Mind Over Mussels

by Hilary MacLeod

  Alyssa loomed above her. Her shadow and the shadow of the barbells swept up the wall and across Hy’s face.

  She could have wielded the axe. She could have killed Lord. And MacAdam. Maybe Ed and Leone, too. Alyssa was no longer a woman, the vision she created to entrap men. She was a monster, menacing, her shadow growing as she advanced on Hy, casting her in darkness, making her feel small and ineffectual when was used to towering over others.

  “Alyssa!” It burst from Hy’s lips, she didn’t know why. To try to destroy this ugly vision? Like pricking a balloon.

  “Yes, Alyssa.” The sound of the name no longer had that airy, silky quality. The “s” sizzled from the monster’s mouth, searing.

  “Alyssa.” She spat it out again, as snake-like she unwound her body to raise the weight to full height above her head.

  Alyssa. Able to lift hundreds of pounds, even though she was no bigger than a child.

  Able to lift hundreds of pounds. Armed and dangerous.

  The axe that struck Lord in the back of the head would have been nothing to her.

  “Nothing,” Alyssa said, as if she’d read Hy’s thoughts, sliding toward her with triumph in her eyes.

  “It was nothing to me.” She held the weight over Hy’s head.

  Hy stepped back, fear buzzing through her. Alyssa stepped forward, arms still raised, the mouse now a stalking cat.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ian had grabbed the rope from his trunk, the same one that had hauled MacAdam out of the pond. Jamieson had lost the sensation in the hand holding her to the cliff face. She tried to move the fingers one at a time, to work the numbness out. When she did, she slipped, the weight shifting to her injured ankle. She kept the palm of her other hand and her body flat against the wet sandstone, as if the contact would glue her there, hold her in place, prevent her from tumbling to death below. But it was not her body that was holding her there. Her mind was clinging to the thought that she would not fall. The moment she gave up she would be lost. She screwed up her face, eyes shut tight, teeth gritted together, hanging on to the thought with all her mental power. It was all she had now. And she realized then that what McAllister had said was true, what Lili had demonstrated had worth. Her mental state mattered in what she knew was a moment of life and death. She did not look down. She kept focused – and prayed for Ian to return. Fast.

  “Lance, he was nothing to me.” Alyssa held the barbell as if it, too, were nothing, her eyes intent on Hy.

  “And Ed?” Hy took a slow step back. She wanted to raise her arms in defence, but held them steady at her sides, not wanting to provoke this – this – madwoman. Seemingly bigger than Hy. Stronger, too.

  “Nothing. He was nothing to me except muscle. Mind Over Muscle.” Alyssa took another step.

  The doorway! Hy had to back through the doorway. Then Alyssa would have to retreat, three times, before she could go through it. It would buy time. She backed up two more steps, trying not to rush, to do anything that would set this woman off.

  “Nothing. Ed was really nothing to you?” Keep her talking. A few more backward steps. Hy didn’t dare look behind her to see how close she was to the door.

  Alyssa’s eyes narrowed.

  “Never anything to me.” She stepped forward.

  From behind Alyssa came a whimper. Ed – a great lump on the floor, wounded by his own mind trick, by the love of his life – was still alive to know it. Thank God. But…what was he hearing? Understanding?

  “Except he gave you power and strength.” When she said it, Hy realized she could use the same weapon. Fight fire with fire. She needed to break Alyssa’s concentration. Destroy her confidence. Prick the balloon.

  Out of her peripheral vision, Hy could just see the side of the door.

  Close. So close.

  Alyssa glided toward her, showing no strain from holding the hundreds of pounds aloft, her little eyes glowing with triumph.

  Ian was determined to bring Jamieson up the cape alive. She weighed less than half MacAdam’s three hundred pounds, but he couldn’t use the car. He’d thought about it, but it was too risky.

  He threw down the rope.

  “Loop it around your waist and I’ll pull you up.”

