Sweet Dreams, Irene (16 page)

Something fanned out over me; he had brought a rough woolen blanket. He spread it over me, then tucked it in around me.

“See, Irene? I want to be nice to you. When you feel a little better, you’ll see what I mean.”

“Help me escape,” I whispered.

“No, I can’t do that. What would happen to my brother?”

“Brother?”

“Yeah. Raney’s my brother. Half-brother, really, but I don’t like that way of saying it.”

He was silent. I wanted him to leave.

“If I helped you, my brother would be killed, and that would be like killing me. He’s like my twin, even if we don’t have the same dad.”

This bit of genealogy was hard to absorb in my condition, but I remembered thinking they looked like brothers the first time I met them, in the shelter. As if remembering that same moment, he said, “Where’s the journal, Irene? Tell me. I’m being really nice to you.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Tell me,” he said softly, leaning close to my ear.

I turned my face from him. He laughed as softly as he had spoken, and left.

From beyond the door, I heard them talking.

“Man, you should have let her freeze. Teach her a lesson.”

“She’ll still be cold.”

“Yeah. Pretty soon she’ll be really cold.” They laughed together.

Raney sobered first. “I gotta pick him up tomorrow. I don’t want you trying to get into her pants while I’m gone.”

“He’s going to have her. Why should he get to have her and I don’t?”

“Think about what he did to the old lady. Think about that witch.”

Devon was silent for a moment, then asked, “Why are they following him?”

“He says they’re following everybody who made out on the old lady’s will.”

“Even the cop?”

“I guess so.” Raney laughed. “Can you believe it? We’re beating the shit out of a cop’s squeeze.”

“She’s gonna be a mess when he finds her. You can bet on that.”

Their amusement over this lasted some time.

I
COULD NOT MAKE
much out of what they had said at the time. I lay there trying to fold the throbbing of the latest blows into the back of my awareness. I felt along the mattress edge until I found the shard and pulled it out. I tore a piece of fabric off the bottom of the mattress, using some of the batting and the strip of worn cloth to wrap the wide end of the glass. I touched its sharp point, relieved it had not broken when Raney had moved the mattress about. Possession of a diamond necklace could not have pleased me more. Carefully, I returned it to its hiding place. I thought of Sammy and Mrs. Fremont. I thought of Frank. I admonished myself silently again and again, until I could hear the words beyond the border of my sleep: You will be able to do whatever you need to do to survive. You will live.

I
AWOKE WHEN
I
HEARD
Raney go outside the next day. Soon I heard the Blazer pulling out of the drive. I rubbed my skin wherever I could stand it, trying to warm up. I sat up and moved my arms. I was still sore here and there from my fistfight with Raney, but I wasn’t really any worse off than I had been before. I checked the bottom of my left foot, and found it was not as tender as I was afraid it might be. I knew I would be able to put my weight on it when I had to. Would I be able to do whatever else I had to do? Yes, I told myself.

With Raney gone, I had no doubt that Devon would take his chances with me. I heard him pacing around nervously and felt my own tension rising. The sooner he came in, the better. I wanted it over with. Before long, either I would escape the cabin, or I would have cheated them of doing me further injury.

But his fear of the Goat was stronger than I thought. Devon paced and paced, as if he were as caged as I. Just as I was beginning to lose hope of a chance to try my plan, I heard the bolt slide.

Somehow, as he stood there, looking at me, my courage fled. He was much more physically powerful than I; even if I had not been beaten, even if I had more sleep and more to eat, he would still have been able to overpower me. A smile crossed his face.

“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”

I didn’t answer, but drew deep breaths, trying to calm myself. This is your chance, I thought.

He closed the door behind him. I pulled the blanket up.

He grinned. “Yeah, I can see you are.” He moved closer, and I felt myself tense. Survive.

He stood over me and stared at me. “Were you cold last night?”

I found some part of myself rebelling against my plan. My plan was to kill him, as surely as their plan was to do the same to me. But I was not practiced in it, and they were. Devon had kept me from Raney’s excesses. Devon had held me and helped me rinse my mouth when I was sick. Devon had brought me a blanket so that I wouldn’t be so cold.

Stop it! I told myself. Devon brought you here, kicked you, held you so that you could be beaten, whipped you with a hose, took part in the murders of two people and will make yours the third. Survive.

He was watching my emotions play on my face, though I had tried to hide them. He seemed wary for a moment, then grinned again.

Suddenly he reached down and pulled the blanket from me, tossing it aside. I shivered, not entirely from the cold. He dropped down on the mattress, straddling me. To my dismay, he grabbed both of my wrists, pinning them near my shoulders. Keep your head! I told myself.

