Authors: Carol Davis Luce
Regina had a bad feeling about this. The open door had unleashed a putrid odor from inside the house. The heavy, cloying smell of stale cigarette smoke and beer, and the underlying stink of filth, rot, and decay.
John took her wrist and pulled her along with him before she could turn and leave this place. The cluttered room lay deathly quiet in a haze of cigarette smoke. Mounds of butts were piled in a half dozen ashtrays; and beer cans, each one crushed, were littered about.
No one was in the room.
John closed the door and everything, blessedly, faded in the darkness. A panel of light glowed under a closed door that probably opened into the kitchen.
They stood just inside the front door. Regina breathed shallowly. She wanted to take John’s hand, wanted to feel his arm around her, giving her strength.
Neither moved.
From a dark doorway Regina saw the silhouette of a tall figure.
“
Sit down somewhere,” the hoarse voice said. “Excuse the mess. It’s really not as bad as it looks. Nothing a can of gasoline and a match couldn’t put right.”
Regina and John stepped to the sofa and sat.
The figure moved into the room. Regina could vaguely make out a woman in a shapeless shift. A towel was wrapped turban style around her head, a corner dropped down to cover one side of her face.
“
Hello, Cory,” John said quietly.
“
It’s been a long time, huh, Jack?”
“
A long time.”
Regina sat still, not speaking. The silence grew heavy with tension.
“
I’d offer you some refreshment,” Corinne said flippantly, “but I’m afraid the cupboard is bare. If I’d known you were coming, Jack, I’d have stocked up on those red nuts you like so well.”
“
Cory,” John said carefully. “Donna was attacked like you--”
She cut into his words, “Not like me. I saw her. A mere flesh wound.” She laughed at her pun.
“
Tammy wasn’t as lucky,” Regina said.
“
Luckier than me.” She lit a cigarette, turning her head away at the flare of the match. “Three down, two to go. Who will be next?”
“
We hope no one,” John said.
“
Why are you here? You think I did it?” Corinne asked.
“
No,” John said.
“
Then why? To tell me I should feel better because I’m not the only freak?” She snorted. “Sure I feel better. But not much. I had twenty years to live with this. My life was destroyed before it got started. Donna, Tammy, Amelia, and you Regina, all had a life. Beautiful people doing beautiful things while I sat here in this hole rotting both inside and out. Shit, now that you’re finally beginning to get old and wrinkled, what’s a little acid when you’ve got all those good memories.”
“
Cory--”
“
Stop calling me that,” she snapped at John. “Say what you came to say and get out so I can get back to what I was doing. What I do best. Being alone.”
Regina remembered Donna telling her that Corinne resented her father for gambling away the money that would have gone to reconstruct her face. Disturbed by the fetid odor and the deathly silence of the house, Regina asked, “Where’s your father, Corinne?”
“
I don’t think that’s any of your business, Regina.”
“
Corinne, do you have any idea who did that to you?” John asked.
“
Maybe you did it, Jack,” she said.
Regina felt John stiffen. In the dim light she could see the astonishment on his face.
“
Is that what you think?”
Regina caught John’s quick glance.
Corinne laughed with wry humor. “Oh, poor baby. They came after you, didn’t they? The cops. Someone told them we’d argued that day. And you had no alibi. It looked bad for you.” She rose and moved slowly to the window. She adjusted the drape so that the slice of light became a mere laser stripe down her front.
“
Is that why you wouldn’t let me near you? Why you shut me out? Because you suspected me?”
“
You’re such a fool, Jack.” She whipped back the drape, light flooded in, making her squint. The towel was flung from her head to expose the matted hair beneath. Then she turned her head so they could get a full view of her scarred face. “Look at me,” she said deep in her throat. “Would you have loved
this?
Would you have stayed with
this?”
John stared unflinchingly at Corinne, his expression neither shocked nor repelled, only sad. “I don’t know, Cory. You never gave me the chance.”
“
I’m giving you the chance now. What do you say, Jack?”
John was silent as he rose and moved toward her. He reached out to touch her.
She jerked back violently, letting the drape fall. “Don’t touch me. I’m only blind in one eye. I can see that you love
her.
I can see that much.”
Corinne’s words caused Regina’s stomach to flutter.
Corinne turned her face away, her voice softened, yet still bitter. “And that hurts. God, it hurts so bad. No one cares about me. I might as well have died. There were just two people who seemed to care. Momma,” she paused, “and ... and you, Jack. Only I couldn’t let you see me.
“
That man in there,” she spun and pointed a finger toward a closed door, “killed my mother! He went through all my money. I was forced to depend on him for everything. Well now he has to depend on me. It’s his turn to hurt.”
“
Cory, don’t do this to yourself. Let us help you. Let us help both of you.”
He reached for her again. She raised her arms, her fists clenched, and then she let them fall and began to cry. “Oh, sweet Jesus, why? Why me?” Deep sobs were torn from her ravaged throat and she collapsed against John, burying her face against his chest. His arms went around her, holding her tight. He smoothed her hair, rocked her gently.
