A Reason to Believe

by Diana Copland

  Kiernan moved as if he planned to follow but Matt caught his arm, digging his fingers in hard. He yanked on him, jerking his head behind him.

  After Kiernan was safely out of the way, Matt turned, his gun held in both hands as he pressed his back against the wall.

  “Get the hell out of here. I have a gun, and I’ll kill her if you don’t leave.”

  Matt stiffened, trying to place where Preston was standing from the sound of his voice. In and to the left, near the far wall.

  “You won’t.”

  Matt looked at Kiernan in surprise, but Kiernan gave him a look that said, “Trust me.”

  “You won’t hurt her,” he went on, “because you love her.”

  “Shut up,” Preston snarled from the darkness. “What the hell do you know?”

  “Well,” Kiernan replied, sounding reasonable in the midst of the mad situation, “I know the two of you were a couple in college. That’s right, isn’t it, Karen?”

  Matt moved tentatively toward the doorway.

  “Y-yes,” she answered, voice tremulous. “Yes, we dated in college.”

  “And it was serious, wasn’t it?” Kiernan went on. Matt’s palm began to sweat. He adjusted the grip on his gun. “Enough Karen became a part of the family, right? Samantha and Patrick loved her, didn’t they, Garrett?”

  “Stop talking!” Preston shouted. “Just…shut the fuck up!”

  “Garrett,” Kiernan persisted, his voice soothing. “You don’t want to hurt Karen. None of this has been about hurting Karen. Has it?”

  Matt held his breath.

  “Garrett?” Karen said, her voice tentative. “What’s this all about? You’re frightening me.”

  There was a long, heavy silence.

  “I don’t mean to scare you. But you were supposed to come to me.” Preston’s voice softened, and he was pleading. “When everything went wrong, you were supposed to turn to me for support, for consolation. Not to Bennett. And certainly not to some crackpot ghost whisperer! They’ll only lie to you, Karen. Tell you things you want to hear. You can’t believe some spirit is loitering, ready to tell you the secrets of the great beyond.” He laughed derisively. “Come on, you’re smarter than that. You’ve always been so brilliant. Those are the lies the ignorant and weak cling to.”

  Matt inched toward the door. In his peripheral vision he saw Kiernan move closer.

  “I’ve done everything for you,” Preston went on, his voice quickening with enthusiasm. “The house, my house, is just the way you said you wanted it, with the city views in every room and the grand piano, and the media room. I have all your favorite movies and television shows, and books. The bedroom has a walk-in closet, just the way you said you wanted it…”

  “Garrett, I was a girl when I said those things. We were just talking. They were the plans of children who still believed they could have everything they wanted.”

  “You can have everything you want,” he said desperately. “You still can, Karen. With me.”

  Matt cautiously peered around the edge of the doorframe. Just as he’d thought, Karen was standing near the darkened fireplace, Preston in front of her. He wasn’t holding her, which was good. The gun in his right hand gleamed darkly, but it wasn’t pointed at Karen, it was pointed at the floor, as if he’d forgotten he held it.

  “Garrett,” Karen said, “we’ve had this conversation before. I’m married to Marc…”

  “Marc,” Preston spat. “The fucking golden boy. He took everything I ever cared about. He took the firm, my fucking law firm…”

  “Wait,” Karen interrupted. “You went to work for the government, even talked about running for DA.”

  “Running, Karen, is not necessarily being elected,” Preston retorted, clearly having forgotten Matt and Kiernan were in the house. Matt took a silent step out from behind the door frame, his aim fixed on the back of Preston’s head. He sensed when Kiernan followed.

  “Patrick’s firm was supposed to be mine. It was always supposed to be mine. And he should have held on to it until I was ready to take the reins.” Preston ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “He only sold it to make me look bad,” he muttered under his breath, shifting restlessly. “Marc only bought it to make me look bad. They hate me, both of them.”

  Karen moved toward him, her hand raised in consolation. “Oh, Garrett,” she said softly. “You know that isn’t true. Marc was your best friend, Patrick loves you…”

  “No!” Preston shouted, reaching out and slapping her hand away. The sound cracked loudly in the silent house and she pulled it to her chest, clearly startled. “No, he doesn’t love me. He loves my mother, he loves Marc, he loves you. He even loved…” He lurched forward, as if he had to physically catch the words he had been about to blurt and haul them back. He took a shuddering breath. “And Marc was never my best friend. A best friend wouldn’t move in and steal the girl you love!”

  Karen’s expression, even in the gloom, was clearly full of compassion. “Garrett, you know he didn’t do that. We fell in love. It wasn’t something planned. And you know I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”

  “It wasn’t you, Karen,” he said. “It was him. He tricked you, lied to you. He may have even drugged you! I know you would never have left me otherwise. It had to be a trick.”

  It seemed to dawn on Karen just how seriously disturbed Preston was. She pulled back, her hand reaching behind her to grip the heavy wooden mantel.

  Matt steadied his gun. He knew she could see him, but she didn’t acknowledge his presence. Smart girl. He crept closer. If he could get close enough to press his weapon into Preston’s back, he could disarm him and no one would get hurt. Keep talking to him, he mentally urged Karen, moving stealthily forward on silent feet. Keep his attention.

  “I…don’t know,” she said carefully. “I only know that I…thought I fell in love with him.”

  “But you see, you aren’t sure! And you loved me, I know you did.”

  “I did,” she agreed.

  “I knew it!” he said exultantly. “So you see now, don’t you? You see I had to do whatever it took to make sure we could be together.”

