One Summer (48 page)

Kay was inside now. Rachel heard her grunting, heard the crunch of footsteps on broken glass, and felt sick. Jeremy
moaned with terror. Rachel clapped her hand over his mouth and urged him up, up the narrow stairs to the third floor.

Down below she could hear Kay’s voice calling, “Rachel!” Only it was not Kay’s any longer. It was eerie, high-pitched, and evil.

Jeremy was shaking. Rachel snuggled him against her as they rushed toward the ballroom, praying that the police would get to them in time.

“Rachel!”

Kay was coming up the stairs! They had left wet, muddy footprints that she could follow. She must be hurt, or she would be upon them by now.

Cling to that thought, Rachel told herself fiercely as she ran around the corner into the ballroom with Jeremy in tow. The room was dark, a thick gray kind of dark because of the vast windows opening onto the rainy dusk. The ballroom was shrouded with shadows, but Rachel had no time to be afraid of them. She pushed Jeremy down behind the old couch and flew silently across the hard wooden floor to the tape cabinet. Running her hand along the top of it, frantic now as she expected to hear Kay behind her at any minute, she discovered to her horror that the gun was missing.

“Rachel!” The taunting cry was close now, and Rachel realized in despair that Kay was on the third floor coming swiftly toward the ballroom.

“Hide!” she hissed to Jeremy, who cowered behind the couch. He curled up in a little ball, his arms covering his head.

Downstairs she could faintly hear the clock chiming six o’clock.

Rachel barely had time to duck behind the tape cabinet when Kay appeared in the doorway. Kay was stooped over and seemed to list to one side. Her cloak dragged the ground, leaving a great muddy path in its wake. With her hair plastered to her skull and the hideous grin splitting
her face, she resembled nothing human. Rachel’s heart stopped as Kay’s eyes found her in the shadows. Her hand tightened on the hilt of the knife she still clutched. If she could only hold Kay off, the police would come.…

Then Kay lifted her hand, and Rachel saw to her horror that she still had the gun.

From behind the couch Jeremy began to sob.

Kay’s eyes swung around to seek him out. She took a step toward the boy’s hiding place.

The sound of running feet pounding up the stairs and along the hallway arrested Kay in midmotion. Rachel felt a wave of relief so intense that she was light-headed with it. It had to be the police. Thank God, thank God! Kay shifted her attention from the terrified boy to the door, pointing the gun at the open doorway and taking a few steps backward to be able to cover Rachel and Jeremy as well as their rescuers.

Silent as a mouse now, Jeremy took advantage of the respite to slither on his belly all the way underneath the couch. There was no other cover in the room.

Rachel prayed he wouldn’t need it.

Johnny burst through the open doorway, grabbing the frame and sliding to an ungraceful stop as his wet sneakers slid on the shiny wood floor. He was soaked to the skin, so wet that water ran off him to form puddles around his feet. He was wild-eyed and breathing hard as he glanced around the room.

“Johnny.” Rachel’s lips formed his name, but no sound came out. Horror closed her throat even as his eyes found her and some of the stark fear left his face. Except for Johnny’s panting and the crashing of the storm outside, the big house was silent. It was obvious that he had come alone.

That meant that they were all three at Kay’s mercy—and Kay had a gun.

“Thomas.” Kay blinked once and took a step toward him. The gun wavered and lowered a degree. A smile
curved her lips. Her eyes glowed. The effect was nightmarish.

“My God,” Johnny said, his eyes widening as they fastened on Kay at last, absorbing the state she was in—and the gun.

“Johnny, I mean. You don’t know you’re Thomas, do you? But you are. And you’re mine. Just as I am yours. Eternally yours.”

Johnny cast a lightning glance at Rachel, who dared not risk drawing Kay’s attention by uttering so much as a syllable. Given Kay’s infatuation with Johnny, it was possible that he would be able to keep her talking until the police arrived, as they must surely do soon.

