Comes the Blind Fury

  Defeated, Tim let her go, standing alone in the living room as she put on her coat. Then she came back in and smiled at him.

  “Now I know where Lisa gets her pout—from her father. Come on, Tim, it isn’t the end of the world. I’ll call you tomorrow, or you call me. Okay?”

  Tim nodded.

  “Men!”

  Corinne said the word out loud, then repeated it, as she drove herself home. Sometimes, she reflected, they could be so damn stubborn. And not just Tim, either. Cal Pendleton wasn’t any better. He and Tim should be great friends, she decided. One of them hanging on to the idea that everything was fine, and the other hanging on to the idea that whatever was happening was only happening in Michelle’s mind.

  But it wasn’t. Corinne was sure it wasn’t, but she didn’t know what to do next. Should she talk to June Pendleton about it? She should. Right now. She pulled the car into a sharp U-turn, and headed toward the Pendletons’. But when she arrived, the house was dark. She sat in her car for a few minutes, debating with herself. Should she wake them up? What for? To tell them a ghost story?

  In the end, she simply went home.

  But, as she went to sleep that night, Corinne Hatcher had a sense of events closing in, as if whatever was finally going to happen was going to happen soon.

  And when it happened, whatever it was, they would all know the truth.

  She only hoped that, in the meantime, nobody else would die.…

  Her hip was exploding with pain. She wanted to stop and rest, but she knew she couldn’t.

  Behind her, but getting closer, she could hear people calling to her—angry people—people who wanted to hurt her.

  She couldn’t let them hurt her—she had to get away, far away, where they wouldn’t be able to find her.

  Amanda would help her.

  But where was Amanda?

  She called out, begging her friend to come and help her, but there was no answer—only those other voices, screaming at her, frightening her.

  She tried to move faster, tried to force her left leg to respond as she wanted it to, but it was useless.

  They were going to catch her.

  She stopped and turned around.

  Yes, there they were, coming toward her.

  She couldn’t see their faces, not clearly, but she thought she knew the voices.

  Mrs. Benson.

  That didn’t surprise her: Mrs. Benson had always hated her.

  But there were others.

  Her parents. Well, not her parents, but those two strangers who had pretended to be her parents.

  And someone else—someone she thought liked her. It was a man, but who? It didn’t matter, really. Whoever he was, he wanted to hurt her, too. Their voices were growing louder, and they were coming closer. If she was going to get away, she would have to run.

  She looked around frantically, sure that Amanda would come and help her. But Amanda wasn’t there. She would have to get away by herself.

  The bluff.

  If she could get to the bluff, she would be safe.

  She started toward it, her heart pounding, her breath coming in short gasps.

  Her left leg was dragging her back. She couldn’t run! But she had to run!

  And then she was there, poised at the top of the cliff, the sea below her, and behind her those voices, insistent, demanding—hurting. She glanced once more over her shoulder. They were closer now, almost upon her. But they wouldn’t catch her.

  With a final burst of energy, she threw herself off the bluff.

  Falling was so easy.

  Time seemed to stand still, and she drifted, relaxed, felt the air rush by her, looked at the sky.

  She looked down—and saw the rocks.

  Jagged, angry fingers of stone, reaching up to her, ready to tear her apart.

  Terror finally engulfed her, and she opened her mouth to scream. But it was too late—she was going to die.…

  Michelle woke up shivering, her throat constricted with an unuttered scream.

  “Daddy?” Her voice was soft, tiny in the night. She knew no one had heard her. No one, except—

  “I saved you,” Amanda whispered to her. “I didn’t let you die.”

  “Mandy—?” She had come. Michelle sat up in bed, her fear draining away as she realized that Amanda was there, helping her, taking care of her. “Mandy? Where are you?”

  “I’m here,” Mandy said softly. She emerged from the shadows of the room, standing near the window, her black dress glistening eerily in the moonlight. She held out her hand, and Michelle left her bed.