He leaned down and kissed me. My lips hurt as it was, but my revulsion was stronger than my pain. I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat.

“I’m going to have you, Irene. I know you don’t think you’ll like it, but you will. It’s going to be great. You’ll see.”

“Help me get away from here,” I tried again.

He laughed. “I told you. I can’t.”

“You can. Please, Devon. Things will be better for you if you do. We can be together.”

He laughed and let loose of my left wrist and hit me hard on the side of my head. I hadn’t expected the blow, and it jarred me.

“You must think I’m a real moron. That’s too bad. I know you’re that cop’s woman. You go ahead and think about that cop when I do it to you, Irene. I don’t care. I just want to have you.”

“He hasn’t done much for me lately, has he? He’s useless.” Forgive me, Frank, I thought. I needed Devon to be off-guard. “But you’ve been kind to me. I’ve lain here thinking about you.”

“Liar,” he said. He reached down and grabbed my blouse, ripping it down the middle. He used the same hand to unfasten my bra.

I had to get control of my fear. I had to. I took deep breaths again. He mistook the meaning of those deep breaths, and I gained my first advantage.

“Goddamn, you are excited, aren’t you?”

I reached up with my left hand and caressed his neck.

He smiled. He let loose of my right hand, and placed his hands on my breasts. It made my skin crawl, but I willed my face into a smile, or as much of one as I could manage through my puffy lips. I reached down and took hold of the shard, moaning to distract him as I pulled it loose. With his arms as they were, I would not be able to do it.

“Please, Devon,” I said, and he had no idea what I was really begging for. I ran my left hand along his chest and up on to his shoulder, then to his neck.

“Get ready, baby,” he said. I was.

He moved his hands down to my waist, and fumbled with the snap as he leaned over me. Now, I thought, now.

With all my strength, I drove the shard into his throat, thrusting it in with my right hand as I pulled his neck down with my left. I stabbed into the place my left thumb had found only moments before, the artery near his windpipe.

The shock on his face was complete. By the time he reached up to grab his neck, he had lost too much blood to remain conscious. He fell forward onto me, the life spilling out of him.

I
HAD KILLED A MAN
.

H
IS LIFELESS BODY
lay bleeding, pressing me beneath his weight. I managed to move him over enough so that I could breathe. I fought down the urge to be sick. I wanted nothing more than to get out of that room, to run out of the cabin, but I was too weak. I cursed that weakness, then calmed myself as much as I could, and moved my arms and legs beneath him. Gradually, I was able to position myself so that I could roll him off me.

The effort left me trembling. I drew deep breaths, trying not to think about the smell of his blood all over me, trying to concentrate on what must be done next.

Don’t cry, don’t waste any of your energy. Don’t look at him. Get out.

I had no idea how long it would take Raney to return from Las Piernas. I got up from the mattress and hopped over to the door. I was shaking as I opened it, but felt a sweet release of emotion as I moved outside of that room for the first time.

I was in the kitchen. There were three other doorways off it. One led outside. The others led to a small living room that was obviously being used for Devon and Raney’s sleeping quarters, and a tiny bathroom. A quick look did not reveal the location of my coat and shoes. Devon’s feet were larger than mine and I decided a big loose shoe would be more of a handicap than a help. It may have been my way of talking myself out of having to go back into that room, or having to touch him again.

I hopped over to the sink and washed my face with cool water, drinking it right out of the faucet. I was so thirsty, it was heaven. The desire to take a shower—to rinse Devon’s blood off me—was strong, but I was too afraid to take the time. I grabbed a paring knife, the only one I could find in the poorly furnished kitchen, and the set of keys Devon had left on the table. I took his denim jacket off the back of a chair and put it on. I saw a broom in one corner, and turned it upside down to use as a makeshift crutch. I put the knife and keys in the jacket pocket, and made my way outside.

Using the broom was awkward, and being barefoot didn’t help. I worked my way over to the truck. I took the keys out of my pocket and tried each one in the door.

Nothing.

I tried them all again.

Nothing. Devon didn’t have a key to the truck.

I howled in frustration and pounded on the door of the tall vehicle, causing myself to lose my balance and fall hard to the ground. It hurt like a son of a bitch. I started to get up, when it occurred to me that I could at least make it harder for Raney and the Goat to catch up to me. I pulled out the knife, reached up under the truck, and cut the brake line.

I pulled myself up again, literally and figuratively. If I went down the drive to the road, it would be easier going and I would probably encounter other people sooner. The problem was that Raney and the Goat were very likely to be those other people.

