Love Lies Bleeding (35 page)
She’d almost reached it when he suddenly grabbed her arm and hauled her to her knees. Without letting go, he yanked the heavy lamp off the coffee table. He released her arm and stood above her, weighing the lamp in his hand as if it were a baseball bat.
“Poor Samantha, so defenseless.” He threw a glance at Roxy, who was barking wildly. “Not even your dog can help you. I do suppose I’ll have to get rid of her, too.”
Sam clutched at the coffee table and attempted to stand, but he forced her back on her knees.
“My plan would’ve worked, but she was too stupid to see it. When we disagreed, she insulted me. Questioned my manhood, made me plead for a chance to get back at Ted. Beg as so many other men had begged for her favors. She sickened me. In the end, she was the one who begged and cried for her life.” His eyes raked over her. “And now it’s your turn, little Samantha.”
Her mind flashed back to the scene she’d witnessed while standing at Blanche’s bedside—Blanche kneeling on the dock and crying for mercy before the blows began to fall. Another image was superimposed over the first. One of herself, months ago, in a lonely parking garage. She heard the words in her head:
“Okay, pretty lady, start begging.”
She heard her own choked reply.
“Please, please, I don’t want to die.”
No, not again, never again.
Nausea churned in her stomach. She wanted to live, but she’d be damned if she’d beg. No, if she was going to die, she’d die standing. Sam shoved against Fritz’s legs with all her strength. He tumbled backward. Using the coffee table, she clawed her way to her feet and dodged past him. She felt the air move by her head as Fritz took a swing at her with the lamp, but missed. Not attempting to untangle the leash, she unclipped it and dragged the dog by her collar toward the door.
Roxy let out a sudden bark and Sam whirled in time to see the lamp descending toward her again. But before it could touch her, Roxy launched herself at Fritz and grabbed his pant leg, shaking it like a rat. It threw him off balance. His arms windmilled while he fought to regain his balance. He failed and fell back.
Sam grabbed Roxy’s collar and, pulling the dog along with her, moved as fast as she could. Out the door and up the hill—all the time listening for the sound of chasing footsteps. She’d made it halfway up when she heard them. Closer now, gaining on her. With her weak leg, she couldn’t hope to outrun Fritz. Hide, she had to hide.
A few feet above her she spied a break in the hillside. A cave—was it where Fritz had stashed Blanche’s body? If it had hidden Blanche, maybe it could hide her.
She scrambled toward it and ducked inside. Crouching in the shadows, she pulled Roxy close to her chest. “Shh,” she whispered in her ear.
The footsteps stopped, and Sam held her breath. A shadow crossed the entrance and Sam shrank back farther into the cave. The shadow passed by. She waited. Silence. Leaning her head back against the damp cold rock, she prayed that Fritz had given up his pursuit. She was still trapped, but the longer she lasted, the better her chances were of getting away.
“I know you’re in there,” he suddenly called out, his shadow once again blocking the light.
She didn’t answer.
“I won’t hurt you . . . I’m sorry . . . I was drunk.”
Unbelievable—did he really think she was that stupid, that weak?
“Samantha, come out right now,” he commanded. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it. It gets very unpleasant in that cave at night. There’re bats and they swoop down on you in the dark. Things will creep over your feet and land in your hair.”
Sam realized that Fritz was afraid to enter the cave. How could she use that fear against him? Her hand found a rock, lying next to her. She weighed it in her hand. Heavy enough to knock a man out. If she could lure him into the cave, she could hit him from behind. It was worth a try. What had he said? Blanche had insulted him? Questioned his manhood?
“What’s wrong, Fritz?” she called out. “Aren’t you man enough to come in and get me?”
He failed to answer.
“I don’t believe it,” she scoffed. “Someone like you afraid of the dark? Did Blanche know that? Did she know you were a coward? Is that why she spurned you?”
“Shut up,” he cried. “I was better than her, better than everyone. It’s not my fault I didn’t have the advantages that I needed to succeed.”
“Oh, please,” Sam called back, letting her voice fill with sarcasm. “All the breaks in the world wouldn’t have helped you. You needed Blanche and you needed Edward. Without them, you were nothing but mediocre.”
“I am not,” he answered in a childlike voice.
“Yes, even your work is nothing. It was Edward who made it soar.” She forced herself to chuckle. “I bet Edward could play the scales and make them sound like a concerto.”
“No, it was me—I made Edward.”
“No, you didn’t.” She paused and let the silence lengthen. “In the end, once he saw the real you, Fritz, he would’ve rejected you, too.”
With a scream, Fritz hurled himself into the cave. Sam slipped back and let him rush past her. She raised the rock, but before she could bring it down, Fritz fell to his knees. Curling on his side, he began to whimper.
With one hand trailing along the damp rock and the other still clutching the dog, Sam backed away from Fritz’s prone body. At the entrance, she released the dog and pointed down the hill. “Go,” she ordered.
Roxy took two steps, stopped, and turned.
“Go on. I’m right behind you.”
“Don’t go,” a voice whined from behind her. “Don’t leave me, please. I’ll be good. I promise.”
Sam glanced at the figure lying on the floor. The shadow was shaped like Fritz, but the voice was that of a child. Wherever Fritz was, he wasn’t here.
Dropping the rock, Sam stepped out of the darkness and into the light.
T
he lawn in front of the small stage was littered with blankets and lawn chairs while the neighbors around the lake gathered to listen to the Fourth of July trio. Since Fritz was not available, the program selection had fallen to Greg. There wasn’t a march or a classical piece listed. Instead, he’d picked a nice mix of pop tunes and jazz.
