The Dark House (31 page)

“Did you send them?” Rollins knelt before her in her chair, looked carefully, trying to find Neely in this bald woman's face. “It's Rollins,” he told her. “Eddie Rollins. You remember me, don't you?” He searched her eyes for some hint of recognition. “Cornelia, is it you? Neely?” He held her tightly, ready to hug her to him if she said yes.

Nervous laughter came up around him. “Maybe he needs the psych unit,” someone said.

“The name's Evelyn,” the woman told him. “I didn't send anything. Sorry—don't know any Cornelia.” She gripped his wrists, to remove his hands from her. “I think it's Liz you're looking for.”

Reluctantly, Rollins released her. “Liz?”

“Yeah—you know her?” She turned to her friends at the table. “What's Liz's last name? I can't even think of it now.”

No one spoke. All around him, Rollins could hear the sound of television sets at low volume, with occasional bursts of canned laughter.

“Could it be Payzen?” Rollins asked quietly.

The woman clapped her hands together. “Yeah, that's it. Payzen. I swear, my mind's going along with everything else.” She knocked on the side of her head.

A shadow fell. All that was so bright about Cornelia suddenly went
dark. In his mind, there was a rustling sound, as of branches closing behind someone dashing through the trees, and then nothing. Silence and stillness filled his mind. Neely was gone.

“Elizabeth Payzen,” Rollins said, trying to adjust to this truth. It had been foolish to hope differently. But he couldn't stop now. “So she's here?”

The woman looked downcast for a moment. “For now.”

The ponytailed nurse spoke softly: “She's very sick. Her cancer has spread to her lungs. She's having a lot of trouble with her breathing.”

“But she sent me a fax just yesterday.”

The woman shrugged.

“I'm sorry, sir,” said the nurse. “But I'll have to ask you to leave. Elizabeth is not receiving visitors right now.” The nurse took Rollins by the arm and started to escort him back down the corridor.

“Where's Lizzie's room?” Rollins called back to the bald woman.

“Over there,” the woman shouted back, pointing to a half-open door a short ways down the hall.

Rollins could see Payzen's name on a card by number 12. He pushed past the nurse and pushed open the door. Inside, the shade was drawn halfway, dimming the light to the drowsy hue he associated with hot weather. An ashen-faced woman lay in bed under a thin blanket, her head propped up on pillows, her arms limp by her sides.

A bulky, uniformed nurse stood up from a chair in the corner when Rollins burst in the room. “Excuse me—”

“It's Rollins,” he announced, and rushed toward the bed. “Lizzie?”

The figure on the bed stirred, her head turning in his direction. “Rollins,” she repeated hoarsely. He saw a flicker of a smile. It was definitely Elizabeth Payzen. He could tell by the eyes, which were the same piercing blue he remembered from before. But she'd lost weight; her flesh, once so taut and radiant, hung off her. She must have been in her fifties by now, but she looked twenty years older. Her hair, once a gloriously thick chestnut brown, had gone white and patchy, and her face was frighteningly pale.

The ponytailed nurse was at his side. “I'm sorry,” he said. He grabbed Rollins by the arm. “He's not supposed to be in here.”

“It's all right, Daryl,” Elizabeth rasped out.

“You're in no condition—” Daryl objected.

Elizabeth raised an arm slightly. It seemed to take all her strength. “Please.”

Daryl looked at Payzen and then at Rollins. “Okay then.” Shaking his head, he left the room.

Rollins turned back to Elizabeth. A great weight seemed to have settled over her. With some effort, she reached a hand up to touch his arm. Her fingers felt like a tiny bird landing on him. “I was expecting you,” she whispered. She looked over to the day nurse. “Could you give us a moment alone, please?”

“If you like,” the woman replied in an Irish accent. “She's very weak,” she told Rollins. “Try not to tire her. And only a few minutes, all right?” She stepped toward the door. “I'll be just outside.”

“So those were your faxes?” Rollins asked when they were alone. He spoke gently, she was so frail. He was afraid he might hurt her otherwise. Perhaps he already had.