I decided to follow the creek down instead. It would be less obvious. People liked to build their cabins along creeks, I told myself. There would be water to drink and sooner or later it would lead me to someone who could help me. I hoped.

When I got to the back of the cabin, I almost changed my mind. The cabin sat about twenty feet above the creek. The slope from the cabin to the creek was steep and covered with leaves and pine needles.

My decision was made for me when I heard the sound of the Blazer coming up the drive. I began my descent. I slipped and slid a couple of times, but made it down to the creek. I heard the doors of the Blazer slam shut. I crawled until I was under a bush that I hoped would hide me from their view, and waited, feeling myself break out into a cold sweat.

Within minutes, I heard an almost animal cry, a screaming wail of denial and grief that I knew was Raney’s. He sobbed Devon’s name again and again in loud cries. I felt it go all the way through me. I had killed Devon to survive, but I didn’t rejoice in it.

Soon I heard his cries turn to rage. “I’m going to kill that fucking bitch! I’ll kill her! I’ll kill her!”

Another voice, the Goat. Lower, calmer. I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Raney began screaming again. “Fuck you! Fuck you! This is your fault! This is all your fault! Oh God, Devon!”

There was a gunshot.

Had one of them killed the other? No, after a moment I could hear their voices again. Raney’s much quieter now. Then the sound of the truck starting and driving off. Had they left?

I heard someone moving around outside. The hair on my neck stood on end. I could taste my own fear. I listened. Nothing.

I waited a long time. Still nothing. Slowly, I pulled myself down to the creek, rinsing my face, calming myself. I felt for the knife, but realized I must have lost it in the fall down the slope. With small, careful movements, I made my way along the creek bed, trying to stay out of the view of the cabin. I would survive. There were trees up ahead that would hide me better.

“T
HAT’S FAR ENOUGH
,” a voice said in front of me.

H
E WAS POINTING
a gun at me. There was no need for a mask now. I would be dead soon, so why bother? Still, I was surprised. I had guessed wrong.

“Hello, Paul,” I said, as if I were meeting him at a church social instead of after being his prisoner. And now his prisoner again.

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it, and said, “You’re going to very much regret what you’ve done, Irene. Devon was my cousin. I loved him very much.”

“As much as you loved your grandmother?”

I should have known what his response to that would be. Runs in the family. His blow to my face brought me to my knees. He put the gun up against my forehead and told me to stand up.

“Can’t. You’ll have to help me. Your beloved cousin did too much damage to my ankle.”

His help wasn’t gentle. As he reached to grab my shoulders, I saw a set of white ridges on his wrists. It was not a tattoo of a goat that Sammy had seen after all—she had recognized the scars of Paul Fremont’s teenage suicide attempt.

He dragged me between the trees and up a slope that wasn’t as steep as the one I had slid down. I was beyond being able to resist physically. I decided I wouldn’t cry if I could help it. No tears, and no yelling or screaming. No telling him where the journal is. I had my rules in place by the time he let me fall into a heap in the clearing in front of the cabin.

I dreaded the possibility of being put back into the room with Devon’s body, but Paul didn’t take me inside. He stood over me a long while, as if deciding a course of action. I lay unmoving, as much from exhaustion as from fear.

He moved behind me, pressed the gun to my head, and flattened me to the ground by placing a knee into my back. My left arm was pinned beneath me. He grabbed my right wrist, pulling my arm up into my back.

“Uncle,” I said, wincing.

He pulled it harder.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Without saying anything, he eased the pressure off it, moved it around so that my hand was to the side of my head. He held tightly to my wrist, pressing it to the ground. He kept the gun up against the back of my ear. I couldn’t figure out what he wanted me to do.

My shoulder was on fire, having been stretched as far as it would go. Or so I thought. He proved me wrong by suddenly yanking my wrist up into the air with all his might. I felt a burning, tearing sensation. My shoulder, leaving its socket. Tears came to my eyes unbidden, but my teeth remained clenched, so I managed not to scream. He laughed and laughed.

“When Frank Harriman finds you, lady, you are going to be broken into so many pieces it will take all day to count them. Think about that.”

What I thought of was a string of obscenities. I was drenched in sweat. I felt close to passing out. I longed to. I didn’t.

He grabbed my right hand, never moving the gun from my head. He bent my right thumb part way back. My shoulder hurt so much, it was amazing to me that I could feel him pull at my thumb.

“You know what’s coming, don’t you?”

I did, but I didn’t answer him.

When he broke the thumb, I broke my rule about crying out. The scream was something that seemed to happen on its own.

