One Last Scream

“Then I call the cops, and get them to haul ass over to your place-9203 Larkdale,” Brad interjected.

George nodded, then he mussed Brad’s red hair. “You know, Jody’s very lucky to have you for a friend,” he said. “You and he will be talking about this night for a long time.”

He stepped outside.

“Good luck, Mr. M,” Brad whispered, standing in the doorway.

George gave him a nod, then ran to the hedges bordering the Reeces’ backyard. Weaving through the bushes and trees, he saw the back of his house. It had been nearly twenty hours since he’d left home to catch a flight to Portland and drive to Salem. Now, that seemed like days ago. He was beyond tired, running on his wits and pure adrenaline. And he still couldn’t stop shaking.

He noticed lights were on in the kitchen and living room and master bedroom. The kids’ rooms were dark. George couldn’t see anyone, or anything else. From the edge of the yard, he crept up toward the house, to Jody’s bedroom window. But it was too high to see inside.

Grabbing a plastic patio chair, George pushed it against the side of the house, then he stepped onto the seat. It was a little wobbly, and he clung to the window ledge as he peered into the bedroom. He saw his son in the darkness, curled up on the bed, hog-tied with his hands and feet behind him. Duct tape covered his mouth. His eyes were closed. George was overwhelmed with rage and frustration. But at least Jody was breathing.

Two windows down, he looked in on Stephanie, tied up on her bed in the same fashion, like a little animal. She was trembling. He could see the tears on her cheeks. The piece of duct tape over her mouth seemed too big for her little face.

He kept telling himself, at least they’re alive.

Their backyard sloped a bit, and the kitchen was closer to ground level. George didn’t need the patio chair to look inside the window. He heard the TV going, a small portable they kept at the end of the kitchen counter. Suddenly, someone walked right past the window, and George quickly ducked down. He waited a moment, then straightened up and peeked over the window ledge.

The intruder in his kitchen was a young man with pale skin and very black hair. He wore sunglasses and a black suit. He’d probably seen Reservoir Dogs one too many times. He looked like a cocky son of a bitch. He turned down the TV and said something to Jessie.

George could see her, tied to a kitchen chair. At least she didn’t have any tape over her mouth.

The creep in the sunglasses grabbed the cordless phone from the kitchen counter. It looked like there was a gun on the counter, too, but George wasn’t sure. Beyond the kitchen, he had a glimpse into the living room, where someone was sprawled facedown on the blood-soaked sofa. It looked like his neighbor, Mrs. Bidwell.

“Oh, my God,” George murmured, horrified.

The young man picked up the receiver from the kitchen wall phone, and started dialing. He held the phone to Jessie’s face, and then he switched on the cordless from the study so he could listen in.

All at once, George’s cell phone went off.

“Shit!” he muttered, ducking down again. He quickly dug the cell phone out of his jacket pocket and switched it off. Crouched down against the house, he gazed at a patch of lawn illuminated by the light pouring out the kitchen window. He watched a shadow looming in that silhouette. He knew the young man was standing at the window directly above him, looking out. For a few seconds, George didn’t move. Finally, the shadow moved away. “Couldn’t have been anything,” he heard the young man say. “You sure you don’t know where this safe is? I’ve just about turned the master bedroom upside down.”

George dared to peek over the window ledge again. Jessie was shaking her head. “You heard him on the phone earlier. I don’t know a thing about it.”

“It’s screwy he’s not answering his cell,” the guy muttered. Then he said something else, but he moved too far away from the window for George to hear.

George glanced at the patio chair that he’d left beneath Stephanie’s bedroom window. He decided to try getting Jody out first. Jody would be faster, and less panicked than Steffie.

Crouched against the house, George caught his breath. He’d expected to see someone looking exactly like Amelia in there. But it appeared as if the man in the sunglasses was running the show by himself.

George wondered where Annabelle Schlessinger was.

Her head throbbing, Karen regained consciousness. She lay facedown on the dirty living room floor of the Faradays’ beach house. Her hands were tied behind her with some kind of cord. She could still hear Amelia’s muffled cries for help coming from the basement. But she didn’t hear the rain anymore. Karen wondered how much time had gone by.

A shadow passed over her, and she squinted up at Annabelle. Karen almost didn’t recognize her. Her hair was cut in a short shag style. She’d also changed into a black sweater and jeans. In her hand she held the revolver that had belonged to Karen’s father.

Karen realized she must have been unconscious for at least a half hour. Annabelle couldn’t have cut her hair and changed clothes in much less time than that. Thirty minutes. George was already at his house by now.

“Is Blade here?” Karen asked warily.

A tiny smile flickered across Annabelle’s face. “You know about Blade? Well, I’m impressed.” She shook her head. “No, Blade’s in Seattle, running an errand for me. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s finished and on his way here now.”

Karen was thinking of George, Jessie, and the children. They could already be dead right now. Tears welled up in her eyes. Then she heard Amelia’s muted cries again.

“Where have you got her?” she asked. “In the basement? Do they-do they have a storage room down there?”

“They have a fallout shelter,” Annabelle replied, still standing over her.

Karen shuddered. George had told her about his discovery in the fallout shelter at the Schlessinger ranch. “I’d have thought you wouldn’t want to be anything like your father,” Karen muttered, her face still against the carpet. “And here you are, Annabelle, following in his footsteps.”

“Not exactly,” she replied. “I have no intention of killing Amelia. I don’t want that at all. But my sister will learn what it’s like to be abandoned and totally alone. She has that coming to her.”

Karen suddenly felt Annabelle’s foot on her neck. Some dirt from Annabelle’s shoe trickled into her ear. Annabelle started to apply a bit of pressure on her neck and the side of her face. “In just a little while, Amelia will have no friends or family left,” she said. “You see, Blade’s been at Uncle George’s house. So Amelia’s uncle, her little cousins, and your maid too, I’m afraid, they’re all-poof, gone. You’re going to be on the casualty list, too, Karen, very soon. Then Amelia will have no one, except me-the sister she forgot she had. But you know something, Karen? I’ll forgive her for deserting me. I’ll stick by her, the way she should have stuck by me.”

“For God’s sake, how could Amelia have stuck by you?” Karen countered. She felt even more weight pressing against her neck. “Your parents gave her up. They sent her away.”

“Yes, but she didn’t have to fucking forget me,” Annabelle shot back.

Karen felt more weight pressing against her neck. She could hardly breathe.

“We could have still been there for each other,” Annabelle said. “We were for a little while, after they put her in foster care. I could still sense what she was going through, and I knew she picked up on my feelings, too. We might not have talked, or seen each other. But we still shared. I didn’t feel so alone-until her life got better. Then she turned her back on me, Karen. It was like screaming in one end of a phone, with no one listening. I knew she was there, but she cut me out of her life. All I could offer Amelia was pain, so she decided to forget about me.”

“What would you have done if you were her?” Karen asked, barely able to get the words out. “Can you really blame her?”

To her amazement, the pressure on the side of her neck and face eased up. Annabelle stepped back. “Go ahead, I’m listening,” she said.

Karen swallowed hard and caught her breath. “Amelia was four years old at the time,” she said. “She didn’t make a conscious decision to forget you, Annabelle. She was just trying to survive. Didn’t you do some pretty awful things to survive, yourself?”

Annabelle stared down at her for a moment. “Well, thank you, Karen,” she said finally, with a trace of