“Yes, from the office.” She raised a finger weakly toward the hallway. “I shouldn't have been so coy.” She took another moment to breathe. “I needed to talk to you, but I—well, I wasn't sure I dared. So I just kind of put it out there and let God decide.” The edges of her mouth lifted into a half smile. “Forgive me. I've become quite religious in my last days.” For a moment, her eyes sparkled.

“You knew my father?” Rollins asked.

Elizabeth brought a slim finger to her dry lips. “Later.”

The first time Rollins had met her, he couldn't imagine what Cornelia had seen in her, Elizabeth had been so brusque and evasive. But now, as she labored to draw the breath to speak, he had a different impression. She was obviously trying so hard to connect. But there was something else, a wryness that reminded him of Neely's own off-kilter quality, which he had nearly forgotten. Neely rarely came at anything quite straight. She was always dashing about, bright-eyed, emitting gales of laughter over jokes and antics that flew over his head as a youngster. She'd eluded him then, he realized, just as she was eluding him now.

“Cornelia spoke of you,” Elizabeth went on with some difficulty. “Often. I think she was in love with you a little.”

Rollins' heart swelled: Cornelia seemed to be hovering there before him like an angel. “But I was just a boy.”

“Oh, heavens. Age doesn't matter. She once told me that the thought of you made her want to have a child.”

“I had no idea.” Rollins dropped down on his knees beside her, to bring his head close to hers.

“Oh yes. You—” she paused for a moment, looked down at her hands—“
and
your sister.”

“Stephanie,” Rollins said quietly. For a moment, she was in the room, too.

“She died, didn't she?”

“Yes.”

“For years, I couldn't be sure. Cornelia was often—what's the word? Metaphorical.” She breathed quietly for a moment, as if she was trying to find her peace with that realization. “Cornelia actually tried to get pregnant. She told me so—on her fortieth birthday. She cried, telling me. I guess she realized then that she never would.” She smiled again as she looked over at Rollins. “But I enjoyed our own mating dance.” Elizabeth's eyes glittered. “So suspenseful.” She looked up at the wall beyond the foot of her bed where, Rollins saw now, a slim crucifix hung, its Jesus hanging in silent agony.

There was a commotion in the hallway. “I need to go in there!” Marj shouted, then lurched inside the room. “Rolo! I didn't know where—” She stopped still when she saw Lizzie.

“It's Lizzie Payzen,” Rollins said. “She's been sending the faxes.”

“And Neely?”

Rollins shook his head.

“It's all right, Nancy,” Elizabeth told the nurse, who was hovering nervously in the doorway.

“Okay then,” the nurse replied, and withdrew once more.

“Do I know you?” Elizabeth asked weakly, gazing up at Marj.

“I saw your picture,” Marj explained shyly. “At that house.”

“
Marj
—” Rollins broke in. “This isn't the time—”

“Oh, the Gliebermans',” Elizabeth interrupted. “Yes, that was wild.” She paused again, then looked up at Marj, who seemed very nervous all of a sudden. “It's all right,” Elizabeth assured her. “Heavens! Dying, you'll find, is very liberating. Cornelia—” she stopped—“I gather you know about Cornelia?”

Marj nodded.

“I'm glad.” Elizabeth smiled. “I was just telling Rollins that she was hoping to get pregnant. That's what drew her there—all that sperm.” She smiled again, more weakly this time. Then her face clouded over. “Well, partly. It was also the drugs, the lunacy. She went a little crazy toward the end.” She fell silent, her chest slowly rising and falling under the bedclothes.

“Crazy in what way?” Marj asked.

Elizabeth pondered that a moment. “Crazy from sadness, I suppose. She always carried this deep sadness that no one could ever reach. Your sister's death, Rollins—that ate away at her.” More breath, more rapidly this time. Like a fish, Rollins thought, desperately flapping its gills on the shore. “I went with her once, to the house, to see what it was all about. Later, I went back.” Elizabeth closed her eyes. “God forgive me.”

“For what?” Rollins asked, suddenly worried.

“For being so
D-U-M-B
.”

Rollins leaned in closer. “Lizzie, there are rumors—”

“I've heard them,” Lizzie replied quickly. “The whispers. I've had to live with them.”

“Did you—?” Rollins pressed.

“No!” Her eyes blazed, but her voice was little more than a whisper. “Absolutely not.”

“But you had a reason.”

“Why, because we weren't getting along?”