  Jamieson grabbed the rope. The rock was grating the skin of her hand. With her other hand, she tried to loop the rope around her waist. She couldn’t do it without letting go of the rock. If she let go, she would fall. Beads of sweat were trickling down her face.

  “I can’t do it. Not around my waist. I’ll have to hang onto it and climb up.”

  She let go of the rock, grabbing the rope one hand at a time. She swung free, trying to snatch at something, anything that would hold her.

  Ian had the other end of the rope around his waist, but wasn’t ready for the tug of the full weight of her body, and he was yanked to the edge of the cape, only just stopping himself from going over. He stabilized, and so did she, digging in her feet to the cliff face, the pain knifing through her sprained ankle.

  “Okay, start now. Climb up. I’ll hold steady.” Ian couldn’t let her know the strain he was already feeling, the piercing pain in his lower back. Jamieson wasn’t a heavy woman, but he didn’t think he could hold her weight for long.

  “C’mon, climb.”

  “I can’t,” said Jamieson. “I’ve got no more strength. Just let me go.”

  That’s what he felt like doing.

  “You have pig’s eyes.”

  “What?”

  Hy could see she’d shaken Alyssa. A step back.

  “Yes, pig’s eyes, but not a pig’s nose. Worse than that.”

  Hy could see the weights droop, along with some of Alyssa’s spirit.

  “Say what you want,” Alyssa challenged. She took another step forward. “Because you won’t be saying anything soon.”

  Back two steps. The door frame.

  “Pig’s eyes, worse than a pig’s nose, and – ” Hy felt cruel even as she contemplated it.

  She was on the other side of the door frame. Safely on the other side?

  Alyssa loomed in front of her.

  Too close.

  “…and that ugly hand…”

  Alyssa had reached the door frame. She took a step through.

  “That ugly hand,” Hy repeated.

  Alyssa faltered. Torn between rage and the old superstition.

  One step back.

  “That ugly, ugly hand.”

  Alyssa came through the doorway again, her step now faltering, the weights lowering. She took a step back.

  “I’m surprised any man would look at you.”

  A hesitant step forward.

  “Or touch you. Who could bear to touch you?”

  Sensing an advantage, Hy kept going.

  “Who would put a ring on that scarred hand?”

  Alyssa wavered, moved forward, struggled with what now seemed an overwhelming weight above her head. Her arms strained, she put a foot forward, tripped, and lost her grip on the weights. Hy watched, paralyzed, as the weights dove at her. She jumped out of the way and they glanced off her shoulder. Hy was forced to her knees by the pain that ripped through her. Broken? Was her shoulder broken? Blood seeped onto her shirt.

  Alyssa folded to the floor. The weights fell on top of her, pinning her down. Hy pounced on them to pull them off her, but couldn’t. They were too heavy.

  Alyssa was unconscious. Possibly dead.

  Not dead, thought Hy. Please God, not dead. She had the weight of her words on her conscience. Cruel words. Cruel words, not meant to kill, but to save her own life.

  Mind over muscle.

  Outside, Ian was fighting for Jamieson’s life.

  “Concentrate,” said Ian. “Focus.”

  “I can’t. I can’t do it.” Jamieson’s body was tortured by pain unlike any
she’d ever experienced. She couldn’t last any longer. She was slipping, close to letting go.

  Hy stumbled outside, shaken. In the weak light from the dome, she saw Ian, rope around his waist, grunting and heaving. What the hell was he up to? Then she heard Jamieson:

  “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  “Jamieson!” It was somewhere between a whisper and a shout.

  Hy rushed forward and grabbed hold of the rope to take some of the weight off Ian.

  “You can do it. Come on. Concentrate. Mind over matter.”

  Jamieson knew she was right. It was her mind, she knew, that had kept her holding on so long. She made a small movement.

  “Yes,” said Ian.

  Then another.

  “Yes,” said Hy.

  “Up you come,” said Ian. And, an inch at a time, Jamieson climbed up the cape, with Ian holding steady on the rope around his waist and Hy taking up the slack, both encouraging her. Inch by inch, with all three minds focused on the task, all three carrying the weight of one, their muscles straining to the limit and beyond, they brought Jamieson up. They were rewarded when her face peeked over the top of the cape. Ian continued to hold steady on the rope, and Hy leaned forward to pull her up.

