had fallen asleep at the foot of Karen’s bed, but now she heard him sitting up. His dog tags jingled. He started to growl.

She heard a floorboard creak. For a moment, she couldn’t move.

Finally, and very slowly, Karen reached under the extra pillow beside her and found her father’s revolver.

She could almost feel someone hovering over her.

She quickly sat up in bed. “I’ve got a gun!” she said.

Rufus started barking furiously.

“God, Karen, no, wait!”

Blindly reaching for the nightstand lamp, she fanned at the air for a moment before she found the light and switched it on. “Amelia,” she murmured, catching her breath. “Rufus, hush! That’s enough.”

“Oh, Karen, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, a hand clutching at the lapels of her robe. “I got turned around. I thought this was the bathroom….”

Rufus kept growling at her, punctuating it with an occasional bark.

“Rufus, cease and desist,” Karen said. Her heart was still racing. She tried to smile at her. “It’s the next door down, Amelia.”

“Thanks. Sorry I woke you.” She hesitated in the doorway, and frowned at her. “Do you always sleep with a gun? Or do you think I’m dangerous?”

Karen shook her head. “No, I don’t usually sleep with a gun. And no, I don’t think you’re dangerous. This is about something else, Amelia.” She was thinking of the young man who called himself Blade. That was why she had the gun at her side tonight; and why Rufus was sleeping in her bedroom instead of his own little bed in the corner of the kitchen. But part of her still couldn’t trust Amelia-not if she was sick.

“Think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?” Karen asked.

Yawning, she nodded and turned toward the hall. “G’night, Karen. Sorry I scared you.” She gently closed the door behind her.

Rufus let out one last growl, and then settled back down at the foot of her bed. Karen listened for a few moments until she heard the toilet flushing. It was strange. Earlier tonight, Amelia had come down to the kitchen in her T-shirt and pajama bottoms. But she’d put on a robe in the middle of the night, just to go to the bathroom?

Karen checked the digital clock on her nightstand: 4:11 A.M. She switched off the light, slipped the gun back under the pillow beside her, and lay there for several minutes. She thought she heard murmuring. She peeled back the covers, quietly crept out of bed, and then listened at the door. “She’s got a gun, for chrissake…I can’t…goddamn mutt…”

It was a woman’s voice, but it didn’t sound like Amelia.

Karen crept back to the bed and retrieved her father’s revolver again. Rufus scurried to his feet and looked at her. “Stay!” Karen whispered to him. Then she opened the door and gazed down the darkened hallway. She held the gun tightly. The guest room door was open, but the light was off. Past the waves and seagulls from the sound machine, she could hear the woman whispering again: “We’ll just have to take care of it tomorrow…”

Karen tiptoed down the corridor, but the floorboards creaked and she froze. Rufus poked his head past her bedroom doorway and let out an abrupt bark. The murmuring down the hallway suddenly stopped. Karen heard a rustling sound. “Amelia?” she said. She had the gun poised.

She skulked toward the guest room. She could hear whispering again, only this time, it sounded more like Amelia: “I want two baskets of flowers. Yes, you can…But I’m taking my dog…”

Karen peeked into the doorway. In the darkness, she saw the silhouette of someone in the far twin bed, nestled beneath the covers. “But I have a ticket…” she said in a sleepy voice-Amelia’s voice. “That train doesn’t leave for a while…”

With a sigh, Karen retreated back to her own room, and crawled back into bed once again. She shouldn’t have been surprised Amelia talked in her sleep, in addition to everything else. Karen tried to go to sleep, but merely tossed and turned. She told herself everything was okay. She’d be taking Amelia to a specialist in just a few hours.

She kept checking the clock on her nightstand. The last time she looked it was 5:17. She could hear birds chirping. An unsettling thought occurred to her: What if that wasn’t Amelia under the covers? What if it was someone else?

But Karen told herself she was being silly. And she finally drifted off to sleep.

The clock on Shane’s nightstand read: 6:02 A.M. Barely lifting his head from his pillow, he squinted at it. He wondered what the hell that tapping noise was. He and four other guys shared a dilapidated house on Forty-third Street, just a few blocks from the campus. His bedroom was on the first floor, right off the kitchen. It took him a moment to realize the tapping was on his window. Against the faint light of dawn, he could see the silhouette of someone on the other side of the old venetian blinds.

“What the…” he muttered, crawling out of bed. He staggered across the cluttered room in his underpants. The tapping continued.

Some of the venetian blind slats were bent and broken and, through the gaps, he could see who was out there. He immediately raised the blinds, and then tugged the window open. He had to crouch so that he could talk to her face-to-face. “Amelia, sweetheart, what’s going on?” he asked, in a groggy voice.

She wore a rain slicker and stood on her tiptoes. “Sorry to wake you,” she whispered. “I just had to see you, baby.”

He started to straighten up. “Well, go around to the kitchen door, and I’ll let you in.”

“No, no, I can’t stay. Karen’s practically holding me prisoner at her place. She doesn’t know I’m gone. I need to get back there and sneak in before she wakes up.”

He crouched down again and hovered by the open window. “Shit, you shouldn’t have to stay there if you don’t want to….”

She smiled. “It’s okay. But I need to meet you later, someplace where we can be alone, with no one else around. You know that boat place by Husky Stadium?”

“You mean where they rent canoes?”

She nodded. “I want you to rent one and take it out on Lake Washington to Foster Island, near the Arboretum. It’s over past the Museum of History and Industry-”

“I remember where it is,” he interrupted. “We’ve been there before.” Foster Island was a secluded little patch of land accessible by a long, winding, nature path that included a few footbridges. They’d had a picnic there during the summer.

“Good. I’ll meet you out there at eleven-thirty.”

“Oh, shit,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’ve got my psychology class at eleven.”

She frowned. “Can’t you skip it for me? This is important.”

He hesitated. “Sure, I guess.”

“I knew I could count on you. Don’t tell anyone you’re meeting me or mention where you’re going. And that includes Karen. I don’t trust her anymore.”

“What?” He let out a dazed laugh. “But you love Karen. You were just bending my ear last night over pizza about how goddamn wonderful she is.”

She shook her head. “Not anymore. If Karen calls you, don’t even pick up.”

“Well, why go back there if you don’t trust her? Why all the secrecy? I don’t get this, Amelia….”

“I’ll explain everything to you on Foster Island at eleven-thirty, and take a canoe out there. It’s very important. Will you just do it for me, please?”

“Of course,” he murmured. He didn’t understand any of this. Most of all, he couldn’t understand her. She wasn’t acting like herself. “Of course, I’ll be there,” he reiterated.

“Thanks, baby,” she said. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his messy, light brown hair, then pulled his head down to her. She gave him a long kiss, and slipped her tongue into his mouth. He wanted more, but she pulled away.

“Sorry, I’ve got morning breath,” he whispered with a little laugh.

“It’s okay,” she grinned and licked her lips. “Do you have morning wood, too?”

Indeed he did. He’d woken up-as usual-with a morning hard-on, which had been revived by that arousing kiss.

Вы читаете One Last Scream
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату