by Tim LaHaye
Star Diamond faced into the stall. The stench overwhelmed her, but she was not about to swoon now. Keeping her distance from the murderous back hooves, she talked soothingly and moved in beside him toward his head. “Easy, Star Diamond,” she said. “It’s just me, boy.”
He was calm, seeming to eye her warily. She didn’t know how much horses knew or remembered, but he should recognize her. Marilena pulled the bridle from a hook on the wall and was grateful the horse didn’t resist as she clumsily got the bit in his mouth and pulled the rest over his nose. The saddle was another matter. It straddled the side of the stall, but with only one good arm, she couldn’t heft it. Was there any way in the world she could ride this horse bareback?
Thoroughly unsure of herself, Marilena gently tugged the reins, trying to lead the horse. To her immense relief, he turned around. “Good boy,” she said, wondering how to climb aboard. And if she did, what then? If he spooked, there was no way she could stay on, and if he went fast at all, she would surely be thrown. Well, at least she would die trying.
Marilena knew nothing about horses, but to her, Star Diamond looked curious, anticipating he didn’t know what. She climbed the railing next to him, reins still in her hand. He was close enough that she could have easily hopped atop him had it not been for her injury. Now she had to work up her courage and refire her determination. Finally, knowing she was without options, Marilena pulled at the reins again until the horse was as close to her as he could be without pinning her.
She reached as far as she could toward his neck and swung her foot over his back. As she settled onto him, his coarse, smelly hair repulsing her, he snuffled and pranced. “Whoa! Easy there, boy. Easy.”
Marilena tried to hold the reins in both hands but had no idea how to thread them through her fingers as Nicky did. One thing she remembered was that Nicky acted gentle and firm at the same time, taking charge but not alarming the animal.
Sitting there in the stall, Marilena could see the cottage. And here came the doctor, if that’s what he was. He would have to come all the way into the dark barn to see her. She prayed he wouldn’t, but she was prepared if he did. As soon as he got within range of the horse, she would press her heels in, rock forward, and yell to get the steed to move. If there was a God in heaven, Star Diamond would trample Luzie, and she would somehow get the horse stopped, get Luzie’s car keys, and get as far away from here as possible.
From her perch she could see the doctor following her tracks in the dust. There went her hope that he would save the barn till last. She leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Ready, boy. Let’s get ready to move.” If she hadn’t feared for her life, Marilena would have laughed at herself, having zero idea whether she could get that horse to do a thing.
As the doctor blocked the light and entered the barn, the horse’s ears pricked and he stiffened. Marilena pulled the reins and pressed her knees against the horse. She tried to make a noise, but that only drew Luzie’s attention. Marilena rocked violently and shook the reins, shouting, “Go! Go now!”
The horse stamped and stepped forward, but the man moved directly in front of him. “Whoa, Stea Diamant!” he said, and the horse stopped. How did he know its name? How tied in to Viv could he be?
“Get down, Mrs. Carpathia,” he said.
But she yanked again at the reins, trying to get the horse to move, to rear, to buck, to do anything. She would rather die being thrown against the barn wall than be captured by this pretender. The horse was clearly spooked but seemed to look to the man for instruction.
Luzie reached for the reins and dragged them from Marilena’s hands. “Down. Now.”
Marilena forced herself to slide off the other side and attempt to run. She felt like a fool, lurching, limping, staggering. She whimpered as she hurried to the exit at the other end of the stable, hearing the determined footfall of the man behind her. He wasn’t even running, just striding purposefully, patiently, as if knowing she had nowhere to go and would soon spend herself.
He was mistaken, she thought, to not stay close, because if nothing else, she might be able to lock herself in his car. It would not be an escape, but it would frustrate him. If he meant to kill her, she was certainly not going to make that easy. Mustering her ebbing reserves, Marilena first tried to fool him by tumbling in the dust. She looked back, and sure enough, he slowed and smiled.
Marilena scrambled painfully to her feet and made a mad dash for the car. As she dived into the passenger side and shut and locked the door, he pulled the keys from his pocket and dangled them. She hit the door lock and folded her arms, staring at him. He shook his head and popped the locks with the remote.
How could she have been so stupid? For a few seconds they traded jabs with her relocking the doors every time he hit the button. All the while he was coming closer. “Just get out,” he said. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
She flashed him the same gesture Nicky had used the day before, but it gave her no satisfaction and only made him laugh. He was looking down at her through the window now, holding the remote before her eyes. He hit the button. She locked the doors again. The next time he pushed the button, she was ready with her good hand on the handle. As soon as the lock popped, she pulled the handle and drove the door into him with her feet.
She yelped with satisfaction as he fell, and she quickly pulled the door shut again and locked it.
He bounced up, face red, eyes smoldering. With a karate kick he drove his heel through the window, showering her with glass.