“I got your letters while I was in prison,” Johnny said. Totally focused on Kay now, his voice was soothing, though he could not quite disguise the watchful gleam in his eyes. “They
were
from you, weren’t they? They were beautifully written.”

“How clever of you to guess.” Kay giggled, a high-pitched, girlish sound that made Rachel’s skin crawl. “You were always so clever, Thomas.”

“My name’s Johnny, you know.” He smiled, stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, and leaned a shoulder against the jamb. Water dripped from the ends of his hair, and his drenched T-shirt was plastered against the hard muscles of his chest.

“Don’t move!” The gun came up a degree, and Kay’s warning was sharp. When Johnny showed no sign of disobeying, Kay again lowered the gun that small fraction and gave a tiny shrug. “It doesn’t matter what you call yourself. I know who you are.”

“How do you know?” Johnny’s easy, lazy manner showed no sign of the tension he must be feeling. Rachel herself, still crouched behind the tape cabinet, peering out around the side, was gripping the hilt of the butcher knife so hard that her knuckles showed white.

“I recognized you the first time you kissed me.”

“The first time I
kissed
you?” Bewilderment was plain in Johnny’s voice. He straightened away from the jamb.

“I said don’t move!” The hand holding the gun wavered alarmingly. Then Kay’s voice changed, gentled. “It was my first grown-up kiss. You remember: It was at that Christmas party, when we were in high school. I was a senior, and you were a sophomore. I was with a girlfriend—I didn’t have a date—and you were with a group of your friends. You were so cute. I couldn’t keep from watching you, but I didn’t think you even noticed me. I walked through a doorway—mistletoe was over my head—and you were standing there. You grabbed me and kissed me. Then you did it again. I knew you’d been aware of me all night just as I had been aware of you—and I knew who you were from the first kiss. My man. Mine.”

“Hell, the only school Christmas party I ever went to, I was so drunk I could barely stand up. I don’t remember a thing about it.” It was an unguarded utterance, prompted by surprise, and it was a mistake.

“You don’t remember?” Hurt was plain in Kay’s voice. Her eyes narrowed. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. I’ve been faithful to you, but you—you’ve been with so many girls since then that you probably don’t remember the half of them.”

“I do remember, now.…” But Johnny’s valiant effort to save the situation was swept aside. Kay stood straighter, her face contorting with hate as she cast a venomous glance at Rachel before focusing on Johnny again.

“You’ve always been a philanderer, haven’t you? I hope you’re proud of yourself. Do you see what you’ve driven me to? Ann Smythe, Marybeth Edwards, Glenda Watkins, all dead because of you. And more, so many more over the centuries we’ve been together. Do you think I
wanted
to kill them? Do you think I
want
to kill Rachel now? It’s you, you,
you
.”

The wail of approaching police sirens cut through the noise of the storm. Kay broke off, listening. Rachel listened,
too, frozen in place. Neither she nor Johnny dared move their eyes from Kay.

“The police are coming. They’ll take me to jail. And
she’ll
have you.” Kay was babbling now, her voice growing increasingly shrill. “I have to kill her—No. I’ll kill us. You and I. We’ll be together in eternity and
she’ll
never have you! Not in this lifetime!”

Kay gave a crazed giggle that raised the hairs on the back of Rachel’s neck. The hand holding the gun jerked up, aiming squarely at Johnny’s head. Johnny took an instinctive step backward, holding up a hand to ward off the forthcoming bullet.…

“Die, my darling,” Kay said, giggling.

“No!” Rachel shouted, leaping to her feet. Outside, thunder boomed. Rain rattled at the windows. The sirens grew louder.…

Kay glanced at Rachel for no more than a split second. In that tiny fraction of time, Johnny launched himself toward the woman in a low, fast dive reminiscent of pro football at its best.

Kay shrieked, leaped back—and the gun fired with a sound like an explosion.

Johnny screamed and hit the floor just short of his target, rolling over and over in Rachel’s direction, his hand clutching the side of his neck. Rachel was horrified to see bright red blood well out between his fingers.