It was as that scream died that I heard the sound of a motor. Someone coming up the drive.

He heard it too. “Raney’s back. Now I’ll have to share some of this fun with him. If I can keep him from killing you outright.”

But I knew he was wrong. I had learned the sound of the truck, and this was not the truck. Hope rose up against my pain. The sound stopped before the vehicle had reached the crest of the drive, and we heard doors closing. Two doors. Now Paul knew as well as I did that this wasn’t Raney.

“Come out where I can see you or she dies,” Paul shouted.

No reply. He pulled on the arm. I didn’t want to, but I screamed again.

“Let her go, Paul.” Frank. Sweet God in heaven, Frank had found me. In the next instant, I wanted him not to be there, not to see me like this. That passed.

“I’ve got a gun pointed right at her head. If you and whoever you’ve got with you don’t show yourselves, she gets a bullet.”

“Let her go, son. It’s too late. The sheriff will be here any minute.” Jack Fremont was walking into the clearing. He came to a halt when he saw us.

“Don’t call me your son, you asshole.”

“Paul, please,” Jack pleaded. “Please don’t do this.”

“Where’s Harriman? Get the fuck out here or I’ll do her right now. Take a good look at her if you think I give a damn!” There was a rising hysteria in his voice. Frank came into the clearing. He had his gun in his hand.

“Drop it, Frank, or I’ll kill her right now.”

He hesitated, but let it drop at his feet.

“Raney’s dead, Paul,” Jack said, moving closer. “The truck went over a cliff.”

“Liar. Stay back. Don’t come anywhere near me. I wish you were dead. I hope you go through hell.”

“Is that why, Paul? You did all of this because I told you I was sick?”

“Not sick, dying. You told me you were dying. And I couldn’t wait around for that old bitch to die. Not when I could make everybody think it was you. Killed her, then all I had to do was wait for you to die.”

“She gave you so much,” Jack said. “And you killed her?”

“She gave all right. Oh yeah. She gave me and Ma everything we could ask for. But she let us know it. Every damn dime, she wanted something back for it. We had to listen to her go on and on. We had to let her know where every penny had been spent. Made us live with her. Like she could buy us! Goddamn I got tired of always having to do things her way. But where were you all that time, Daddy dear? Running around on a motorcycle like some kid. Coming back just to break Ma’s heart. I hate you.”

“Let Irene go,” Frank said. “She’s never done anything to you.”

“Oh no? Well, go on in and take a look at Devon. This bitch killed Devon and she’s going to die for it.”

He grabbed me by the hair and cocked the gun.

“No!” There was so much anguish in Frank’s voice, I could hardly bear it.

Paul laughed.

It infuriated me. “Fuck you. I hope he cuts
your
heart out.”

“Just for that, bitch, I think I’ll kill him first.”

What happened next happened fast. Paul raised up off me a little to turn and point the gun at Frank. I rolled over against Paul’s legs, trying to throw off his aim. Frank dove to the ground and Paul fired the gun. He missed, and as Frank picked his own gun up, Paul turned and aimed right at me. There was no doubt in my mind that he was about to kill me, but in the next second I heard a whistling noise and a strange
thunk
. There was a knife in Paul Fremont’s chest.

“Dad?” he said in amazement.

“I couldn’t, Paul,” Jack said, his voice full of misery. “I couldn’t just stand here and watch you do it.”

Paul looked at me then, the gun still in his hand, a bright red stain spreading over his chest. For a moment I thought he was still going to pull the trigger, but suddenly he fell over.

Jack and Frank were running toward us. Jack was picking Paul up in his arms and weeping. Frank knelt next to me, reaching out as if he wanted to hold me, but then stopping, as if he was afraid of hurting me.

“Irene,” he choked out. I lifted my left hand, the only part of my body that wasn’t in an uproar of pain, and touched his face. He took it in his and kissed it. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked haggard—as if he’d had less sleep than I. I’ve never been so glad to see anybody.

“You look awful,” I said, managing a lopsided smile. It was good to hear him laugh.

T
HE SHERIFF ARRIVED
not long after that. He seemed to know Frank. He didn’t need to be convinced that I needed medical attention, and left a deputy behind at the cabins to ride with us to a nearby clinic. Jack drove while Frank gently held on to me in the backseat.

Frank and Jack explained what they could to the sheriff, while I repeated one thought over and over to myself: I’m alive.

The doctor at the clinic was on her way to another emergency when we arrived. By then I was thinking only of the process required to keep my molars together, knowing that if I opened my mouth, I was going to scream. Conversations being held by those around me were difficult to follow. I know explanations were made, and I recall the sense if not the exact words of Frank’s protest and pleas. They brought me inside the clinic and Frank set me on an examination table. The doctor took time to quickly check over my injuries and give me an injection to make the ride down to the hospital bearable.