Marilena grabbed the steering wheel and slid across the seat and out the driver’s-side door. She bounded up the steps onto the porch, raced inside the cottage, slammed the door, and locked it. As she hurried to the back door to do the same, she could see Luzie running beside the cottage. They reached the back door at the same time and he burst in, pushing her to the floor.
So this was it. She had lost. He stood over her, shaking his head. “Foolish caţea,” he said.
That was all she needed to hear. Whatever he planned to do to her or with her, she was going to make it difficult. He would pay for every offense. She would not surrender, not go easy. She acted as if she had given up, letting her shoulders slump. But as he reached for her, she drove her foot into his shin and pushed him back. She got up and rushed to the phone.
Before she could dial he tore the phone from her hand and threw a forearm into her that knocked her onto the couch. She slammed against the back and tumbled to the floor. Marilena wasn’t sure how much more she could take, but she knew all this was only making her injuries worse.
“Listen,” he said, “I am a doctor, and I can make you feel better if you’d just let me.”
“Oh, certainly, Doctor,” she said, panting. “What reason would I have not to trust you?”
He pulled a syringe from his pocket.
“No way in iad,” she said. “Get anywhere near me with that and you’ll regret it.”
He shook his head and sighed, sitting across from her. “You’re going to wish you’d accepted this the easy way.”
“I don’t think so. What kind of woman would I be? What kind of mother?”
“You’re no kind of mother,” he said. “We’ve already established that.”
That made her want to attack, but she felt herself fading. The longer she sat, the stiffer she grew. Her bad hand was swollen to where she couldn’t bend her fingers.
“You’re full of poison, you know,” he said. “Your emergency-room treatment was lethal. I’m surprised it hasn’t felled you already. You’re on borrowed time.”
“I suspected as much.”
He waved the syringe. “This will put you out of your misery. No pain. You’ll just drift off.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said.
“I would indeed. This has already been too much work. I have a mess to clean up in Ms. Ivinisova’s room, not to mention the rest of this place. Don’t make me shoot you.” He pulled back his suit jacket to reveal a snub-nosed
revolver on his belt. “Blood takes so long to bleach and cover.”
Strangely, that gave Marilena hope. She wasn’t going to survive this, but if she could somehow stave off the injection, he would be forced to shoot her and make a mess. The satisfaction of making his task so much more complicated was a small consolation, but she had not yet surrendered her will to live. That instinct burned brightly deep inside her, and she wondered if there was a chance she could in any way turn the tide.
“I’m done,” she said. “Just shoot me.”
“I don’t want to do that,” he said. “Believe it or not, I respect your hotarâre.”
Determination? She had that all right.
“Just resign yourself to the inevitable, ma’am, and take the injection. It will be so much easier for both of us.”
She nodded. “I don’t want an ugly death.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said. He pulled a small vial from his pocket and from it filled the syringe.
“Will you do me a favor?” she said. “Would you give it to me in the bad arm? It’s numb and I won’t feel it. And I so hate needles.”
“I can do that,” he said, sounding as relieved as she hoped. He slid forward on his chair.
She lowered her head and extended her bad arm.
He left his chair and knelt before her, taking her wrist in his hand. “I hope you know this is anything but personal.”
“This is,” she said, swiping the gun from his belt with her good hand and firing it point-blank into his face. It blew a hole in his cheek, and a spray of blood and gore splashed the wall behind him. His face went ashen, his eyes wide as he dropped to his seat, the syringe rolling away.
Marilena held the gun on him, wondering how it was possible she had missed his brain. He was clearly still alive, struggling, gasping, incongruously reaching for tooth fragments on the floor. He moaned, then lurched, fisting the syringe and diving toward her.
As Marilena fired again and again, hitting him in the neck and shoulder, he fell full force upon her, driving the needle deep into her chest. It hung there as she stood and he crumpled, and she emptied the revolver into him.
She dropped the weapon and reached for the empty syringe, slowly pulling it from her body, knowing all the while that she was too late. Too late.
As she dropped back onto the couch, the phone rang. Was there still hope? Could she get to it and talk whoever it was into getting to her in time to counteract the deadly dose? Marilena tried to rock forward but she could move only an inch. Both arms were paralyzed now and her vision was going black.
Her throat constricted and she fought for air, feeling her body go rigid. Her feet shot out, as if to catch her as her brain told her she was falling. But she had not moved, could not move, desperate as she was.
The machine finally picked up, and Marilena fought to remain conscious through the cheery greeting and tone. Finally . . . finally, “Yes, this is the vicar again, eager to chat with you. I’ll be at the church as promised.”
“Help!” she rasped, as if some miracle could make him hear her without the phone. “Help me!”
“Very good then; I’ll look for you soon, ma’am.”
Click.
“God,” Marilena said silently, feeling her soul spiraling. “God. God. Receive me. Please. God.”
TWENTY
NICKY CARPATHIA awoke in a private room, part of a palatial suite on the top floor of the InterContinental Hotel in Bucharest. The sun streamed through the window.
He heard a faint knock. “Aunt Viv?” he called out.