  Amanda, holding her by the hand, led her down the stairs and out of the house. It wasn’t until they had reached the studio that Michelle realized she had left her cane behind. But it didn’t matter—Amanda was there for her to lean on.

  Besides, her hip didn’t hurt at all. Not at all!

  They slipped into the studio, and Michelle knew immediately what to do. It was as if Amanda could talk to her silently, as if Amanda were truly inside her.

  She found a sketch pad and set it up on her mother’s easel. She worked quickly, her strokes bold and sure. The picture emerged quickly.

  Billy Evans, his small body perched on the top of the backstop, balancing himself precariously. The perspective was strange. He seemed to be very high up, far above the figure of Michelle herself, who stood on the ground, her cane forgotten as she stared helplessly upward.

  Near her, clutching the support post, was Amanda, a smile on her face, her empty eyes seeming somehow alive with excitement as Billy started to fall.

  Michelle stared at the picture and, in the dimness of the studio, she felt Amanda’s hand in her own. They stood together for a moment in silent closeness. Then, knowing what she must do, Michelle let go of Amanda’s hand, tore the sketch from the pad, and took it to the closet. She found what she was looking for easily, though she had turned on no lights. She took out the canvas, that first canvas she had drawn for Amanda, and left her new sketch—the sketch of Billy Evans, with the one of Susan Peterson.

  She set the canvas up on the easel, and picked up June’s palette.

  Though the dim light washed the colors on the palette to little more than shades of gray, Michelle knew where to touch the brush to find the hues she wanted.

  She worked quickly, her face expressionless. Behind her, watching over her shoulder, her hand lightly resting on her elbow, Michelle could feel Amanda watching in fascination, her milky white eyes fixed on the picture, her expression eager. The picture was telling her the story—soon she would see it all. Michelle would show her everything.

  Michelle had no sense of time as she worked. When she finally set the palette aside and stepped back to look at the canvas, she wondered why she didn’t fed tired. But she knew, really—it was Amanda, helping her.

  “Is it all right?” she asked shyly.

  Amanda nodded, her sightless eyes still fixed on the picture. After a few seconds, she spoke.

  “You could have killed her this afternoon,” she said.

  Jennifer. Mandy was talking about Jennifer, and she was angry at Michelle.

  “I know,” Michelle answered quietly.

  “Why didn’t you?” Mandy’s voice, silken but hard, caressed Michelle.

  “I—I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “You could do it now,” Amanda suggested.

  “Now?”

  “They’re asleep. They’re all asleep. We could go to the nursery.…” Amanda took Michelle’s hand and led her out of the studio.

  As they crossed the lawn toward the house, a cloud drifted across the moon, and the silvery light faded into darkness. But the darkness didn’t matter.

  Amanda was leading her.

  And the fog was coming in.

  The wonderful fog that cuddled Michelle, shutting out the rest of the world, leaving her alone with Amanda. Whatever Amanda wanted, Michelle knew she would do.…

  June woke up in the darkness, some maternal sixth sense te
lling her that something was wrong. She listened for a moment.

  A cry.

  Muffled, but a cry.

  It was coming from the nursery. June got out of bed, grabbed her robe, and crossed the bedroom.

  The nursery door was dosed.

  She distinctly remembered leaving it open—she always left it open.

  She glanced at Cal, but he was sound asleep, his position unchanged.

  Then who had closed the door?

  She pulled it open and stepped into the nursery, switching on the light as she passed through the door. Michelle was standing by Jennifer’s crib. She looked up, her face puzzled, as the room filled with light.

  “Mother?”

  “Michelle! What are you doing up?”

  “I—I heard Jenny crying, and when I didn’t hear you, I came in to see what was wrong.”

  Michelle carefully tucked the little pillow in her hands under Jennifer’s head.

  Her crying was muffled!

  The thought slashed through June’s mind, but she immediately silenced it.

