Authors: Margaret Carroll
Game over.
Caroline had nothing to lose now.
Oddly, this gave her strength. She straightened to her full height. She was almost as tall as Porter, a fact she had been careful to cover up with ballet flats. “I thought I loved you once, Porter. But no matter how much I tried, it wasn’t enough.”
His eyes widened with shock.
“My love wasn’t good enough,” she continued. “Nobody’s love was ever enough for you. Not your father’s. Not mine. Not even your mother’s, if you think about it.”
“Don’t you tell me about my mother!” Porter pointed
at her with a finger that trembled as his voice rose to a hysterical screech. “Your problem”—he spat the words out—“is that you are corrupt. You were born that way. You liked what was done to you. You won’t admit it, and you refuse to grow up.”
His screeching sounded to her ears like a record that was worn and scratched. Caroline shook her head. “No, Porter. I did not choose the things that were done to me. But I chose you, and I don’t want you in my life anymore.”
His eyelids fluttered up into their sockets, showing white. “No! You can’t leave me. I won’t let you leave me again!”
Terror made Caroline drift, watching these changes in Porter as though they were flickering across a screen at a movie, and she was safe in the last row. It was a sensation left over from her childhood, and it served her well now.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But all you’ve done is destroy my love for you. It’s the one truth you couldn’t analyze.”
Caroline vowed she would not slide down into the vortex with him again. Never again. Not even if she paid for it with her life.
Porter’s lips curled back. His voice shook with rage. “I have dedicated my life to uncovering truths about people, the truths they won’t face.”
Caroline shook her head. “You won’t face your own truth, Porter. You torture anyone who tries to get close to you. You made my life hell.”
“Your life was never going to amount to much anyway.” Porter’s face twisted with rage.
Caroline had once considered him sophisticated,
exotic. “Porter, it’s over. I don’t love you anymore. I did once but you pushed me away. And now I never will.”
Porter’s features collapsed. “No!”
Caroline saw beyond his anger to something else. Despair. She shook her head.
His voice turned pleading. “You can’t leave me. I can’t let that happen.” Porter motioned at Ken with his chin. “You can’t leave me for another man. I’ll kill him first.” Porter swung the pistol to Ken.
Caroline thought of the shotgun in the wardrobe, the knife in her pocket. Two options. The knife was closer. Her fingers moved.
It was a small motion, but Porter caught it. His voice was low and cruel in the tone he used with his riding crop. “What are you hiding?”
Caroline forced herself to stand still. She tried to swallow.
Porter’s eyes narrowed. “Show me.”
He’d told her countless times he knew when she was hiding something, that deceit flowed from her core. There was nothing left now but to tell the truth. She pulled the knife from her pocket.
Porter looked from her face to the blade in her hand and back again, shaking his head. His voice was no more than a weak croak. “You would use that? To hurt me?”
Caroline said nothing.
Porter’s face twisted as a sound worked its way up from deep inside him, a terrible high-pitched howl such as an animal would make in distress.
And the animal in the room responded.
Pippin sprang at Porter, sinking his sharp tiny fangs into Porter’s leg.
Porter grunted in surprise and knocked the dog off. In doing so, he lowered his gun for a precious few seconds.
Which was all the time Caroline required. She reached for the wardrobe door and grabbed for what lay inside, careful not to turn her back on Porter.
Everything after that happened in slow motion.
She fumbled for the gun, pulled it out by its neck and swung the stock up to her chest. Her fingers closed around the trigger.
Porter stared, his mouth dropping open.
Caroline saw inside to the rows of silver fillings in his teeth, and thought idly how upset he must be to let his mouth hang slack like this, considering how fastidious he always was with his appearance.
He snapped his mouth shut, swallowed once before swinging his pistol back around to Caroline.
But he was too late.
The barrel of the shotgun was already where she needed it to be.
Their eyes met, long enough for Caroline to regret her part in this, bringing them here to this moment in time. She hesitated, dropping the barrel a millimeter and no more, so it was aimed at his legs and not at his heart.
Porter’s eyes glinted like shards of ice. He aimed his pistol at her head.
But Caroline had the advantage. She squeezed her trigger first.
The room exploded with a crack of thunder and a flash of red, followed immediately by the pistol shot.
Pippin howled.
The kick from the shotgun knocked Caroline off her feet. She landed on her back and felt the bullet from
Porter’s gun whiz past her ear. She rolled, still clutching the shotgun, and scrambled onto her knees to take aim again.
But there was no need. Porter lay sprawled on the floor, his face deathly white as a horrible dark liquid spilled from his gut.