Sam sat in her lawn chair next to Anne and surreptitiously watched her glow with pride while she focused on Caleb, who stood center stage practicing a few riffs on his guitar. Fritz may have been emotionally stunted, and more than just a little bit off balance, but he could spot talent. And Caleb’s gift was obvious even to Sam’s untrained ear.
Leaning over, she touched Anne’s arm. “Everything okay now?”
Anne smiled in response. “Yeah, we had a long talk. He agreed to live at home while he finishes his senior year, and I agreed to let him plan his own future.” Her expression turned serious. “Everyone deserves that, don’t they?”
Sam gave a small snort and settled back in her chair. “Yeah, and hopefully one day my father is going to reach the same conclusion.”
Anne gave a low chuckle. “It’s funny. When I first met you, all you cared about was getting your old life back. Now he’s begging you to come back and you won’t go.”
Sam grimaced. “I know, but I’ve realized my
old
life wasn’t ever mine. It was the life my father chose for me. And I permitted it to trap me.”
“You’re not the only one. I’ve done a lot of thinking.” Anne’s gaze traveled again to the stage. “My ambition for Caleb was a trap, too. For both of us.” Turning toward Sam, she grinned. “But not anymore.”
“Does that mean you’re going to accept my job offer?”
Anne hesitated. “I really don’t know anything about selling art.”
“But you have a real presence.” She leaned forward and nudged Anne’s shoulder. “And, dahling,” she said in a phony accent, “don’t you know appearance is everything?”
Anne rolled her eyes, laughing.
Sam suddenly sobered. “Come on, it would be fun. You’d be terrific at handling our budget, and I already know you’re great at talking people into things. The rest you’d learn.”
Anne looked thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ll be working at the hospital this fall.” She smiled. “Working in an art gallery does sound better than waitressing or cleaning bed pans.”
“Does that mean you’ll do it?”
Anne gave a small nod.
“Wonderful!” Sam exclaimed, then narrowed her eyes. “One thing—you have to agree not to bully the customers,” she said, her voice teasing.
“Trust me,” Anne replied, placing the flat of her hand over her heart. “My bullying days are over.”
Sam’s eyes sparkled.
Yeah, right,
she thought. In spite of her declarations to the contrary, Anne hadn’t quite let go of her bossy ways. For the last several weeks, she’d been pushing Sam and Greg together whenever the opportunity presented itself. If Sam was honest about it, she really didn’t mind.
Who knows,
she thought, looking at the stage and the group gathered there,
maybe someday.
But right now she was happy to have him as her friend.
Her attention settled on Greg and found him watching her. He
was
pretty sexy holding that sax. With a smile, Sam lowered her head and slid her gaze to Anne once again.
Lucky,
she sighed to herself. Instead of the life she thought she wanted, she’d found the life she really needed. Her father had backed off a bit. When he’d learned of Jackson’s waylaying of her along the road, his fatherly protectiveness had kicked in. Maybe with a little time and a lot of distance, they might someday have a good relationship.
Her thoughts finally wound around to Blanche as they did less and less these days.
Sam’s happiness dimmed. When the sheriff had found Fritz in the cave, he’d been wailing like a child. It wasn’t long before Dr. Crane learned that when Fritz was a child, his father had confined him to the cave as a form of punishment. Sam shuddered at the thought. What kind of monster would do that to a child? In view of his battered psyche, Dr. Crane felt that Fritz would probably spend the rest of his life in a state mental hospital.
It was ironic. Blanche had spent the last twenty-five years of her life confined, and now Fritz would do the same.
Sam looked over to the horizon as the trio launched their first number. The setting sun had hung a banner of rose, mauve, and gold above the pines. It was over. Whatever had caused the connection with Blanche didn’t matter.
What mattered? She was free and so was Blanche.
And over the sound of the bluesy notes, Sam heard the call of a loon, echoing like a woman’s laughter.
T
he creation of a book truly is a journey, and I’d like to thank those who made this trip a little easier!
As always and as already mentioned . . . Emily Krump and Stacey Glick. I appreciate your guidance and your investment in this project more than I can say. I’m also thankful that not once have you ever reminded me that e-mails are supposed to be direct and to the point! Thanks for reading
and
answering all my ramblings!
The staff at William Morrow—from the cover artist to the copyeditor (sorry about all the danglers!) to the proofreaders. Thanks for catching my mistakes, smoothing it out, and putting it all into a nice package.
Dr. Robert Weissinger—thank you so much for all the free advice and the use of your name.
And speaking of names—thanks to my granddaughter, Kassidy, for naming some of the characters, a job I always find difficult.
June Steinbach. Thanks, June, for answering my questions concerning head injuries and drug interactions.
Valerie Allen of Expression’s Photography. You did a great job, Valerie, and I appreciate all the effort you put into making sure the shots were “just right.”
As promised . . . Jack and Jamie. Thank you for very kindly allowing us the use of your living room for the photo shoot. (There, Jamie, your name is now in print!)
Sara Anne McConkey—stylist, personal assistant, and most of all, daughter. Thank you for designing old Mom’s new look!
And last but not least, the rest of my family and friends. You are the blessings in my life!
JESS McCONKEY
(aka Shirley Damsgaard) is an award-winning writer of short fiction. She lives in a small town and is currently working on her next novel.
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COVER DESIGN BY MARY SCHUCK
COVER PHOTOGRAPH © BY YOLANDE DEKORT/
TREVILLION IMAGES
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
LOVE LIES BLEEDING.
Copyright © 2011 by Shirley Damsgaard. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN 978-0-06-199968-0
EPub Edition © August 2011 ISBN: 9780062092465
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