Authors: Kevin O'Brien
“Another fire,” George murmured to himself. He was thinking about Duane Lee Savitt burning down the adoption agency.
The article didn’t exactly say Lon Schlessinger had fallen asleep while smoking in bed, but they sure hinted at it. Annabelle’s charred remains were discovered in the hallway by her bedroom door. The Schlessingers had moved to the area in 1993. Mrs. Schlessinger died that same year, “an apparent suicide,” according to the article. There was no mention of her dead brother, and his murder rampage, at least, not on page one.
George anxiously scanned down to page two, where there were side-by-side photos of Lon and Annabelle Schlessinger. He was a slightly paunchy, balding man who looked like an ex-jock gone to seed. The high school portrait of Annabelle was startling. George might as well have been staring at a three-year-old photo of his niece.
Biting his lip, George went back to the article, which talked about Lon’s membership in two civic organizations, and his love for hunting and fishing. George was more interested in what they reported about Amelia’s twin:
“Annabelle was an extremely bright student,” said Caroline Cadwell, her sophomore homeroom teacher at East Marion High School. “She was very driven. With her intelligence, beauty, and determination, we were all expecting great things in her future. It’s a tragic loss….”
The article ended with a quote from Annabelle’s friend and classmate, Erin Gottlieb:
“Annabelle was like a force of nature. She was so strong and determined. She never let anyone get in her way when she made her mind up to go after something, and you have to admire that. I guess it took another force of nature, like fire, to stop her.”
It struck George as a slightly cryptic epitaph, almost unflattering.
There was a coin slot at the side of the microfiche viewer and, for two quarters, George made a copy of each page. Then he returned the microfiche file to the reference desk, and asked for a local phone book.
He hoped Caroline Cadwell and Erin Gottlieb still lived in the area. Maybe Annabelle’s teacher and her friend could tell him something about Mrs. Schlessinger’s apparent suicide and Uncle Duane’s killing rampage. Maybe one of them knew about Annabelle’s twin sister.
She got Helene Sumner’s machine.
Karen waited for the beep, then started in: “Hello, Ms. Sumner. I’m Karen Carlisle, a friend of Amelia Faraday. I’m sorry to bother you, but—”
There was a click on the other end of the line. “Yes, hello,” the woman said. “This isn’t a reporter, is it?”
“No,” Karen said, suddenly sitting erect in her desk chair. “I’m a friend of Amelia Faraday. I’m calling from Seattle. She drove off early this morning in my car, a black Volkswagen Jetta. I’ve been trying to locate her. I was wondering—”
“Well, I can tell you where she was as of nine o’clock today,” Helene interrupted. “She was at their house, just down the lake from here. It’s got the police tape on the front door, but that didn’t stop her from going inside, though I suppose she has a right to go in there.”
“Then you saw her?”
“I heard screams,” Helene said. “That’s what got my attention. The sound travels across the water. I’ve been keeping an eye on the place. The police told me to report any trespassers. Well, I almost phoned them this morning when I heard the screaming and laughing over there. But then I got out the binoculars, and saw it was Amelia.”
“Just Amelia, and no one else?”
“I only saw her, though it sure sounded like someone else was there, maybe that boyfriend of hers.”
“Boyfriend?” Karen said. “You mean Shane?”
“I don’t know his name. I’m sorry. I know you’re Amelia’s friend, but…” Helene paused for a moment. “Are you in college with Amelia?”
“I’m Amelia’s therapist, Ms. Sumner,” Karen admitted.
“Well, then you must know, for someone so sweet and pretty, she has terrible taste in boyfriends.”
“Does he have black hair and wear sunglasses?” Karen asked.
“Yeah, that’s him. I’m sorry, I hate to say the word, but he looks like a
pimp
, what with his cheap suit and those sunglasses. But I didn’t see him today, just Amelia.”
“You said she was at the house around nine o’clock. Have you seen or heard anything over there since then?”
“No. She may have left. She may have gone back inside the house. I’m not sure.”
“Is there a black Jetta or an old Cadillac in the driveway?”