The .38 skittered to rest on the floor nearby.
Porter groaned. He turned his head and spotted the gun when Caroline did.
Quick as lightning, he reached out to make a grab for it.
“No!” Caroline screamed, lunging forward.
Porter’s fingers closed around the pistol.
Caroline leaped forward and slammed the butt of the shotgun down on his hand.
It connected with the sickening crunch of bones breaking.
Porter howled in pain and released his grip on the .38. His fingers dangled uselessly. “Please give me another chance,” he moaned.
Their eyes met; his were wet with sorrow.
“Porter, I’ll get help for you,” she whispered.
For one moment she imagined that salvation might be theirs.
Porter blinked, gathering his broken hand to him like a bird with a crushed wing.
Then his good hand shot out and locked on her leg in a vise grip.
It knocked Caroline off balance.
“Bitch,” Porter hissed.
Pippin circled, barking furiously.
She went down hard, landing on her elbow. Pain shot up through her arm. She kicked his hand with
her leg and swung the butt of the shotgun down onto him with all her strength, despite the stabbing pain in her arm.
The blow hit home with a sickening thud, landing in the soft tissue of Porter’s belly that was already seeping blood.
Porter fell back into the puddle of crimson. “Don’t destroy us,” he begged.
Pippin stopped barking at last and sat, watching.
“It’s too late, Porter,” she said, kicking the pistol out of his reach. Still clutching the shotgun, she raced to Ken’s side.
Ken was deathly still.
She set the shotgun down and shook him by the shoulders, calling his name.
His eyelids flickered.
Thank God. She grabbed him and pulled with all her might. He didn’t budge. She tried again, straining with effort. His head bobbed lifelessly against her knees as sobs of despair rose in her throat.
A small sound caught her attention.
She whirled around.
Porter had struck a match. He held it close to his face so its light danced near his eyes.
She saw only madness there.
“Come back to me, Mommy,” he pleaded.
“Porter, no!” Caroline raised her hand to stop him.
But it was too late.
“I wanted you to stay with me,” he said.
“No, Porter,” she screamed. “Don’t do it!”
But it was too late.
He dropped the match. A thin flame raced along the wet trail of kerosene with an audible whoosh.
Porter’s face was waxy and white, his breathing labored. He clutched his stomach with hands balled into fists and licked colorless lips. His hatred had imploded, curling his body into a fetal position. “Help me, Mommy! Don’t leave me!”
The flames were already leaping up walls and climbing furniture.
The cabin was no longer quiet. Now it was filled with the sound of a hot, choking wind.
Caroline crawled to Ken’s legs since they were nearest the door and grabbed them.
A shooting pain, hot like a knife, tore through Caroline’s arm.
Panic gave her strength.
She pulled at Ken’s legs with all her might.
Her hands slipped off and she fell back onto the floor.
Ken stayed where he was.
The flames were starting to give off heat.
Porter moaned, begging to be rescued.
Caroline scrambled to a crouch. She grabbed Ken’s ankles and tried again.
The smoke was not as dense here near the floor, but still thick enough to sting her eyes and fill her nostrils, making it difficult to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled, grunting aloud with effort.
Just when she thought her back would break, Ken’s body began to yield, just a tiny bit and then a tiny bit more. She crept backward, dragging Ken across the floor like a dead weight.
Flames licked the floorboards like snakes on a mission from hell. In an instant, she knew, the rugs would catch, blocking her exit.
She dug her heels in and pulled, willing Ken’s body to move with every fiber of her being.
They inched along this way through smoke and bits of ash that were whipping through the cabin. Ken’s arms were splayed helplessly out at his sides.
His eyes were closed, and this only added to the wild terror Caroline felt.
The back of her throat burned with scalding air. She could no longer see the stove in the center of the room, or even the couch. She fumbled behind her, giddy with relief to feel the door at her back. She reached behind her and pulled it open.
A blast of cold air rushed in. Caroline had never felt anything so good in her life and she drew it deep into her lungs in great, greedy gulps.
Ken blinked.
But the wind fed the flames, whipping them into a leaping frenzy.
Caroline was choking, gasping for air. Ken was coughing, too, a weak sputtering sound that, she feared, would stop at any moment.
She heard more coughing from deep inside the wall of heat and smoke and knew that Porter was choking, too.
She pulled Ken free of the door, groaning with the effort. She bounced him down the steps, his skull hitting each one like a dead weight.
But she couldn’t do anything about that now.
She managed to get them both free of the small wooden porch before collapsing on the snow in a spasm of coughing.
Flames shot out the door behind them.
They needed to get farther away.