  She slid onto level land, and rolled over on her back, exhausted.

  The front of her uniform was filthy.

  Nathan was hurrying home. The causeway crossing had been a breeze. All he wanted now was to slip into Lili’s arms. The grin on his face widened with each kilometre.

  He frowned when his cell phone rang.

  It was Jamieson. More bodies to transport. Half-alive or half-dead, depending on how you viewed the world.

  He called Lili and delivered the bad news. He’d be another hour at least.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “We have lots of time. The rest of our lives.”

  A warm flush rose on his cheeks. They did. They had all the time in the world.

  Ian helped Nathan carry Big Ed into the van. He was dense, heavy, muscular, and weighed a lot in spite of his missing limbs. It was a strange sensation carrying just a head, a torso, and a couple of stumps. Half a man. Ed was moaning and mumbling, his face white, his lips grey.

  Picking up Alyssa was nothing at all. She was hardly more substantial than the clothes she was wearing. She remained unconscious. Even so, Jamieson had handcuffed her.

  “Are you charging her?” asked Hy.

  “With attempted murder of you, for starters.”

  After they’d seen Nathan off, it didn’t take much to convince Jamieson to go home with Hy. She had no idea what awaited her at the Hall and she didn’t care at the moment what had happened to Murdo. After her ordeal, she needed a long hot bath and a decent bed to sleep in. But after they got clean, both were too keyed up to go to sleep right away.

  Hy told Jamieson all about her confrontation with Alyssa.

  “She confessed to murdering Lord. And she set Leone up to take the fall – made sure his fingerprints were on the axe, his ring by the body. She didn’t exactly say Leone had killed MacAdam, but she made it seem like it.”

  Jamieson didn’t reveal what she was thinking. Hy persisted.

  “He practically admitted it. He said, ‘I did it for her.’ More than once – to protect her, he said.”

  Jamieson warmed her hands on the hot teacup and looked into the woodstove.

  “I need time to think. We’ll sort it all out in the morning.”

  The next day dawned bright and clear, a beautiful late summer day, with a hot sun and just the breath of a breeze to keep it cool. Jamieson and Hy were both up early.

  Jamieson made calls to Winterside before she would sit down to the cup of tea Hy offered her.

  “And?” Hy dared to ask.

  “Mrs. Lord’s in the psychiatric ward for assessment. I don’t expect she’ll ever stand trial.”

  “Will she be charged?”

  “Yes, but she’s probably incompetent to stand trial.”

  “What will she be charged with?”

  “A number of things, including the attempted murder of O’Reyley – and you.”

  “What about Lord? MacAdam?”

  Jamieson’s cell phone rang. “Yes…I’m sorry to hear that…yes…thanks for informing me.”

  She set down the phone and looked at Hy.

  “And the murder of Ed Bullock.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “Another killing we can put at her door.”

  “And Lord and MacAdam? Will Alyssa or Leone be charged?”

  “I can’t say right now.” Jamieson sipped her tea and they remained silent for a moment.

  “Police business?”

  Jamieson put her cup down and smiled – more with her eyes than her mouth.

  “Yes. Police business.” Her tone was softer than Hy had ever heard it. There was another side to Jamieson. She just didn’t show it often.

  Jamieson poured herself more tea. She was stalling. Something she had to say, but it was difficult for her.

  “I have to thank you…,” she began.

  Was that a smile? The beginning of a smile?

  “…for saving my life.”

  “Oh, c’mon…” Hy flushed.

  “No, you did. I’ve no doubt.” It had been the power of their minds – hers, Hy’s and Ian’s – that had brought her up that cape. She knew it was true. She was now a believer.

  “I do have to thank you…”

  “For interfering in police business?”

  Now it was a smile. Wry. Apologetic.

  “Yes. For interfering. You’re good at it.” Jamieson had made a joke. That was two.