“Don’t be afraid, Thomas. Death doesn’t hurt,” Kay whispered as she came after him, pointing the gun toward Johnny’s prone form, clearly intent on finishing the job.

“No!” Rachel screamed again, hurling herself at Kay with the butcher knife raised high.

“Slut!” Kay’s gaze shot up, and the gun fired a second time. The impact was like being kicked in the shoulder by a horse. It sent Rachel tumbling back while the knife went flying from her hands to land with a clatter some six feet away.

Kay turned her attention back to Johnny, who lay unmoving
while blood poured from a jagged wound in the side of his neck, and aimed the gun at his head.

From out of nowhere came a huge flash of lightning and an ear-splitting crack. A large branch blew against the wall-to-ceiling windows that lined the far end of the room, shattering them.

Kay, who was closest, was showered with exploding glass. She cried out and swung around to face the windows. With Johnny lying forgotten behind her, she took a step toward them, then another, as if drawn by something she saw in the blustery, rain-filled night.

In that instant, Stan’s wheelchair, which stood not many feet from Rachel, must have been caught in the current of cold, wet air that suddenly blew through the room, because it moved.

With a certainty that defied all explanation, Rachel knew what she had to do.

Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she lunged toward the chair, grasped the handles, and ran toward Kay as hard as she could. The chair caught Kay squarely behind the knees. Kay fell hard into the leather seat, but her weight only seemed to make the chair move faster. Rachel barely had time to release the handles before the chair hit what remained of the window frame and tipped violently forward. Kay screamed once as she was pitched through the broken window, and then she vanished into the night.

Rachel turned, made it to Johnny’s side, and collapsed. She was still on her knees, trembling, desperately pressing the wadded hem of her skirt against the oozing wound in his neck, when the whole six-man Tylerville police force burst into the room.

62

O
n the following day, in a hospital in Louisville, a small group of people clustered in a corridor just outside a closed door. Tom Watkins and his children, Tom’s girlfriend Heather, and Chief Wheatley were among those talking quietly to a white-coated doctor.

“Ready?” the doctor broke off his conversation to look down at Jeremy when the boy shuffled his feet impatiently.

Jeremy nodded.

“Come on, then.” The doctor walked over to the closed door, opened it, and stood back. Tom and Jeremy approached the door hand in hand. Then Tom stepped back.

“You go on,” he said to his son, letting go of his hand.

“You sure, Dad?”

“Yeah. Get in there.”

Jeremy stepped past the doctor and hesitated. The room was very dark and quiet compared to the hallway outside, and he couldn’t really see the figure in the bed clearly. What if someone had made a horrible mistake? He didn’t think he could stand it if they had.

“Are you Jeremy?” A nurse had been sitting beside the bed. She stood up and smiled at him.

Jeremy nodded.

“She’s been asking for you.” The nurse beckoned him closer.

Jeremy was almost afraid to move, but he forced himself to take a few steps. The nurse looked down at the motionless figure in the bed.

“Your son’s here, Mrs. Watkins,” the woman said softly.

Jeremy felt his heart begin to pound as the figure stirred.

“Jeremy?” It was a weak whisper, so weak that Jeremy could scarcely hear it. But he knew that voice.

“Mom?” He took another step forward, and then he was running. He would have flung himself upon the bed had the nurse not caught him around the waist with both arms and held him off with a gentle “Easy, now. We don’t want to hurt her, do we?”

“Mom!” It was she. She turned her head, and the greenish light from the bedside monitor illuminated her features.

“Jeremy.” She smiled lovingly at him, and her hand emerged from the bedcoverings to grope toward his. The nurse let him go with a warning squeeze. Jeremy caught her groping hand in both of his and leaned over the frail body of his mother. Tears—of happiness, of relief, of thanksgiving—rose to fill his eyes, then overflowed to trickle down his cheeks.

“I thought you were dead.” He choked the words out.

“Not yet.” Glenda managed another weak smile. “I’m harder to kill than a polecat. They say I’m gonna be all right. Don’t worry.”