She reached for Ken’s legs once more, inching along the ground until they were far enough, at last, to escape the heat and breathe cold air. Caroline’s arm felt like it had been ripped clear of its socket.
She left Ken on the ground and ran back to save Porter.
But she was too late.
The cabin erupted in a bright orange ball of flame.
The ground shook.
The impact shattered windows and knocked Caroline off her feet.
She landed in the cold, clean snow. She lay there safe in the arms of the mountain, watching helplessly as the cabin turned into a fireball.
Bits of debris floated through the air like feathers.
After a minute or two, she willed herself to move. She crawled on all fours to Ken, who was lying where she had left him, pale and terribly still.
Sobs rose in her throat. She heard moaning and realized it was coming from inside her. She knelt and pressed one ear to his chest, praying to hear his heart beat.
She did.
She screamed his name.
He moaned.
She crouched, cradling his head in her lap, and gave in to the sobs that rose inside her. Through her tears, she called the name over and over of the one friend she loved so much. “Pippin.”
A siren wailed in the distance.
“Pippin.” The effort of speech, mixed with her hot tears, brought on a choking fit. Tears streamed down Caroline’s face, not just from the smoke but tears of anguish for the dog, for Ken, for Porter, for all of them.
The sirens got louder.
Which masked the other sound at first.
Then it grew louder. Caroline held her breath, listening intently, praying she would hear it again.
And then she did.
Barking.
Pippin raced around the corner of the flaming cabin, yipping for all he was worth.
He made a beeline for Caroline.
T
he storm passed, turning the town into a shimmering landscape that winked blue and silver beneath a moonlit sky.
The view from the second-floor window of Sky County Medical Center was of a world transformed, of calm after a storm. Or so it seemed to Caroline from her seat in the visitor’s chair near Ken’s hospital bed.
The last several hours had passed in a blur. She got her arm tended to and tried to explain events that defied explanation to the county sheriffs who videotaped her statement. She answered questions as best she could. Such as, did she set out to kill her husband up on the mountain?
No.
Was Ken Kincaid involved in any plan to kill her husband?
No.
Had she expressed the desire to Ken Kincaid or to anyone else at any time that she wished her husband dead?
No.
And, most shocking of all, did she know anything
about the human remains inside of a storage locker held by her husband in Eckington, a neighborhood in Washington, D.C., she had heard of but never visited?
Other questions were not asked. The kind that made her duck her head in shame and stare down at her hiking shoes, covered in gray ash. Such as, why had she married Porter in the first place? How could she have loved him? These questions were left unspoken, but she saw them in the sidelong glances of the EMTs who rushed them down the mountain in the county’s all-terrain SUV, siren blaring and lights flashing, and again on the face of the Sky County sheriff who videotaped her statement with an unwavering stare.
At the hospital, they gave her hot coffee and a blanket while she relayed for the camera the bizarre facts of her marriage to Porter, and the events that had taken place at the cabin.
The law enforcement officials treated her fairly, faces impassive as they asked questions and recorded her answers. Reciting the plain truth, saying these things out loud, made Caroline realize how complete had been her descent into a life of utter madness.
She responded in a voice she barely recognized, flat and matter-of-fact. It was time for the truth to come out. She saw the curiosity in their eyes, mixed with revulsion, and hung her head in shame. But she forced herself to go on. Her days of telling lies were over.
The interview ended, and she was allowed to see Nan and Gus.
Nan threw her arms around Caroline. “You put this thing behind you now and move on.”
Any reservations Caroline had about seeing Ken’s father melted away when she faced him.
Gus grabbed her in a bear hug.
Overwhelmed with regret, Caroline couldn’t say anything at first. She had stayed with Porter for reasons she didn’t fully understand, telling herself that at least they weren’t hurting anybody but themselves. Seeing Ken’s father now made her realize that, too, was a lie.
Gus placed his hands on both her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes.
She saw no resentment in his gaze. Only concern.
“You’ve been through a lot, young lady. You saved my son’s life. He’s going to be fine.”
She shook her head in protest. “It’s all my fault.”
Gus gave her shoulders a squeeze. “What happened up there was someone else’s doing, and that’s over and done with now. The important thing is you’re okay and so is my son.” Gus’s voice broke, and he steeled himself before continuing. “Now you put this behind you.”
His words were spoken so matter-of-factly that Caroline couldn’t argue. “I’ve got a lot of work to do on myself,” she admitted.
Gus said nothing, just patted her once more.
That had been an hour ago. Nan and Gus had decided to visit Maebeth Burkle down the hall, with Gus grumbling that half of Storm Pass was out of commission today. The nurse promised to fetch them at the first sign that Ken was awake.