  “You’re right,” Hy smiled back.

  It didn’t help to be right, thought Jamieson. The case had been a mess. Four deaths and a killer who, if charged, would not be found guilty. But it wasn’t over. It was not over yet.

  “Drink up. I have a question about what happened last night. We’ll have to go to the dome.” Maybe this would confirm what she believed or didn’t believe.

  As they left the house, Hy returned like a terrier to her interrogation.

  “But Alyssa confessed to me and you haven’t charged her with murdering Lord?”

  “Oh, there will be charges,” said Jamieson.

  Murdo woke up in the dilapidated barn. He’d gone to sleep the moment he literally hit the hay. He’d slept right through the night, his mind clear of any memory of what had been going on when he got lost. Now, waking up, he remembered it all. He bolted up and scrambled out of the hay. Spears of it were sticking to his uniform and his hair. The barn doors were crooked and they creaked as he pushed through them. He turned red when he saw how close he was to the Hall.

  It was tougher to get to than it looked. The slope that had seemed gentle from a distance was steep, and Murdo had to climb on hands and feet, scrambling his way up. The cruiser was still parked outside the Hall. Would Jamieson be there? What had happened last night?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Wearing a sweater and jeans borrowed from Hy, and looking and feeling newly comfortable in them, Jamieson propelled ahead of Hy into the dome. She leaned forward on her crutches to look at the barbell Alyssa had hoisted, injuring Hy and knocking herself unconscious.

  “Pick it up,” she said to Hy.

  “But I can’t. It’s too heavy.”

  “Try.”

  Hy bent down, braced herself for the strain, and almost fell backwards lifting the weight. Weight was the wrong word for it. It weighed almost nothing.

  “It can’t be the same one.”

  “It is. I took a good look at it last night. I have a mind for these things.”

  “Then how did it do this?” Hy slipped the shoulder of her sweatshirt down, to reveal a large, ugly bruise, and a scab formed on a
bloody wound. “It glanced off me and did this. I felt it. It was heavy. It hurt. It still hurts. It pinned Alyssa to the floor. I tried to pick it up off her and I couldn’t.”

  Jamieson shrugged, “Mind over muscle?”

  “You mean it could work both ways – make something heavy feel light, and something light feel – and be – heavy?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe that stuff.”

  “I didn’t,” said Jamieson. “But look at the evidence. I have to consider the evidence – and that I could be wrong.” She was unsure about her next move. She hoped she wasn’t wrong. She should wait for the lab results, but by then it might be too late. She hopped out of the dome, wielding her crutches expertly. Hy hustled to keep up with her as she headed down to the Hall.

  Billy was asleep on Murdo’s cot when Murdo entered the Hall. And Junior Johnson, sitting on the floor, his head lolling forward, his nose and mouth emitting a combination of mucous-filled and guttural sounds, was asleep, too. He was attached to the cot, the handcuffs linked through the springs.

  Murdo shook Billy awake. He was startled to find out where he was. His first thought was of his mother. She would be raging, banging at the floor with her cane, waiting for him to deliver her morning tea. When he saw Junior Johnson, he remembered why he was here. He’d made an arrest. His first arrest. He beamed at Murdo.

  “He was stealing the grass out of the cruiser.” He didn’t mention Gladys Fraser’s part in it.

  Johnson was awake now.

  “That wasn’t stealin’. That was my grass.”

  “Well, then, it was dealing,” said Murdo. “We’ll take him in and book him as soon as I find out where Jamieson is.”

  “You can book Jared MacPherson, too.” Junior was red with rage. Jared had convinced him the cookhouse would be the perfect spot for a grow-op. Junior had taken all the risk and Jared had planned to take half the money. Well, he could take half the blame, too.

  Nathan had dragged Jamieson’s cruiser out of the dung and, apart from being filthy and smelly, it had suffered no ill effects. Jamieson dispatched Billy in the cruiser to take Junior to town, and ordered Murdo to drive her and Hy to Ian’s.