdown?” Sam asked.
“No.” Alice’s face tightened with anger. “Ted Brighton beat her half to death.”
“What!” Sam and Anne cried simultaneously.
“Think he was too respectable to lift a hand to a woman?” Alice didn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. “Well, he wasn’t. Not when Blanche threatened to ruin him if he didn’t divorce Irene and marry her.”
Anne shot a glance at Sam. “How was Blanche going to do that?”
“Blanche knew about some of his double-dealings and said she would expose him if he didn’t give her what she wanted.” Alice shook her head sadly. “I told her to be careful, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“So he tried to kill her?”
“He went to his grave thinking he had. Beat her bloody then stuffed her in a cave where no one would find her.” Alice bit her lip. “I was supposed to meet her, to help her sneak away from Harley, but when she didn’t show up, I went out looking for her. That’s when I heard the racket Pumpkin was making,” she recounted in a flat voice. She shuddered and raised her gaze to the ceiling. “Lordy, I’d never seen anyone so bad off. I don’t know how I ever got her down that hill and to the hospital in Hankton.”
“Why didn’t you go to the sheriff?”
“I couldn’t. Blanche was barely conscious when I found her, but she was afraid. All the way to the hospital, she kept begging me to hide her. And in the end, it would’ve been my word against his. Who’d have believed me over Theodore Brighton?”
“Blanche could’ve testified against him.”
“Weren’t you listening? I told you he beat her bloody, so bloody her brain was damaged. Then she had a stroke while she was still in the hospital.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Blanche hasn’t been in her right mind for the last twenty-five years and now she’s finally going to die.” She swallowed hard. “She’s been in a coma for the last month and the doctors say it won’t be much longer now.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Anne asked Sam as they sat in the parking lot of the care facility.
“I’m sure,” Sam replied, nervously picking at her seat belt. “This probably won’t accomplish anything, but I want to see the woman who’s been haunting me face-to-face.” She turned toward Anne, unhooking the seat belt. “Isn’t it ironic that after what I’ve been through, I’m visiting another coma patient?”
Anne made a move to open her door. “I’m going with you.”
Sam stopped her. “No, this is something I need to do by myself.”
Reluctantly, Sam climbed out of the car and walked into the care facility. Alice had given them Blanche’s assumed name—Cassandra Collins—and her room number. Alice didn’t explain how she’d managed to establish a fake identity for Blanche and Sam and Anne didn’t ask. In the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered to Sam was that her dreams were validated. And she knew that seeing Blanche in the flesh would do just that.
With a smile and a nod to the aide behind the desk, Sam headed down the long hallway toward Blanche’s room. The smell of disinfectant tickled her nose, while her heartbeat kicked up a notch. Would there be a shadow of the woman Sam had drawn in the sketch left in the Blanche of today? Or would she find a battered husk? With sweaty palms, Sam grabbed the door handle to Blanche’s room and pushed. The door swung wide and she stepped inside.
The blinds had been lowered against the afternoon sun, making the room dim, but Sam could see a still form lying in the center of the bed. She slowly crossed to it and looked down.
The sheets were pulled up to Blanche’s chin, but Sam saw the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her hands lay at her side. Next to the bed sat a nightstand, and on it was a bouquet of Love Lies Bleeding. Alice’s offering to her dying friend.
Finally, Sam allowed her eyes to travel to the woman’s face. She gripped the bed railing and leaned in close. Yes, she could see a bit of Blanche in the woman’s face, but not much. The vibrancy, the sexuality that had been so much a part of Blanche, was gone. Her red hair had even lost its shimmer. Shot with gray, it hung in straggles around her face, a face that sagged on one side, twisting her mouth downward.
A sense of sadness filled Sam. This woman had been so beautiful, but her beauty hadn’t brought her joy. It had been a tool in her hands. Something she used to achieve her goals. From all accounts, Blanche hadn’t been stupid. Why hadn’t she used her brains instead of her beauty? She could’ve gotten what she wanted on her own instead of looking to someone else to provide it for her. Sam gripped the railing tighter and sank into a chair, still holding on to the railing.
So tired,
she thought, resting her head between her hands.
Suddenly she felt a clawlike hand shoot out and grab her wrist. Two green eyes, gleaming with malevolence, stared over at her from the face lying on the pillow. No, this had to be a hallucination, she thought as she tried to pull away from the hand holding her.
The fingers tightened, and Sam swore she felt a foreign energy slither up her arm. Her eyes clamped shut while images flitted through her mind.
Kneeling on a dock in the dark . . . the rough boards cutting into her knees . . . a woman begging for mercy . . . a man’s angry voice, somehow familiar, screaming obscenities into the night . . . shattering pain as blows rained down on her . . . darkness followed by a damp coldness settling into her bones . . . finally . . . nothing. A big well of nothingness.
She felt herself sinking deeper into the hole. As a sense of panic overwhelmed her, she knew that if she didn’t fight back, it was a place from which there’d be no return. Sam struggled to open her eyes, to tear her wrist away from the grip that had turned viselike. Her energy was fading and she felt her hands loosen on the railing. She was sliding forward, sliding into oblivion.
Her eyes flew open when her knees hit the hard tile floor. Taking a deep breath, she focused on regulating her breathing.
My God, what a dream!
She knelt on the floor for a minute, shaking. Finally, she gripped the railing again and slowly pulled herself to her feet. To her dazed eyes, the room hadn’t changed. She was still in Blanche’s room. Then her focus settled on the bouquet of Love Lies Bleeding.
The once-vibrant crimson flowers now appeared faded, while the green leaves draped lifelessly over the side of the vase. In the space of minutes, the whole arrangement seemed to have wilted.
Her eyes flew to what had once been Blanche, lying in the bed.
She hadn’t moved. The covers were still up to her chin and her hands were neatly at her sides. But the chest was no longer rising and falling.
Hesitating, Sam finally allowed her gaze to travel to the head of the bed.
Blanche’s eyes were closed and her face was smooth. Her mouth was no longer twisted. Instead, her lips stretched across her dead face in a smile.
I
t’s done,
I think as the weariness overcomes me. There is no way out. The past repeats itself and the theme of my life continues. As it has been many times before, success was almost within my reach, the sweet taste of it lingering in my mouth. I felt it just outside of my grasp, but once again, cruel fate has snatched it away at the last moment. And my life crashes around me in a thousand slivers. But this time, I don’t have the strength to pick up the pieces and go on.
I see my reflection and am shocked. Haunted eyes; disheveled hair. With a harsh laugh, I pour another drink.
Did I say fate destroys my dreams? I shake my head and down the glass. Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I pour another. No, not fate—her, always her.
Crossing to the stereo, I turn it on and crank it up until music fills the room, but not even music can bring solace to my soul. I make it softer. Feeling imprisoned, I roam the room aimlessly, looking for escape. There is none.
I return to the window and look beyond my reflection and see the truth.
I killed once . . . I can kill again.
S
am sat on the deck with a cup of coffee in her hand and Roxy curled up at her feet. A veil of mist was rising dreamily above the smooth surface of the lake, and above it, gray skies masked the rising sun. A stillness seemed to surround Sam as if the entire world were holding its breath. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t escape the prickling sense of anticipation. It had to be an effect of the last twenty-four hours. She’d managed to convince her father to return to the Cities and take Jackson with him. It had taken the threat of a nasty court battle spread across of the front page of
The Minneapolis Star,
but finally he’d backed off. At least for now.