A small sound indicated this was happening right now.
Ken groaned and rolled his head from side to side. His eyes sprang open. He smiled at Caroline. “Hey.”
His voice was barely more than a hoarse croak, but the sound of it melted away some of the terror she’d experienced this day. She smiled. “Hey, yourself.”
He cleared his throat and grimaced.
Caroline handed him a glass of ice water with a straw and held it while he took a few small sips.
A look of cheer came over his face as he realized he was able to move, to swallow. He raised one arm, the one without the IV tube, and flexed his fingers. He looked at her and smiled. “Caroline.”
The sound of her name on his lips made her blush despite everything.
“Suits you better than Alice,” he said.
Caroline pressed a hand to her mouth to try to stop the tears that welled up inside her.
“Sshhh.” He tried to lift his head from the pillow but couldn’t.
She frowned. “How do you feel?”
“Like a bad hangover.” He grinned. “Better with you here.”
“They said you’re going to be fine. Thank God.” Caroline’s shoulders shook as a great sob heaved inside her.
Ken frowned. “Don’t worry.”
A nurse walked in.
“You’re awake,” the nurse observed.
Ken grinned. “I am.”
“A lot of people have been waiting for this.” The nurse pressed a button on the intercom and paged the doctor on call, stat. She got busy next taking Ken’s blood pressure and pulse. “Your vitals look good, Mr. Kincaid. How are you feeling?”
“Like elephants sat on my head.”
The nurse chuckled as she entered her readings. “We’ve got you on a mix of fluids that will help. The doctor should be along in a minute.” She looked at
him. “I promised your dad I would call as soon as you opened your eyes. And the sheriff, who’s waiting to take your statement. I’ll make those calls, but first tell me if you need anything.”
“No. I’m all set.” Ken’s eyes were on Caroline. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Kincaid.” The nurse turned to Caroline. “And how about you? Everything okay?”
Caroline nodded. She sat with one hand over her new cast.
“How about some juice and a turkey sandwich?”
Despite everything, Caroline’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast this morning at Nan’s, and that seemed a lifetime ago.
“Okay, thank you.”
From the bed, Ken protested. “How ’bout me?”
The nurse smiled. “Not till the doc gives you the all-clear. But I’ll see if I can bring you some more crushed ice.”
“You’re on,” Ken said.
She turned to Caroline. “I left you an overnight kit in the bathroom.”
Caroline nodded again, aware that her clothes reeked of smoke. She had cried so much over the last several hours, she was afraid to look in the mirror.
The nurse lowered her voice. “There are a couple of news crews outside. We’ll get you out through the ambulance bay when you’re ready to go.”
“Thanks,” Caroline replied.
The doctor came in next. He was young with a scrubbed face and cheerful eyes. He gave Ken’s hand a vigorous shake. “You look a heckuva lot more like your picture in
Sports Illustrated
than you did when
they brought you in. I used to watch you play on Monday night football. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kincaid.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” Ken said hoarsely. “Thanks for fixing me up.”
“No problem.” The doctor flipped through Ken’s chart, studying the printout of Ken’s vital signs. “Wow,” he said, glancing up. “Your vitals are pretty good, considering you nearly died today. I heard professional athletes have a lower pulse rate at rest than the rest of us. And now I know it’s true.”
Ken watched him. “Just what, exactly, have I been through?”
The doctor pulled up a chair. “For starters, you were administered a honkin’ big dose of Pavulon.”
Ken frowned.
Caroline felt her stomach lurch.
“That’s the designer name. Technically, it’s called pan-curonium bromide. It’s a muscle relaxant that’s mixed with other drugs during surgery to induce a state of general anesthesia. It brings on paralysis,” the doctor said cheerfully. “Works like a charm, no?”
“Yeah,” Ken replied, still frowning. “But I could see and hear things.” He looked at Caroline.
“That’s because you didn’t get the other drugs mixed in,” the doctor explained.
Caroline dropped her gaze to the linoleum floor, thinking of what Ken had witnessed inside the cabin.
The doctor continued. “Things would have seemed fuzzy and out of focus, like a VCR tape that came off track.”
Ken nodded. “Everything seemed far away.”
“Yup,” the doctor said. “Classic presentation of pure
Pavulon. Lately it’s gotten some play on the news. It’s being abused on college campuses and in bars.”
Caroline’s mind spun with images she’d tried to bury. She remembered lying in bed, wanting Porter to stop but unable to protect herself. The first time it happened they hadn’t even been married. She’d woken the next day, cringing when memories came tumbling back, hating herself for what had happened, chalking it up to too many glasses of red wine. She shuddered now.
