Silent Witness (70 page)

‘We'll do it this way,' he told her.

When she felt him push against her, Alison stiffened, crying out. The sound died beneath his smothering hand.

She shivered as he pushed inside her, and then he stilled her with both hands, his hips thrusting harder, deeper. Her throat trembled with silent sobbing.

Sam's eyes shut, and the world went dark.

He clutched her tight, as if to save his life. Her deep, convulsive shudder became his; as he climaxed, filled with primal joy and terrible fear, his teeth clenched against the sound of his own outcry. Her tears were his as well.

She was still now.

Sam stared down at the joining of their bodies, overtaken by astonishment. The only sounds were his own ragged gasps.

Pulling himself free, he covered her with her skirt. ‘Alison,' he whispered.

She did not answer. Then he rolled her on her side, and saw what he had done.

Nausea overcame him. Kneeling beside her, he writhed in agony, numbing shame.

He stood, staggering and stupid, zipping his pants. Alison lay at his feet.

Reeling, Sam stumbled back from her.

Tony's voice came to him, as if in a dream. Turning, Sam had no sense of distance, place. The night was a morass.

A branch cracked beneath his feet.

Sam began to run.

Ahead of him was a shadow. Sam knew the shape and size of it as well as he knew his own.

Sam felt his soul burst open.

He veered, running wildly through the dark, hoping that the shadow would not catch him. Sweat ran down his face.

Ahead, appearing as a mirage, was his car.

Pausing, he fumbled for his keys, got inside. The motor started. The drive home was sensory fragments – headlights, shadows, a siren in the distance, the scent of Sue's perfume.

His house was silent, dark. He climbed the stairs, to the room next to his parents', and crawled into his bed, still dressed. The night was surreal, a dream. . . .

In the morning, Sam awoke, his skull throbbing with whiskey, his stomach raw, his brain a swirl of doubt and horror. He reeled to his bathroom and threw up in the toilet. Amidst the sound of his own retching, there was one certainty Sam clung to.

It wasn't him.

Tony felt too much to speak.

Looking into his face, Sam took one step backward, then another. ‘It wasn't me. . . .'

‘No, Sam.' Tony's voice was very quiet. ‘It wasn't
me
.'

Sam flinched, and was silent.

Were he holding a gun, Tony realized, he would kill Sam without thinking. He could feel the weight in his hand, the tension of his finger on the trigger, so sensitive to the touch.

Sam's hand rested on the nightstand now. The drawer was slightly ajar.

‘And it still matters,' Tony said softly. ‘Even more. Because you murdered Marcie Calder.'

Sam's fingers curled at the edge of the drawer.

Keep calm
, Tony told himself. He watched the movements of Sam's hand, the nervous twitch of his fingers.

‘Was it like with Alison?' Tony asked.

For a moment, Sam's eyes shut.

‘No,' Sam answered. And then he caught himself, his blue eyes cloudy with self-doubt. ‘Not until the end . . .'

On their last night, they drove to the park again. Filled with the glow of bourbon, Sam felt anxious, eager. Next to him, Marcie was quiet.

Tonight he would fulfill his deepest imaginings. When she had asked to see him, her voice taut with emotion, Sam knew that she remembered her promise to him. He had kept on drinking just to help the hours pass.

They parked in the grove of trees where Tony had parked with Alison. When she turned to him, mouth parting, Sam kissed her hard. She seemed to start at the whiskey taste of him. She looked irresolute, disconcerted.

‘It's all right,' Sam said softly. ‘I can make it all right.'

Understanding crept into her eyes, and then they turned moist. ‘Does it mean that much to you?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

She looked down. ‘Everything's changing. My whole life . . .'

Sam put his arms around her to quiet her fears. ‘It's all right,' he said again.

Head down, Marcie nodded her acquiescence. When she silently undressed, then lay beneath him on her stomach, Sam was gentle. . . .

He was so careful that Marcie barely made a sound. . . .

Pressed against her back, Sam shuddered with release. Marcie did not move or speak.

Slowly, he withdrew. ‘Marcie?' he asked.

‘I want to see your face,' Sam murmured. When she turned, looking up at him again, tears came to Sam Robb's eyes.

‘Thank you,' he said. ‘Thank you.'

Marcie dressed hurriedly, distractedly. ‘We need to talk,' she said in a dispirited voice. ‘That's why I asked to see you. Not for
this
.'

Sam froze, feeling the sting of her dismissal. ‘What is it?'

Marcie touched his shoulder, looking down. ‘I'm pregnant.' Her voice was sad, lost. ‘I'm going to have your baby.'

Sam had no words. Suddenly he saw the tidal wave of consequence – the loss of Sue, his job, the respect he had worked so hard for.

Marcie seemed to sense his horror. ‘No one knows it's you. . . .'

Sam felt hollow. ‘Not yet. In the end, your father will beat it out of you. . . .'

‘I haven't told
Janice
. What makes you think I'd tell
him
?'

The sound of her own anger seemed to deplete her. She laid her head on Sam's shoulder, clinging. ‘Just hold me, okay? I'm so scared. . . .'

Stiffly, Sam embraced her. ‘We'll get an abortion.'

He felt Marcie shake her head. ‘I can't. I just can't. . . .'

