Salem's Daughters (38 page)

Chapter 60              Blazing Inferno

Debbie went stiff as a board. Her breathing was stifled, erratic. What else could go wrong? Take a deep breath, she told herself. Darrowby won’t hesitate to shoot.

Through the haze-filled kitchen the distinct outline of a man stood on the other side of the large oak table. He had a handgun pointed at her chest.

“I was already on my way here when those kids your psychotic husband tried to blow away called us. Thank the good Lord above they all escaped this house of horrors. Now drop the shotgun. Or I swear to God I’ll drop you.”

Debbie’s mind was in a 100 meter dash-to-the-death-line. Bob in the basement. Three dead people in the house. Four cats still loose. Darrowby ready to shoot. What to do?

“Don’t tempt me,” Darrowby shouted, his voice monotone with a pause between each word. “Drop. The. Gun.”

“Listen to me. My husband Bob, he’s trapped in the basement. You have to help me get him out.”

“This is your last warning. Five. Four. Three—”

A blow hit her right arm. Her left wrist was grabbed by a meaty hand and thrust behind her back. The ruined shotgun fell to the floor.

“Don’t make any stupid moves,” Kowalski shouted in her ear.

“Hold her there, partner. Pin her to the floor. I’ll secure the rest of the house.”

A minute later Darrowby reappeared. Kowalski pulled Debbie to her feet.

“Debbie Eileen Stevens. You’re under arrest for the murder of Ross Dempsey. Your very own grandfather. With a bowling ball, no less. So whatsamattah, huh? Run out of guests to kill? Kowalski? Cuff this cold blooded killer.”

Debbie was fast afoot and twisted free, evading Kowalski’s lurch at her with the handcuffs. Darrowby, ignoring her pathetic attempts at dodging the inevitable, walked sure footed around the table. He tripped. Debbie knew on what. Or rather, whom.

“Is that your hired help, Raymond Hettinger?”

Darrowby shone his flashlight through the smoky air on the corpse. The detective looked like a ghost through the haze, but his image became clearer as he approached. Debbie now had both arms pinned against her back. Darrowby brushed past her, then stopped short at the front of the basement door.

“Holy shit sweet mother of mercy. Another dead person.”

Darrowby pulled the table cloth off Erma’s head and nudged the grey skinned head with his foot. The head turned and expressionless eyes stared up at him through her burned and scarred face.

Debbie struggled against Kowalski’s steely grip. “It’s not what you think.”

“Both your grandparents. And your hired help. What’d you do to your grandmother, light her face on fire? My God, you really are sick. You know that?”

Darrowby coughed from the smoke, pulled out a hankie, and covered his nose and mouth. He pointed toward the basement door.

“Bob’s down there? Why? Is he hiding from me? Is he armed?”

Debbie looked up at Darrowby, appearing in control and as dapper as ever. She was powerless under Kowalski’s restraint to do anything. Darrowby looked down on her and cracked a grin. God, how she despised this arrogant bastard.

“No. That’s not it. He’s trapped in the basement.”

“Trapped? Trapped, as in you locked him down there? Planning to let him burn with the house? What happened here? The basement door and the walls around it are charred. I can add pyromaniac to your resume of violent crimes.”

“What? No, you stupid baboon. The cats—”

Debbie caught herself.

Darrowby stuffed his hankie into his pocket and stepped toward her. “Ah. The cats. Translation, you’re the cats. You killed all the guests here. You’re Rebecca, who starts fires, including burning down the Allen’s house with them in it.”

“What are you talking about? I never burned down a house.”

“Don’t play stupid. Patrick and Marian Allen. Young couple from Battle Creek. Stayed here the first week you were opened. You gave them one of your cats. Rebecca. Ring a bell?”

“I remember them. But, I didn’t know they died.”

Darrowby raised an eye. “Sure about that?” He brought his face close to hers. “Know what I think? You went to their house in the middle of the night to take back your cat. Then, you set fire to their home, killing them in the process.”

Rebecca.
That damned cat Bob gave them torched their house and murdered them before finding her way back to Murcat Manor.

Debbie continued to struggle. She planted her feet and bent forward, trying to wriggle free. But Kowalski was too strong. He easily pulled her off balance, taking away any leverage she could muster.

Debbie looked out the kitchen window. Across the field, her neighbor’s house was fully consumed in flames. She wondered if the Bradys were able to escape the inferno. Hell, no. Rebecca would have seen to that.