The doctor closed his chart. “The good news is Pavulon doesn’t have any lasting side effects. The bad news is you were given a dose strong enough to knock out two men.” He gave Ken a sober look. “You are one strong individual, Mr. Kincaid. Thanks to your athletic training and sheer size, you have nothing to worry about. Other than a wicked hangover.”
Ken winced. “You can say that again.”
“Some of that aching head is the result of your companion bouncing you down those steps.”
Companion. The word hung in the air as they both turned to look at her. Her life, Caroline knew, defied easy description. She risked a glance at Ken.
He winked.
The doctor continued to watch her. “And you are stronger than you look.”
For the first time in her life, Caroline knew that statement was true. She nodded.
“She doesn’t know her own strength,” Ken said.
“You saved his life,” the doctor said simply.
Caroline could think of nothing to say, considering the fact she felt responsible for putting Ken’s life at risk in the first place.
“Guess that means I owe you,” Ken teased.
“Now, that’s dangerous talk,” the doctor said with a chuckle. “You won’t catch me talking that way to my wife.”
Wife. As though she, Caroline, was capable of a relationship that was normal. She felt her cheeks flame.
Ken laughed.
“On that note, I’ll leave you.” The doctor stood. “We’ll keep you here tonight for observation. You look ready for some real food, so I’ll write the orders. But I can’t vouch for the cooking, okay?” He smiled.
“Sounds good.”
“And as for Xena, the Warrior Princess…” The doctor turned to Caroline. “You’re good to go. But you’ve been through a lot. You take it easy, okay?”
Caroline nodded. “Thank you.”
“I’m off to my rounds. I’ll check back a couple times during the night. Can’t wait to tell my son I met Ken Kincaid.”
Ken flexed his fingers again. “The pleasure’s all mine. Bring your son in. I’d like to meet him.”
“That’d make his year,” the doctor replied. “As for now, I’ll tell the sheriff you’re awake and ready to give a statement. I’ve held him off as long as I can.”
With that, he left.
Caroline looked at Ken, suddenly shy at finding herself alone with the man she had nearly died with.
Ken patted the bed. “Hey, come on over so I can talk to you.”
She stepped to the side of the bed and stood, too emotional to sit next to him.
He patted the mattress again, refusing to take no for an answer. “Come on, I won’t bite.”
She sat, careful to avoid the tubing in his arm. She
stared down at the linoleum floor tiles, not brave enough yet to meet his gaze.
“So,” he said softly, and something in his voice reached out to her.
She looked into his eyes, bracing herself for the kind of look you’d expect from someone who was about to walk away.
But she saw only tenderness. “You okay?”
She didn’t deserve it. Tears sprang up inside her. She’d thought she had cried herself out, but she was wrong. After years of holding back all her emotions, now it seemed she couldn’t stop crying.
Ken reached for her hand, the one without the cast, and held it. He did not try to silence her or say anything at all, a fact she appreciated.
After a minute or two she was done. She sniffed loudly, looking around for something to wipe her nose with.
He offered his arm with the tubes, grinning.
She couldn’t hold back a giggle. She wiped her nose on her sleeve.
He repeated his question. “You okay?”
She sighed. “Yeah.”
“Caroline,” he said again, still smiling. “You know, I’m just crazy about that name.”
She couldn’t hold back a smile herself.
“So, what’s up with your hair? I take it you’re not a true blond?”
Now Caroline laughed harder. “My hair’s brown. With really, really bad highlights, I guess.”
“What a relief. I’ve never had much luck with blonds.” Now Ken was laughing, too, the sound rumbling up deep inside his broad chest.
It was infectious. As crazy as it was to joke around about hair at a time like this, it felt good just to share a laugh with him.
He grew quiet. “Your hair is your business,” he said.
And the way he said it, this simple fact, settled something between them. “Yes,” she agreed, solemn now. “It is.” Ken Kincaid was her…what, exactly? Companion?
Ken settled that question with a small movement of his arms, both the good one and the one with the IV tube taped to it. The gesture was small but there was no mistaking his intention.
Caroline gave in, leaning forward so those strong arms could close around her, gathering her up against his chest.
He was warm and solid.
She could hear his heart beating.
He planted a kiss on her hair and then another and held her even tighter, and Caroline knew in her heart she could stay this way for a long time.
But there were heavy footsteps in the hall, more than one pair, and so she pulled away.
The door opened and the sheriffs entered.
It was time for her to go. She told Ken she’d be back in the morning.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. His tone was light but the expression in his eyes told her he meant it.