“
Stay out of it. It’s not your concern. He doesn’t deserve to live,” she cried. “God is punishing him. God made him sick. And if he dies, it’ll be God’s will.”
Regina looked down to see a photo album on the floor at her feet. On the cover, with a black felt marker, were the words.
The Thrill of Victory—The Agony of Defeat 1970-1990.
With the toe of her shoe she lifted the cover. She saw a grainy black-and-white picture of Donna Lake and a newspaper clipping of the assault. There was one of Tammy, as well. Regina, her leg now shaking, let the album close.
John looked over at her and, with his eyes, gestured toward the closed door.
She shook her head vigorously. John continued to stare.
Regina surreptitiously reached into her purse and wrapped icy fingers around her mace container. Holding it tight in her hand, she rose slowly and crossed the room. Her heart thumped in her chest as she turned the knob and opened the door. The smell that assaulted her made her reel. The odor was unmistakably waste and decaying flesh. She breathed in short, shallow breaths as she slowly entered the room and stepped to the bed. The man in the bed was pale, his glazed-over eyes were partially open, and Regina knew without touching him that he was dead.
Oh god, what had she and John walked into? She backed out of the room, returned to the living room where John still held a sobbing Corinne. He looked at Regina inquiringly.
“
He’s dead,” she whispered. “We have to call someone.”
Corinne pushed away from John. “Get out of my house. This is none of your business. No police. Do you hear? No police.”
“
Cory,” John said, “We have to--”
“
Nooo!” she said, her face twisting. She pushed at John, her fists swinging, hitting him on the chest. “Why’d you have to come here? God, I hate you. I hate you all.” And before John could stop her, Corinne grabbed her long black coat from the sofa and fled out of the house.
John cursed. He seemed uncertain whether to go after her or let her go. The sound of an engine revving, then a car racing down the driveway, took the decision out of his hands.
Regina felt an overwhelming sense of oppressiveness. She couldn’t stay another moment in this awful place, “I have to get out of here,” Regina said, pulling him toward to door.
“
Are you sure her father’s dead?”
“
Yes, positive,” she replied, on the verge of hyperventilation. “John, there’s nothing we can do for him. Please.”
They went out the door, leaving it open, and hurried to the station wagon.
C
HAPTER 29
They drove across town in relative silence, not unlike the ride to Corinne’s earlier.
“
Would you mind dropping me at The Bull’s Blood,” John said. “I’ll call the police from there.”
Without taking her eyes off the road, Regina asked, “Will you tell them who you are?”
He shook his head. “I’ll tell them I think someone needs medical attention at that address, and that’s all. They’ll find out when they get there that he’s dead.”
She glanced at him. It was clear he didn’t want to be the one to set the cops on Corinne. She wondered if he was doing the right thing.
“
John, we have to talk about Corinne. Back there at the house I saw an album, a scrapbook, with newspaper clippings of Donna and Tammy—mementos. She drives an old, dark-colored car with a hood ornament. She has a black hooded coat. Her name begins with a
C.
John, anyone who is capable of letting her father die is capable of anything. She could have gotten into the Corde’s freez—”
“
It’s not Cory,” he cut her off brusquely.
At the next corner she turned left, made another left on Van Ness, and pulled up in front of the bar, double parking. John sat a moment, looking straight ahead. In a quiet tone, as though talking to himself, he said, “You and I... where the hell are we going?”
Before she could respond he climbed out, leaned down to the window and said, “Be careful.” Then he closed the door and strode off,
A horn honked behind her. Flustered, she pulled away and drove home.
She let herself into her apartment. Without Kristy, the place seemed empty. She wondered if her daughter was having a good time in Tahoe. She hoped someone was having a good time. Donna was laid up in the hospital, frightened and in pain while her husband made plans to replace her with his mistress. Tammy was in the morgue awaiting a coroner’s release before she would be settled into her final resting place. Corinne was in her own private hell. And Amelia ... ? Amelia, she assumed, was the only one of the five oblivious to pain and suffering.
Amelia had been offered the two-minute beauty spot on ‘City Gallery’—a crumb compared to the cake she had hoped for, but she was in no position to complain. Once she was in, it was only a matter of time before she’d have whatever she wanted. Nolan was on her side, and now the producer, Max, was beginning to weaken.
Only a matter of time.
She hoped the executive producer was a better lover than Nolan. Max wasn’t much of a looker, but that could prove to be in her favor. The pretty ones, such as Nolan, oftentimes were vain and selfish, especially in sex. Nolan, to her initial delight, had made all the right moves in their prelude to an affair; romantic manor in Napa, champagne, words expressing appreciation for her beauty, a little kissing and heavy breathing and breast fondling, but when it came down to the sex, his mind ran on one track and one track only—to take his pleasure and to hell with his partner. The second time they made love, Amelia had guided him, seeking her own sexual release, but his attempts to bring her to climax had been so impatient and halfhearted that, to get it over with, she had pretended.