‘You
have
to.' His voice rose. ‘What's more important to you – me, or a baby that will ruin things for both of us?'

Marcie pulled back, staring at him. ‘The baby didn't choose.'

‘Neither did I. I'm not a sperm donor, Marcie.'

Marcie folded her arms. ‘You're the father of my baby,' she said. ‘I came to say that I'll protect you.
Both
of you.'

To Sam, her adamancy was slighting, then infuriating. ‘If you loved
me
 . . .'

‘If you loved
me
,' she shot back, ‘you'd give me a little comfort.' Her voice trembled with emotion. ‘You'd say, “I love you, Marcie.” Just like you did when you were coming in my bottom.'

Sam felt the blood rush to his face. ‘You wanted it. . . .'

‘I
did
it for you.' Suddenly each word was laced with contempt. ‘Because I thought I was special, and that you were a man. But you're acting like any selfish teenage boy, and now all you care about is that everyone will know about you. . . .'

Sam slapped her.

The crack of his hand across her face shocked him. Her head snapped back. Shaken, Sam gaped at her.

Marcie stared as though she saw right through him. Then she slid against the door, jerking it open. In a tremulous voice, she said, ‘Don't come near me. Ever . . .'

Suddenly she was gone, running into the night.

Sam ran after her.

The night was chill. In faint moonlight, filtered now by clouds, Sam saw Marcie Calder running toward Alison's house.

If she had not done this, perhaps he could have let her go. But they could not know who he was.

Sam ran faster, fear and anger and whiskey racing through his brain.

Her footsteps whispered in the grass. He could see her lengthening strides, the speed that he had helped to give her. His chest and lungs heaved. . . .

She was closer now, to him, and to the Taylors'. . . .

‘Marcie,' he called out.

Turning, she stumbled, fell. Rolling on her back, she stared up, frightened and pale, as he approached. Sam slowed to a walk.

‘Marcie,' he said softly.

‘Fuck you.' Her voice was right, scared, angry. ‘I don't care
what
happens to you now. ‘This baby's more important –'

At her feet was the rock she had tripped on.

Sam jerked her to her feet, grasping the rock with one hand.

Marcie struggled in the crook of his arm. ‘You're crazy –' she began, and then he covered her mouth. . . .

In a spasm of fear and anger, Sam brought the rock down hard on Marcie's head.

Shock ran through his forearm. Her eyes popped open; slumped in his arm, she shuddered, twitched.

The next two blows were to stop this. Only with the last did he feel the blood touch his face, fine as mist.

Sam stood in an open field, gazing across the dark expanse of Taylor Park, Marcie Calder caught in his arms. In his shock and disbelief, he could not seem to move.

Sam turned toward the lake.

Beneath the moon, the lake, deep black, met the cloudy smudge of sky. Its sound was rolling, low.

Marcie's body twitched against him.

Shaken, Sam dragged her toward the lake, rock clutched in one hand.

The park felt vast and silent. At any moment, a car, pulling into the parking lot, might catch him in its headlights. Sam was damp with sweat; the sound of his panting breaths seemed to come from a great distance, as though from someone else.

Marcie did not twitch again.

Her body was awkward, heavy. Sam slung her against his hip, carrying her in the crook of his left arm. Her hand, spilling toward the ground, looked glossy in the moonlight.

At the edge of the grass was a patch of mud, the bluff. Sam dragged Marcie Calder the last few feet; staring at the darkened beach below, he felt the boulder in his right hand, the ache of his tendons as he clutched it.

Sam threw the boulder as far as he could. It made no sound.

Both hands beneath her arms, Sam lifted Marcie above the precipice, staring into her face, frozen in shock. His eyes shut; slowly, he bent his cheek to her mouth, listening for her breath. There was no sound, no warmth on his skin.

Moist-eyed, Sam looked into her face again, as if to be sure. Then he hurled her into the darkness. As she vanished, he could hear her body skidding down sheer cliffside, the victim, now, of a fall.

As if in a trance, Sam walked toward the bower of trees.

Kneeling beside the car, Sam wiped his hands on the moist grass. Then he peeled off his sweat clothes, turning them inside out, and put them on again. When he got in the car, it felt strange that Marcie was not next to him.

He could not go home, Sam knew.

He drove from the trees, headlights off, looking for other cars, or a transient like Donald White. As the car crept across the field, Sam's nerves tingled; only when he reached the macadam lot did Sam switch on his lights.

Turning, he headed for the mouth of the park.

Sudden headlights blinded him. Squinting, Sam slowed his car; as the sedan came closer, he saw the roof light of a Lake City police car, patrolling the park.

Sam's breath caught in his throat.

He drove slowly, fingers tight on the steering wheel. The patrol car slowed as well, perhaps to note the make of his car, his license plate, even his face. . . .

Passing, the police car was two feet away. Sam released a shuddering breath, watching its red taillights recede in the rearview mirror. Then his mind went cold.

Before anyone saw him, he must become Sam Robb again.

The teachers' lot was empty. Parking, Sam checked the digital clock. It was ten twenty-six. Marcie's parents would be waiting for her; Sue would be waiting for
him
.

Hurriedly, Sam left the car and went to the side door to the gym. Inserting his key, he hesitated, and then let himself inside.