Now, Rebecca was running loose in Murcat Manor. She had to get free and kill her. Debbie glanced into the living room. Where were the remaining cats?

A flare flashed in the living room, followed a split-second later by an awful explosion. A ball of blistering heat billowed over Debbie. She was blown against the brick wall, then slumped to the floor. The entire living room was ablaze. Moments later, the fire sucked the oxygen out of the kitchen and fed the inferno.

Debbie was on the floor gasping for air—Darrowby was quick to his feet. Kowalski crawled to Debbie and seized her again.

“Brilliant.”

Emily again. This time she was ecstatic, her words laced with laughing madness.

“Why didn’t I think of this before? Combine Esther and Rebecca’s powers of fire and explosions. I mean, did you see that? Wow! Most of your living room and half the upstairs are gone.”

Debbie knew Emily was completely demented. But she wasn’t stupid. Emily needed to kill her and Bob, and now Darrowby and Kowalski, yet leave a way to escape. There was only one way out. The back door.

Darrowby tried unsuccessfully to unlock the basement door. He bent over, seized Erma by the wrists, and gave a few determined pulls.

“Kowalski, I need help. I can’t get the old bag out. She’s really stuck.”

Darrowby took control of Debbie. Kowalski grabbed Erma by the arm pits while sticking his foot against the bottom of the door. After a few heaves she came loose. He let her body fall into a crumpled heap in the corner of the kitchen.

“Good job. Here’s Mrs. Stevens. Now to take care of Bob once and for all. He’s not leaving here. I’ll make sure of that.”

Darrowby shoved Debbie into Kowalski, who spun her around and secured her wrists together behind her back. He snatched his handcuffs and slapped one side shut on her left wrist.

Debbie lost it. She became a fury of arms and legs—head butting, scratching, clawing and biting.

“Bob. It’s a trick.”

Kowalski’s hand covered her mouth. She had to watch as Darrowby tried to open the door, but couldn’t unlock it. He picked up the ax lying next to Raymond and heaved a mighty swing. A hole opened.

A few more swings and the hole enlarged, but not big enough for a person to step through. Darrowby kicked at the wood around the opening and broke off large sections. Much of the door now was scattered in chunks on the floor.

Darrowby motioned through the gaping hole. “Mr. Stevens. Hurry up. This place is coming down. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

Debbie planted one foot and gave a reverse kick to Kowalski’s shin. But his hand remained over her mouth. All she could do was give off audible grunts. Debbie watched with angst as Bob ran up the stairs. Darrowby reached his hand out to him.

“Detective,” Bob said. “I never thought I’d be happy to see you. But thanks.”

Darrowby slammed his fist just below Bob’s sternum and knocked him half way down the stairs.

“Whaddaya think I’m stupid? That ass-hat attorney Wilson will find some frickin’ loophole and allow you and your murderous wife to walk. And make me look like public idiot number one. Can’t take that chance. No way, Mr. Stevens. You’re gonna pay for your sins. Tonight. Right now. Just wanted to say it to your face and remember your expression.”

Debbie strained but was helpless as Bob lurched up the stairs and tried to swoop past Darrowby. But with a broken arm, there was not much he could do. A furious kick to Bob’s chest sent him tumbling butt first down the stairs.

“That’s for killing my good friend DeShawn Hill.”

More laughing. Emily was having the time of her sixth life. “This is so much better than
American Ghost Stories
. And now your precious little bed and breakfast is on fire. This has been by far and away our best life. But wait. The best is yet to come.”

Chloe sauntered around the table and sat on Raymond’s back. As if it had a will of its own, a ten inch butcher’s knife struggled to free itself from his back. It pulled out with a sickening slurping sound.

Debbie flew into a fury of flying fists and feet. An elbow found Kowalski’s chin. She scratched and bit and clawed at him. They spun in place, Debbie battling to break free and Kowalski trying to restrain her.

“How’s it going over there, partner? She’s just a girl. Sheeesh. You have one cuff on her. Slap on the other and take her outside.”

Darrowby returned to Bob, knocking him back down the stairs a third time.

The crimson stained knife rose and hovered five feet off the ground. Chloe licked her right paw and pointed to the center of Kowalski’s back. The projectile hurtled across the room and embedded itself into its new host.

