And slowly, almost against her will, the connections in her mind began to form.
It was Amy.
Amy had killed her father.
It had happened at the same time, to the very instant.
She’d been in that room with Amy, been there when the fire broke out, been there when Amy died.
She had felt Amy die, felt as though she was dying with her. She’d felt the heat of the flames, felt the despair when she knew there would be no escape.
And she’d felt the fury — Amy’s fury — in that final moment when she’d heard again the words of her father, and seen his face.
But the wish — the dying wish for vengeance — had been hers as well as Amy’s.
And now her own father was dead.
She pulled the blanket, filthy with soot, closer around her body as if its warmth could shut out the chill she was feeling, and sank slowly to her knees. She reached out with one arm, the tips of her fingers touching the flesh of her father’s face.
It was still warm, but despite that warmth, she could feel that there was no life there.
He was gone.
She wasn’t even aware of the sound that began emanating from her throat, the high, thin wail of anguish, that built slowly until it was the scream of a wild animal caught in the vicious jaws of a trap.
A scream that was part agonizing pain, part stark terror.
The scream built, filling the enormous building, echoing off the walls and roof, building on itself until it almost seemed the walls themselves must give way under its force.
“NNNNOOOOOOOOOOO—”
She was prone now, stretched out over her father’s body, her fingers clutching at him, poking him, prodding him, pulling at him, as if at any moment he might respond, might move beneath her, then turn over, put his arms around her, and tell her that everything was all right, that he was alive, that he loved her and would still be there to take care of her.
And still, the scream built.…
Phillip was driving the Mercedes at no more than fifteen miles an hour, and doing his best to avoid the worst of the potholes in Prospect Street. Beside him, Carolyn was staring straight ahead through the windshield, but he could see a slight smile playing around the corners of her mouth as she listened to Abigail’s diatribe pour forth from the back seat.
“There’s hardly a need to proceed at the pace of a snail, Phillip. I’m not going to break, and I shall be much more comfortable back in my own room than I am trapped in the back seat of this car.”
“I asked you to use an ambulance, Mother,” Phillip reminded her, but was silenced by an indignant sniff.
“Ambulances are for sick people. If I’m still sick after six weeks in that terrible place, then I should be dead. And, if I may say so, Phillip, it is a miracle that I’m not. One would think that considering the amount of money we have given that wretched little clinic, the least they could have done was serve me decent food. And as for the doctors, I can’t imagine how any of them even qualified for medical school, let alone graduated. In my day—”
“I know, Mother,” Phillip interrupted. “These days they’re letting just anybody be doctors, aren’t they?”
Abigail’s lips tightened as she heard Tracy snicker from the seat next to her. She glared at her son in the rearview mirror. “Are you mocking me, Phillip?” she asked, her voice cold.
Phillip did not answer her. He slowed the car to a complete halt in front of the mill, and pressed the button that would lower his window. “Well, there it is,” he said proudly. “I thought you might want to see it.”
“I do not,” Abigail declared, turning her head away. “All I want is to be taken home—” And then she fell silent. A strange sound was filling the air, and it seemed to be coming from the mill.
The sound grew louder, and within seconds all four of them knew what it was.
Inside the mill, someone was screaming.
Carolyn froze in her seat; her heart had begun pounding. From the back, she heard Abigail’s voice, uncertainly asking what the scream could be. Then she heard her husband’s voice.
“I’ll go see.”
“I’ll go with you,” Carolyn said immediately. Phillip’s voice had the effect of releasing her from her paralysis, and she opened the car door, then hurried around to the sidewalk.
The scream was getting louder, sending a chill through Carolyn’s very soul.
“You’d better not,” Phillip told her. “Take Tracy and Mother home. I’ll find out what’s happened, and call you as soon as I can.” When Carolyn seemed to hesitate, he gripped her arms tightly. “Do it!” he said. Then he released her arms and started toward the steps that now rose to the newly installed front doors.
Carolyn remained where she was for a moment, then, reluctantly, got into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes, and closed the door.
Phillip, even as he mounted the steps, realized it would be pointless. The doors would be locked, and he had no key.
He should abandon the steps, and head for the side door. But he couldn’t. He had to look now.
With the unearthly scream still ringing in his ears, he came to the top of the steps, shielded his eyes, and peered through the glass doors.
One hundred and fifty feet away, barely visible in the dim light within, he saw a shape huddled on the floor. Then, as he watched, the shape moved, and a face appeared.
Caught in the strange light of the sun, he saw Beth, her features twisted into a mask of anguished grief. Blood smeared her face, and her hands seemed to be clawing spasmodically at the air.
Phillip felt his stomach tighten for a moment, and fought against the nausea that was threatening to overwhelm him.
Then he felt a movement at his side, and heard another voice.
“What is it?” Tracy asked. “What’s happening in there?”
Almost against his will, Phillip looked down. Tracy, her eyes glinting with malicious curiosity, looked back at him. “She killed someone, didn’t she?” he heard his daughter saying. But there was no fear in Tracy’s voice, nor so much as a hint of compassion or pity.
Only eagerness, and a strange note of satisfaction.
Clamping his hand on Tracy’s wrist, Phillip jerked the child away from the door.
“Stop it!” Tracy screeched as Phillip dragged her down the steps. “You’re hurting me!”
Phillip shoved Tracy into the back seat, slammed the door, then spoke through her open window. “Don’t say anything, Tracy,” he commanded. “If you say one word, I swear that the next time I see you I will give you a thrashing you will never forget!”
Then, at the look of anguish in Carolyn’s eyes, he shook his head. “It looks bad,” he said quietly. “Just get them home. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Then, as Carolyn put the car in gear and drove away, he dashed around the corner of the building and started toward the side door.
Phillip recognized Alan’s car parked next to the construction shack, and had an instinctive feeling of relief. Whatever had happened, Alan would already be taking care of it.
Then he was at the door, and even before his eyes had fully taken in what he was seeing, he recognized the body that lay broken on the floor.
He rushed into the area beneath the dome, and dropped to his knees, his arms instinctively going around Beth, trying to draw her away.
She fought him for a moment, clutching at her father’s body, but then let go, burying her face against Phillip’s chest, her arms encircling his neck, her hysterical screams dissolving into a series of racking sobs that shook her entire body.
Phillip reached out and laid his fingers on Alan’s neck, feeling for a pulse.
As he had expected, there was none.
His breath caught, and he rose to his feet, staggering back a step. Beth still clung to him, and he made no attempt to set her down, or try to get her to stand on her own legs. Instead, he hoisted her higher, his right arm