“Her
will
, Lizzie.”

She fell silent for a moment. “That was supposed to be our secret.” She breathed, more haltingly this time.

“You never said where you were,” Marj added.

“I didn't have exactly the nicest alibi.”

“What do you mean?” Rollins asked gently.

Lizzie's eyes shot over to him. “I've never told anyone.”

“Tell me, Lizzie,” Rollins said. “Where were you? I have to know.”

“It's too awful.”

“Please.”

Elizabeth Payzen looked up at the crucifix again, then back at Rollins. “I was at the Gliebermans'.” She shook her head, as if to free herself from the memory. “Things were not going well with Cornelia. She'd been seeing other people. She told me it didn't mean anything, but I knew it did. I had to show her that I didn't need her either. I wanted to lose myself. Just throw myself into the depravity, the soulless sex. And so I did. And I lost
her
.” More raspy breaths, this time followed by heavy coughing that reddened her face and made the veins bulge an alarming blue on either side of her neck. The nurse came in and raised her up in bed. She poured her some water and brought the cup to her lips. Elizabeth grasped it with unsteady hands and took a few sips. She passed the cup back to the nurse, her chest heaving.

The nurse bent down to her. “You need the oxygen?”

There was a steel canister in the corner, Rollins could see, with tubes coming out to a clear plastic mask.

“I'm okay,” Elizabeth rasped out.

“I don't want you getting tired now.”

“Really. I'll be fine. Another few minutes. Please?”

The nurse looked at her, obviously pondering. “Just a few,” she said finally, and retreated again.

Lizzie grasped Rollins' arm and pulled him down to her. “If only I'd stayed home that night, she'd still be with us. I would have—I would have heard Cornelia on that road. She was coming to see me. I'd have had her back, I'm convinced of it.” She slumped back against the pillows again, exhausted. Her eyes looked hurt now as they met Rollins'. “Terrible, isn't it, what people do to each other?”

“But you never said anything,” Rollins told her. “You never explained.”

“I couldn't! I didn't want to lie, and I couldn't tell the truth. The truth was too horrible.” Her frail chest swelled under the bedclothes.
“So I said nothing.” She swiped at her eyes with her hand, to clear away some tears. “I had to let people think what they were going to think.” She turned to Rollins. “People like you.”

Rollins looked at her, uncomprehending.

“In that story of yours.”

“I didn't make any accusations,” Rollins said, panicky. He swung around toward Marj for confirmation, and she gave him a blank look back.

“You made some comments,” Elizabeth said. “You said I was ‘under suspicion in some quarters.' I'll never forget those words. My mother called me about them. Everyone in town started staring at me.”

“My editor added that,” Rollins said unhappily. Grant Bowser had assured Rollins that the line was “safely vague.”

“I didn't know where you were coming from,” Elizabeth said.

“A lot of people have that problem,” Marj said.

“But I need to trust you now.”

She offered her hand, and Rollins took it. The loose skin was cool, and he could feel the delicate bones underneath. He enclosed her hand in both of his, hoping to give some strength to this poor, sad woman stretched out before him, with death in her lungs. She was his last link to Cornelia. They might have been friends, if only he'd known. “You can trust me.”

She looked up into his eyes, as if searching for something inside. “I didn't know what you were after.” She coughed again, another hard cough that brought the nurse back to the doorway. But Marj gave Elizabeth a sip of water, settled her down on the pillows, and Elizabeth waved the nurse away.

“What happened to Cornelia that night, do you know?” Rollins asked.

Elizabeth took a moment to compose herself, to wait till her breath steadied again. “The night she disappeared, I got back very late.” She spoke in the barest whisper, her voice nearly all air. To hear her better, Rollins had to crouch down, his ear turned toward her mouth. Her breath made a slight wind on his cheek as she spoke.

“I called her, as I always do, first thing in the morning,” she told him. “But I got no answer. I thought, ‘That's odd.'” She rested again,
her chest straining for breath under the sheets. “I went to her house to look for her. I tried the doorbell. Nothing. The front door—it was unlocked. I went inside. I was frightened. I didn't know what I'd find. I'd been very worried about her. She'd been so anxious, those last months. So depressed. Jumpy. I was afraid she might—”