Debbie felt his grip on her loosen. He stumbled forward and laid his hand on Darrowby’s shoulder. Kowalski blinked a few times and sputtered out his last words.

“Damndest. Thing. Darrowby. You won’t believe it.”

“Yeah? What is it? A cat attack you?”

Kowalski dropped in a heap. Darrowby reached down, pulled the knife out and rolled his partner over. He kept his eyes on Debbie as he felt for a pulse on Kowalski’s neck and wrist.

Nothing.

The look in Darrowby’s eyes glaring up at her. Emily sitting on the kitchen table with Chloe, Rebecca and Esther, watching as if this was their favorite TV sitcom. Bob unconscious in the basement. Three corpses on the kitchen floor. Half of Murcat Manor blown to bits. Smoke rolling into the kitchen. Emily’s taunting laugh echoing in her head. What to do?

Debbie gauged the path to the back door. If she sprinted fast enough, she just might make it.

Chapter 61              Grand Finale

With one fluid movement, Darrowby stepped in front of Debbie and assumed a linebacker’s upright stance, ready to blitz. The detective’s unblinking eyes revealed a state of concentration so intense he could pile-drive Debbie through the floor like a pneumatic hammer drill.

“You crazy treacherous freak. First you kill DeShawn Hill, who I’ve known since we were kids. Now you murder my best friend and partner with a knife—
in the back
, no less. You’re nothing but a crazed coward. You deserve to die with your husband. Wait, hang that thought. I’ll torch what’s left of this place with you in it.”

Debbie tried to retreat, her hands up and out. “No, wait. That’s not what happened.”

Darrowby looked at the four cats sitting on the table. “It was the cats, right?”

“Yes, I—no, but—wait, you don—”

Darrowby snared a fistful of Debbie’s hair and pulled her head back, shoving his gun under her chin. “Go ahead. Say it was the damn cats. Say it. I dare you.”

Debbie understood she had lost everything. Bob. Her grandparents. Murcat Manor. Her future of raising a family of four kids. There was nothing she could do to bring back any of her lifelong dreams.

But Debbie Elaine Stevens held on to the one thing no one could take away from her. She still held the truth in her heart. She would not to succumb to Emily’s manipulative madness. Regardless of Darrowby’s handgun shoved against the underside of her chin, Emily Livingston was the real enemy. Darrowby, he was no more than an inept, stupid pawn caught up in her sadistic game.

Too bad, Debbie thought, Emily didn’t deem Darrowby worthy of hearing her voice. That would make her life so much easier.

Debbie, her head cranked back and locked against her shoulders, rolled her eyes to meet Darrowby. “Sorry for Kowalski. But I didn’t kill him.”

“You should die here tonight with your homicidal husband. I should toss you down in the basement with him and let the house burn down and collapse on you.”

Darrowby spun Debbie against the wall. He kicked her feet apart, almost causing her to fall. He pulled up the back of her shirt and hauled the Ruger SR9 9mm semi-automatic handgun out from her belt.

“What’s this? This meant for me?”

“No.”

“Always walk around your burning house with a shotgun and handgun, do you?”

“No. I swear. It’s not like that.”

“And what do we have here? A dagger, it seems? Hmm, almost missed that. You could do a lot of damage with this baby.”

Debbie wanted to puke as he pawed her all over, feeling for more weapons. He found the serrated hunting knife strapped to her ankle and yanked it out.

“You’re a real sicko. Worst I’ve ever seen.” Darrowby threw the Ruger and knives through the archway and into the burning living room.

Emily continued to laugh. “Weeeee win. As soon as Darrowby opens the back door to take you to a waiting patrol car, we’ll also leave. Ha! He won’t care if we also run outside.”

Debbie looked on as the cats sat on her table and stared. Their tails rose in the air and wagged back and forth in unison. This was entertainment in its best form to them.

Rebecca got up and ran in a small circle. As she sped up, a small fire came to life in the center. Two streams jumped to the kitchen curtains and whisked onto the walls.

Emily’s voice resonated in Debbie’s head. “Rebecca says one more fire for the road. A parting gift. From us to you.”

Debbie turned and stepped into Darrowby. She shoved both her arms under his right armpit and swept him off her. He stumbled but recovered and snared Debbie by the waist, picking her up. She was parallel to the floor, her legs stretched out and kicking wildly in the air.