“They don’t have a driveway. There’s a short trail through the woods to the top of a hill, where the road is. The Faradays always parked their car in this inlet up there. Do you want me to go over to the house, and check if she’s—”
“No,” Karen cut her off. “No, please, don’t do that. It could be dangerous, especially if her boyfriend is there. I agree with you, Ms. Sumner. He’s a bad influence on Amelia. I don’t want you going over there. If you see him or Amelia anywhere on your property, you should call the police. I don’t mean to frighten you—”
“I’m sixty-seven years old, miss,” Helene said. “Not many things scare me anymore. I’ve lived alone in this house by the lake for the last nine years. I have a good watchdog and a loaded rifle. I’ll be all right.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Karen replied.
This was the only lead she had. And from what Amelia had told her, there was no way to get in touch with anyone at the lake house, except through Helene’s landline next door. Karen would have to drive three hours to Lake Wenatchee and hope Amelia was still there. She wondered if Blade was indeed with her this morning. Or was Amelia’s multiple personality disorder so severe that she was
screaming and laughing over there
by herself?
“Miss? Are you still there?”
“Um, yes, Ms. Sumner,” she said. “Can I ask you for one more favor? Could you give me directions to the Faradays’ house?”
“Have another hit,” she said, handing him the Wild Turkey bottle.
His hands on the oars, Shane grinned at her. “I think I’ve had enough. They say booze and boating is a bad mix.”
“This is a stupid little canoe,” she said, still offering him the half-drained pint bottle. “I don’t think it counts. C’mon, have another blast. It’ll warm you up.”
Shane shook his head. He already had a little buzz, and unlike Amelia, he knew his limits. Though so far, she’d downed surprisingly little for someone who had seemed bent on getting drunk less than an hour ago.
She was acting awfully strange, a total turnaround from last night. She’d been nervous and on edge throughout the movie and pizza, needy, but in a good way that made him feel like the most important person in the world. But then, since her bizarre visit with him this morning, she didn’t seem stressed out at all. She wasn’t making him feel needed, just manipulated and jerked around. That wasn’t like Amelia at all. Her flirting—the foot rubs, flashing him, the kisses, and her dirty talk—had all been a turn-on, yeah, but it all seemed like an act.
Last night, she hadn’t been able to tell him why the cops were waiting for her in her dorm lobby. She’d promised to explain later, and begged him to be patient with her. But when he’d pressed her about it again just a few minutes ago, she’d dismissed it, and said they were bugging her with more personal questions about her father. “I just didn’t feel like discussing my dad’s hang-ups with them again, that’s all,” she’d explained. “So screw them.”
She didn’t want to talk about Karen coming on to her last night either. At first she’d acted like Karen had attacked her or something. But now, in the boat, she didn’t seem too traumatized about it. Shane began to wonder if anything really did happen with Karen.
He glanced up at the darkening sky, the clouds almost obscuring Mount Rainier in the distance. “Looks like rain. We should head back,” he said, working the oars again.
“Party pooper,” she muttered. She put the cap back on the Wild Turkey bottle, then slipped it into her knapsack. She kept the knapsack in her lap. “What’s wrong with you today anyway?” she asked. “You’re acting totally weird.”
“
I’m
acting weird?” Shane shot back.
She nodded. “You know, I should be really sore at you. This morning, I specifically asked you not to talk to Karen, and you talked to her anyway. Did you tell her about meeting me here today?”
“No. I didn’t tell her shit. I didn’t tell anyone.” He rowed more fervently. “I’m sorry, but this whole thing is totally schizoid. You show up at my window at dawn, dragging me out of bed. You’ve got me ditching psych class and renting a canoe, so we can schlep out here in the middle of the goddamn lake for this secret meeting. My favorite shoes are all wet, and we’re about to get rained on. And you’re telling me I’m acting weird, because I’m not exactly thrilled to be jumping through all these hoops for you….”
Her head bowed, she hugged her knapsack in her lap and quietly cried.
Shane sighed. “Okay, okay, I’ll shut up. I’m sorry. Let’s just go back to my place and talk, okay? Nobody’s there right now.”
“Well, nobody’s out here right now, either,” she said, pouting. “That’s why I wanted to come here—so we could be alone. But you’re acting like you don’t want to be alone with me.”
“That’s not true, sweetheart.” He stopped rowing, and they drifted for a few moments.