She watched me for a minute, and seemed to know when the injection started to do its work. She nodded to Frank, and he lifted me again. It still hurt, but there was a growing fog between me and the pain. The sheriff decided to stay and help her, and somewhere in the fog he told Frank he would be in touch and people said thank you.

Jack looked worried about me when he helped us into the car.

Frank held me again, softly stroking my hair away from my forehead.

I felt tears welling up. “Ruined my hair.”

“Your hair is wonderful. Don’t worry about anything. If you don’t like it, you can let it grow back. Or I’ll buy you a wig.”

I felt myself grin at that, a silly numb-faced grin. My emotions were yo-yoing like crazy.

There was something important to tell Frank, I thought, as the pain slipped farther away. What was it? Something important, just sliding out of my mind’s reach. Then I remembered it, but my speech was growing thick when I called out to him, and it seemed as if he were getting farther away as well.

“Right here, I’m right here. Shhh.”

“One more of them.”

“No, he’s dead. His truck went over a cliff.”

“No, one more.”

“Shhh. Go to sleep. They’re all dead. No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe now.”

“No,” I said, but it didn’t seem important after all, so I let myself float down into darkness.

W
HEN
I
CAME AROUND
again, I saw white lights rolling over my head. Frank was holding my left hand, moving alongside me. I gradually realized I was on a gurney, being wheeled around in a hospital. The painkiller was wearing off.

The doctors were happy I could talk to them as clearly as I could. They had already taken X-rays, and were anxious about not letting the shoulder remain dislocated. They loaded me up with morphine and yanked the shoulder back into place. I howled like a banshee. The embarrassment of that didn’t last long; I passed out.

I came awake feeling panicked. It took me a moment to realize I was in a hospital room. Frank was watching me anxiously. I was very grateful to see him there, because being in another strange, small room was frightening the hell out of me.

“How do you feel?” he said.

“Scared,” I answered, before I realized Jack was there too.

He came up beside the bed and said quietly, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, Jack.
I
want to leave.”

Frank took my left hand in his and I held on to it tightly while I looked myself over. I had an IV in my left arm. The bottom half of my right leg was in a cast. My right arm was in a sling, and I had a strange cast on it. The cast started below my elbow and covered my thumb. It covered my hand under my fingers, but the fingers were exposed. The hand was elevated.

“The shoulder and thumb were dislocated,” Frank explained. “The thumb fractured as well.”

The room didn’t have a window. The panic wasn’t subsiding. “Get me out of here,” I said.

“They want to keep you overnight,” Jack said.

“I want to go home,” I said to Frank. “Please don’t make me stay here. Take me to your house. I’ll go to a doctor in Las Piernas.”

That caused a fight with the doctor who was on duty that night. He gave me two choices: see a psychologist or be sedated. I refused both. He tried to talk Frank into keeping me there, but Frank stuck up for me.

Finally, we found a doctor who was sympathetic to my point of view, or at least understanding of my desire to avoid confined spaces. He even helped me to move out into the hallway, where I felt a little less anxious. Jack went to get a prescription for painkillers filled while Frank helped me into a robe he had bought for me while I was in surgery. I apologized to the nurses for being difficult. I wondered if I was going crazy.

Just before we left, the doctor who had helped us gave me a sedative, saying it would make the long ride home easier on me. I fell asleep before Frank had finished signing all of the paperwork for my release.

W
E WERE BACK
in Jack’s car. I looked up hazily and saw Frank’s face, looking down.

“Are we going home?” I asked.

“Yes. We’re going home.”

I woke up a couple of times on the way, vaguely aware of feeling troubled, but Frank would try to calm me and soon I would fall back to sleep. I heard Jack and Frank talking easily to one another, their voices like a lullaby to me.

We pulled up in front of Frank’s house, and Jack helped him once again. The lights were on in the house, and I became aware of voices—Pete and Rachel, Cody yowling. I couldn’t make out anything anyone was saying, except Cody.

Frank took me into the bedroom, and with Rachel’s help took the robe off and got me into bed. Rachel left the room. Cody, somehow always sensing when he needs to be gentle, found a place near my left hand to lie down and purr at me, giving me little kisses on my knuckles. It roused me enough to look up at Frank as he kissed me softly on the top of my head. He stayed until I fell asleep.

He came in again not too much later. I became aware that he had turned on the light and was calling my name and holding me. I was busy screaming. The nightmares had begun.