“Yes. Are you awake?”
He hurried to the door. “Can we order breakfast like you promised?”
“I need to talk to you first.”
“I am hungry.”
“You need to hear this, Nicky.”
“What?”
“It’s about your mom. You’d better sit down.”
He sighed. “First, I do not need to sit down. Second, I want you to call me Nick from now on. I am not a baby.”
“Of course you’re not. I—”
“And third, you said I would not be seeing my mother again. Is that still true or not?”
“It’s true.”
“Good. Then I do not care what else. Let us eat.”
“No, now you must hear this.”
“All right! What?”
“She died yesterday.”
“Died? How? You said that doctor guy was going to take her somewhere, and I would never have to worry about her again. Did he kill her?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Guess we do not have to hide from her or worry about her anymore then, right?”
Aunt Viv nodded. “How does it make you feel?”
“Hungry. I told you.”
“But she was your mother.”
“And now she is dead. What is the difference if I was not going to see her again anyway?”
“Well, just because someone has been a problem doesn’t mean we won’t miss them.”
He began dressing. “You are going to miss her?”
“Of course.”
“Good. At least someone will.”
“You won’t miss her, Nicky? Nick.”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “What is to miss?”
“She loved you.”
He shrugged. “Everybody does.”
Viv told Nicky that she would be his legal guardian from then on and that they would be moving to Bucharest.
He was having none of it. “What about Star Diamond?”
“You can get another horse someday.”
“No, I want him.”
“There’s nowhere for him here in the city.”
“Then let us move back to Cluj.”
“The association doesn’t want us to return to the cottage. Your mother died there.”
He stared at her. “It is what I want, Aunt Viv.”
She sighed and went to make a phone call. When she returned she told him his teacher would not still be at the school either. “You might as well get a fresh start here.”
But he knew better. Not everything was clear in his mind, but of some things he was certain. He was special. He was somebody. For some reason, people did what he wanted. When he locked eyes with Viv and spoke in his serious tone, she didn’t argue.
“I want to live in the cottage, and I want to go to my school. I do not care who the teacher is.”
“That’s final then?” she said.
He nodded, and she returned to the phone. He tiptoed behind her and waited by the door. She was arguing. “Then you tell him, Reiche. . . . No, of course I didn’t say that. He wouldn’t understand. Crime scene would be just words to him. . . . The place doesn’t have to be destroyed. Why can’t it just be cleaned up? . . . I’ll be here by the phone.”
Nick moved away from the door, and when she returned, Viv said, “We’re seeing what can be done.”
He smiled. He knew what would happen. What always happened. Things were taken care of. Anything to keep him from becoming upset. “I have been reading about humanism,” he said.
“You have?”
He nodded. “It would be a great cover.”
“How so?” she said.
“We do not want people to know what we are really all about, right?”
“Right, Nick. Because they wouldn’t understand.”
“And would not agree and would worry about us.”
“Right.”
“But they understand humanism, even if most people do not like it. There is a Young Humanists group in Luxembourg. I want to join.”
“I’m sure that could be arranged. You know what they believe?”
“I told you, Aunt Viv. I have been reading about it.”
“Yes, but I didn’t know how much you were able to glean from—”
“When I say I have read about something, that means I understand it. You should know that by now. I read it in two languages.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He liked when she was sorry. And when people said that, or when they asked forgiveness, he knew it was customary to say, “It is okay.” But he never did. There was power in not giving people everything they wanted.
When Mr. Planchette called back, Nick didn’t eavesdrop. He knew what was coming, and he was right. Viv reported: “It may take a couple of weeks, but we think the cottage will be ready for us. And you can return to your school.”
Nick just looked out the window and nodded.
__
Two weeks later, when Viv unlocked the cottage, Nick walked in and held up a hand. The place was different. It smelled of bleach and disinfectant and fresh wood.
“My mother was not the only person to die in here,” he said.
Viv seemed to freeze.
Nick shut his eyes. “The doctor is dead too, am I right?”
“Yes.”
“They killed each other.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent,” he said.
Ray Steele might as well have been on one of the coasts, as far as he felt from Illinois. But he was only one state away. The sprawling Purdue campus had opened his eyes and his mind to all sorts of possibilities and potential. The best part was that when he looked in the mirror, he saw a man. Not a work in progress, not an overgrown kid on his way to maturity. A man. Six foot four and two hundred and twenty pounds of muscled, in-shape, square-jawed man.
It used to be, when he imagined how he might look someday, that he sucked in his gut and thrust out his chin as he tried to affect a look. Now it came naturally. Ray had always thought it was guys who ogled girls. Now that his face and body had matured, he realized the looking went both ways. He drew stares and glances, double takes. And he worked hard at exuding a quiet confidence, a diffident air. He wasn’t always sure he was pulling it off, because he was too aware of the effort, but he was clearly the most attractive and popular guy outside the scholarship athletes and frat brothers.