“You’re treating me like I’m a stranger,” she said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I’ve felt it ever since we met on the island. You’ve been pulling away from me. We’re out here alone in this beautiful, romantic spot, and all you want to do is go home.”
“I’m sorry, Amelia.” He shrugged and shook his head. “I didn’t mean to pull away. I just can’t figure out what you’re up to today. I—”
“What I’m
up to
today?” she repeated, giving him a wounded look. “What does that mean? You sound like you don’t trust me.”
“Of course, I trust you.”
“Prove it,” she said, reaching into the knapsack again.
“What?”
“I said, prove it. Prove to me that I have your trust.” She pulled a revolver out of the knapsack.
Shane recoiled, and the boat rocked a bit. “What the hell? Amelia…”
Tears in her eyes, she pointed the gun at him.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” he whispered. If he’d had a little buzz from the Wild Turkey, he was very sober now. He stayed perfectly still.
“I want to see if you really trust me, if you love me,” she said.
Gaping at the gun, he shook his head. “I—I didn’t know you had that. Where did you even get that?”
He shrunk back as she got to her feet. The boat swayed back and forth, but she kept the gun trained on him. “Oh, Jesus, be careful,” he murmured, wincing.
She sat down close to him. Their legs pressed against each other, knees bumping. Shane tried not to make any sudden moves.
She stared into his eyes. “A minute ago, you said you didn’t mean to pull away from me. If I put this gun in your mouth, would you pull away?”
“Sweetheart, please stop….”
“Then you don’t trust me,” she cried. “You don’t love me. I might as well use this gun on myself. Don’t you see? You’re all I have left, Shane.”
“Don’t, please, Amelia. Just—just—just put that thing down.”
She held the revolver a few inches from his face. He was so terrified, he could hardly breathe.
“Prove to me that you love me,” she whispered. “Let me put this in your mouth. Can’t you trust me that much? Just for a couple of seconds? If you won’t let me, I swear to God, I’ll shoot myself right here. I mean it.”
He shook his head.
“Fine,” she muttered, then she suddenly turned the gun on herself.
“No!” he screamed. The sound seemed to echo over the lake.
She froze. Her eyes wrestled with his.
“You can put it in my mouth,” he said. “If it’s that important to you, go ahead.”
Shane told himself that she’d had the chance to shoot him ever since they’d gotten out on the lake, if that was what she wanted to do. In some totally screwed-up way, maybe she was right; he’d have to trust her, and this was one way of showing it.
But as she turned the gun toward him, he felt his stomach lurch. Shane thought he might be sick. His hands shook on the oars. “Why?” he whispered. “Amelia, why are you doing this?”
Her forehead was wrinkled in concentration, but there was a strange coolness about her, too, a determined gaze past the tears in her eyes.
She brushed the end of the gun against his lips.
Shane opened his mouth wider, and tasted the dirty metal on his tongue.
“I’m doing this to make certain you love Amelia,” she said.
He sat there, trying not to shake, and counting the seconds while she kept the gun in his mouth. It struck him as bizarre, the way she’d said
Amelia
instead of
me
, as if Amelia were someone else entirely: “I’m doing this to make certain you love Amelia.”
The notion that she might not be Amelia didn’t occur to him at all. Shane didn’t have a chance. Before the thought even entered his head a bullet already had.
She dipped her hand in the cold lake water to rinse it off. Blood had sprayed on her face and hair, too. She licked her lips and tasted it: salty and warm. Then she bent over the side of the canoe and washed off her face.
Shane had flopped back so violently that the boat had almost tipped over. Water had sluiced in, and one of the oars had gotten knocked into the lake. Now he lay there on the floor of the canoe in an awkward contortion. The small puddle of water lapping around him was almost completely red now.
She checked his wallet. There were only seventeen dollars in there. She kept ten. She’d noticed the ring on his right hand earlier. It was gold with a beautiful black onyx stone. She twisted it off his finger and dropped it into her purse. Wiping off the gun, she carefully placed it beside his lifeless hand. Then with the one oar they had left, she paddled toward the little island. The small patch of land was still unoccupied. She let the canoe hit the muddy bank. Climbing out of the canoe, she stepped knee-deep into the icy lake. She hoisted the knapsack over her shoulder. She had a change of clothes in there, among other things.