Debbie Elaine Stevens took one final look at the cats. “No way, Emily. This is still my house. My kitchen. My domain. And I’m going to prove it right now.”

With one swift move she reached around Darrowby’s waist and unclipped his gun belt. She seized his semi-automatic handgun and aimed it at the cats. Safety off, she unloaded.

One round.

Two rounds.

The foursome ran in a panic.

Three rounds.

Rebecca was hit and flipped backward and off the table.

Four rounds.

Five rounds.

Six rounds.

Chloe took two hits and crumpled on the table.

Seven rounds.

Esther flattened out like a punctured balloon.

Debbie aimed at Emily and fired off two more rounds before Darrowby ripped his gun from her hand.

Emily leapt off the table. The flames from what was left of the living room invaded the kitchen. She stepped toward the back door.

As Darrowby pinned Debbie to the floor with his knee in the small of her back, she saw terror in Emily. The high priestess of her feline clan was confused. She was now alone.

Debbie grinned. “That’s it, Emily. You lose. All your friends are dead. And I get the sense you don’t want to be here by yourself.”

Darrowby shouted in her ear. “Stop talking to the cats, you insane freak.”

Debbie winced as Darrowby slapped the cuffs on her other wrist far too tight. The slowing of circulation made her hands numb.

“Bob. Please, you have to help him. Let me die. But for the love of God, let my Bob live.”

Darrowby pulled Debbie to her feet. “Not a chance. I’m getting out of here now. This hellhole is coming down in a pile of smoldering rubble.”

As Darrowby said this, the rest of the upstairs and what remained of the living room caved in. Debris, fire, and heat exploded into the kitchen.

“Let me try to save Bob. At least give me that.”

“Not a chance. Much as I despise the thought, I do need at least one of you alive. You know, for the media and publicity. A trial of this magnitude will attract nationwide media attention. And guess who’ll be answering their questions? Me.”

Debbie dropped to her knees and screamed out, “Bob. Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“He’s not getting up from that last fall down the stairs. Now let’s go.”

“Bob.”

Darrowby shoved Debbie forward. Pain shot up her arms toward her shoulders. By the back door, Emily sat, staring at Debbie. She clapped her paws.

“Bravo. Well done. You certainly are an opponent worthy of congratulating. I give you that. But you have to understand this escapade will end on my terms. I can’t allow you or that moron Darrowby to leave. So I’m taking all three of us out.”

Debbie struggled to gain her balance. “No, Emily. You can’t do that.”

“Shut up,” Darrowby shouted, balling her shirt in one hand and pulling her into him. They were nose to nose. He pointed back at the lone surviving cat. “That’s just a dumb. Stupid. Cat.”

“Oh, dumb and stupid, am I? Nobody calls me that and lives.”

Darrowby tensed as he loosened his grip on Debbie and stared back at Emily. Debbie knew she was talking to him as well.

“I get the last laugh. I can’t allow you to escape. That would mean you won.”

Debbie saw Darrowby’s stunned eyes as he leaned toward Emily. He started to take a step toward the cat, but stopped, looked back at Debbie, then again to Emily.

“What the hell?”

Emily continued, sitting calmly and staring carefree at Debbie. “And you’re right. I don’t want to be in this world alone. But I have the solution to both. Directly below me are two gas leaks in the basement, compliments of your grandmother Erma. I need to set them off now as I feel Esther’s powers leaving me.”

“Don’t do it.”

Darrowby started to backpedal as the black and white spotted cat raised a paw and waved. “We’ll be back. All thirteen of us. We still have three more lives. Too bad the same can’t be said about you and Detective Dickhead. Good bye, Debbie.”

Emily closed her eyes and tightened her shoulders. A giant explosion erupted from the basement. The wooden floor lifted with the eruption of smoke and fire. Large and small chunks of wood exploded across the kitchen.

A large plank spun through the air and hit Debbie in the head. Her world was shutting off. She realized she was on her back. Darrowby lay on top of her, motionless.

Looking up, flames danced to the smoke rolling across the ceiling. The sight, sound, and smell of Murcat Manor burning was terrible. Part of the ceiling above the kitchen gave way and crumpled in flames to the floor. A rafter crashed next to her head.

Debbie’s last thoughts were of Bob.

I love you. I’m sorry I failed you, my dearest.

Now, sweet Jesus Almighty, receive us. We’re coming home.