  The door was closed, she told herself. That’s why I couldn’t hear her. The door was closed!

  “Michelle,” she said carefully. “Did you close the door between here and our bedroom?”

  “No.” Michelle’s voice was uncertain. “It must have been closed when I came in. Maybe that’s why you didn’t hear Jenny.”

  “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.” But it did matter, and June knew it. Something was happening—something she didn’t want to think about. She went over to the crib, and picked Jenny up. The baby was sleeping now, making little mewling sounds. As she picked her up, Jenny coughed a little, then relaxed in her mother’s arms. June smiled at Michelle. “See? All it takes is a mother’s loving arms.” She looked more closely at Michelle. Her eyes were clear, and she didn’t look as though she’d been asleep only a few minutes ago.”

  “Couldn’t you sleep, honey?”

  “No. I was just talking to Amanda. Then Jenny started crying, so I came in here.”

  “Well, let me get her settled, then we’ll have a little talk, okay?”

  Michelle’s eyes clouded over. For a moment June was afraid she was going to refuse. But then Michelle shrugged. “Okay.”

  June tucked Jennifer back into the crib, then offered Michelle her arm to lean on. “Where’s your cane?”

  “I left it in my room.”

  “Well, that’s a good sign,” June said hopefully. But as they went down the hall, it seemed to her that Michelle could barely walk. She said nothing, however, until Michelle was settled in her bed, propped up against the pillows. “Does it hurt badly?” She touched Michelle’s hip gently.

  “Sometimes. Now. But sometimes not. When Amanda’s around, it’s better.”

  “Amanda,” June repeated the name softly. “Do you know who Amanda is?”

  “Not really,” Michelle said. “But I think she used to live here.”

  “When?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “Where does she live now?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess she still lives here.”

  “Michelle—does Amanda want something?”

  Michelle nodded her head. “She wants to see something. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s something Amanda has to see. And I can show it to her.”

  “You? How?”

  “I—I don’t know. But I know I can help her. And she’s my friend, so I have to help her, don’t I?”

  It sounded to June like a plea for reassurance. “Of course you do,” she said. “If she’s truly your friend. But what if she’s not your friend? What if she really wants to hurt you?”

  “But she doesn’t,” Michelle said. “I know she doesn’t. Amanda would never hurt me. Never.” As June watched, her daughter’s eyes closed, and she fell asleep.

  June sat with her for a long time, holding her hand, and watching her sleep. Then, as the first faint light began burning through the darkness, June kissed Michelle lightly and returned to bed.

  She tried to sleep, but her thoughts, so carefully banished, came back to haunt her.

  She hadn’t heard Jenny cry because the door was closed.

  But they never closed the door.

  And Michelle had been holding a pillow.

  June left her bed once again, and went back into the nursery.

  Carefully, she locked the door leading to the hall and put the key in the pocket of her robe.

  Only then was she able to sleep, and she hated herself for it.

  CHAPTER 25

  Saturday morning.

  On any ordinary Saturday morning, June would have awakened slowly, stretched luxuriously, then rolled over and slid her arms around her husband.

  But it had been a long time since she had done that, on Saturday morning or any other morning.

  On this Saturday morning, she was wide awake, and tired.

  She glanced at the clock—nine thirty.

  She turned the other way, to see if Cal was still sleeping.

  He was gone.

  June lifted herself into a sitting position, about to get up, then let herself lean back against the pillows. Her gaze wandered to the window.

  Outside the sky was leaden, and the trees, their remaining leaves having lost their sparkle in the gray light, were beginning to look thin and tired. Soon the leaves would be gone entirely. June shivered a little, anticipating the coming winter.

  She began listening for the familiar sounds of morning—Jennifer should be crying, and she should be able to hear Cal, banging around the kitchen, pretending to be fixing his breakfast when he was really only trying to wake her up.

  But this morning, there was a silence hanging over the house.

  “Hello?” June called tentatively.

  There was no answer, so she got out of bed, put on her robe, then went to the nursery.

  Jennifer’s crib was empty, and the door to the hall stood open. June frowned and went through the nursery to the hall. When she got to the top of the stairs, she called out again, louder.

  “Hello! Where is everybody?”

  “We’re down here!” It was Michelle, and as June heard her, she felt herself relax. It’s all right, she told herself. Nothing’s happened. It’s all right. It was only when she was halfway down the stairs that she realized how worried she had been, how much the silence of the morning had frightened her. Now, as she entered the kitchen, she assured herself that she was being silly. Last night’s imaginings fled.

  “Hi! Everyone’s up so early.”

  Cal glanced at her, then went back to scrambling a batch of eggs. “You were dead to the world this morning, and someone had to fix breakfast. And Michelle helped me, so it shouldn’t be a total loss.”

  Michelle was setting the table. She looked tired, but as June winked at her she smiled slightly, apparently happy to be doing something with her father, even if it was only setting the table.

  “Did you sleep all right, honey?” she asked.

  “My hip was hurting pretty bad, but it’s all right this morning.”

  There was a good feeling in the house, and June knew the reason for it—Billy Evans hadn’t died. Cal had saved him, not hurt him, and now, she was sure, everything was going to be all right. She wanted to say something, comment on the pleasant atmosphere, but she was afraid that if she did, she would destroy it. Instead, she went to the bassinet where Jennifer was sleeping peacefully.

  “Well, at least I wasn’t the only one who slept in,” she said as she picked the baby up. Jenny opened her eyes and gurgled, then went back to sleep.

  “She was up earlier,” Cal said. “I gave her a bottle about an hour ago. Do you want these on toast?”

  “Fine,” June said absently. With Cal making breakfast, Michelle finishing with the table, and Jennifer asleep, she felt suddenly useless. “Do you want me to take over?”

  “Too late,” Cal said. He served the eggs, added a couple of slices of bacon to each plate, and carr
ied them to the table. As he sat down, he glanced at his watch.

  “Do you have to go already?” June asked.

  “The neurologist should be in by ten. I really ought to be there.”

  “May I go in with you?” Michelle asked. Cal frowned, and June immediately shook her head.

  “I think you’d better stay here today,” she said, carefully avoiding any mention of Billy Evans.

  “But why?” Michelle asked. Her face started to cloud over, and June was sure there was going to be an argument. She could feel the comparatively relaxed atmosphere of the morning slipping away. She turned to Cal.

  “Cal? What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t suppose there’s any reason why she shouldn’t go along, really. But I don’t know how long I’ll be there,” he added, turning to Michelle. “You might get bored.”

  “I just want to see Billy. Then I could go to the library. Or I could walk home.”

  “All right,” Cal gave in. “But you can’t spend the whole day hanging around the clinic. Is that clear?”

  “You used to let me,” Michelle complained.

  Cal’s eyes shifted uneasily. “That was—before,” he said.

  “Before? Before what?”

  When he made no answer, Michelle stared at him, then she realized what he meant.

  “I didn’t do anything to Billy,” she said.

  “I didn’t say—” Cal began, but June interrupted him.

  “He didn’t mean that,” she said. “He meant—”

  “I know what he meant,” Michelle shouted. “Well, I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go anywhere near your old clinic!” She stood up from the table, grabbed her cane, and started out of the kitchen. The back door had slammed behind her before either June or Cal had recovered from her outburst. June stood up and started after Michelle, but Cal stopped her.

  “Let her go,” he said. “She has to learn to deal with things herself. You—you can’t protect her from the world.”

  “But I shouldn’t have to protect her from her own father,” June said bitterly. “Cal, why do you do things like that? Do you think those things don’t hurt her?”

  Cal made no reply, and June, knowing whatever pleasantness the morning had promised was now destroyed, picked up the bassinet, and walked out of the kitchen.