  She stared at him. Her knuckles whitened on the mantel ledge. “I…what exactly did you do, Garrett?”

  “I…just…I, uh…” He was trembling visibly. “I simply…cleared the way a bit. That’s all.”

  “Cleared the way…?” Horror dawned across Karen’s pretty features. “Abby,” she whispered. “My baby? Please, Garrett. Please tell me it wasn’t you who hurt my baby.”

  Preston reached out in supplication. “His baby, Karen. Marc’s. When it should have been mine. Don’t you see? You’re still young enough to have a dozen children if you want, children we could love and raise together. That one was just…an encumbrance. And this was perfect, because I could…dispose of that one, and he would be blamed. Then we can be together. You see? It’s perfect.”

  She was unable to keep the disgust from her face. “It’s sick. You’re sick.”

  Preston’s body stiffened. Matt ventured another step closer. Kiernan moved in tandem.

  “Don’t say that to me,” Preston growled. “Don’t you ever say that to me.”

  “But it’s true!” Karen cried. “My God, you murdered my daughter. You bastard!”

  She moved so quickly Matt was as shocked as Preston when she picked up a heavy brass candlestick off of the mantel and raised it over her head. Preston lurched back. Matt was now just feet away.

  “How could you?” she snarled, her face transformed by fury. “How could you murder my little girl?”

  “She was in the way,” Preston said, sounding desperate. “Put that down, Karen. You don’t really want to hit me with it.”

  “Hit you with it?” she cried, her voice vibrating with rage. �
�I want to bludgeon you to death with it! You sick, twisted son of a bitch!”

  Apparently forgetting everything in her fury, forgetting Matt was nearby and Kiernan just behind him, she rushed Preston and swung the candlestick with everything in her, aiming for his head. But he had a good six inches and at least eighty pounds on her, and he caught it easily in his hand, twisting it from her grip. She cried out, launching herself at him, fingers curled like claws.

  Preston’s gun hand lifted.

  “Drop it!” Matt shouted, his weapon extended, his finger on the trigger.

  His gun was leveled at Preston, prepared to shoot him if necessary, but Preston moved fluidly, grabbing Karen around the neck and yanking her in front of him, effectively blocking Matt’s shot. Preston lifted his hand and Matt saw fire fill the pistol’s barrel and heard the gun’s blast. With cold resignation, he knew he didn’t have time to get out of the way.

  Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and everything became very vivid—the muted colors in the Oriental carpet, the dark burgundy velvet of the couch, the maniacal hatred on Preston’s face. Matt had the fleeting thought he was about to die.

  “No!”

  A blur of motion entered from Matt’s left, knocking his gun arm aside, pushing him hard. Caught off guard, Matt crashed to the floor, his hand slamming into the wood. His weapon flew out of his grip, sliding under the sofa. Kiernan was clutching the front of Matt’s sweatshirt, lying on the floor in front of him.

  Matt realized with a startled dawning that Kiernan had just saved his life. He grabbed him by his jacket lapels and yanked him behind the couch and looked down into his face.

  “I told you to stay behind me.”

  Kiernan smiled faintly. “I’ve never been much good at following directions.”

  They both pressed their backs against the large piece of furniture, heads tucked down as a bullet ricocheted wildly over their heads.

  “I’ll kill you!” Preston shouted. “You had no right to interfere! I’ll kill you both!”

  Matt leaned down to peer under the sofa. His gun had landed just to his left and he reached out to grasp it.

  Something lifted through the floor near the fallen gun, something that caused the hair on the back of his neck to lift. A thrill of fear shot through him and he jerked back with a gasp. A bluish ball of light the size of a tennis ball had paused to hover right in front of him under the sofa. It slid away from him and a startled cry sounded from the other side of the room.

  Spellbound, he looked over the arched back of the couch. The glowing orb had stopped about two feet in front of Preston and Karen and was hovering in the air at eye level, pulsating faintly. Their expressions were clearly illuminated in the glow it provided. Silvery tracks of tears etched Karen’s pale face, and the wide-eyed fear on Preston’s was unmistakable.

  The ball changed shape, expanding, lengthening. It grew legs and arms and a torso, and sprouted a head covered in long blond curls. A frilly dress completed the vision, and small hands clutched a toy unicorn with a rainbow-striped horn.

  Hovering about a foot above the floor was a translucent full-bodied apparition of Abigail Reynolds.

  Matt spared a quick glance at Kiernan, who was watching, his eyes wide and his breath shallow.

  “Abby?” Karen gasped in wonder. “Oh my God, Abby!”

  Preston released Karen and took a step back, horror stamped on his features.

  “You’re a bad man,” the vision said, its voice light but unmistakable. “A very, very bad man.”

  “You…aren’t real,” Preston muttered. “You aren’t. You can’t be.”

  “A very bad man,” Abby’s ghost repeated solemnly, gliding toward him. “Who did a very bad thing.”

  Preston tried to creep away, but his legs were unsteady. “Leave me alone,” he said desperately, his back now pressed to the wall. “Just…leave me alone.”

  The ghost shook her head slowly. “People who do bad things should be punished.”

  Preston dropped his gun and lifted his hands to hold her off. “You aren’t real. You aren’t real, you aren’t real.”

  “I am real,” the child said firmly. “And you shall be punished.”

  Matt saw his chance and darted out from behind the sofa and grabbed the fallen weapon. But then he backed away, his eyes drawn by a shifting motion in the fireplace.

  Ashes stirred and shifted, then rose, caught up in a small, slow whirlwind. The ghost’s curls stirred in the breeze, and Karen’s blond hair lifted around her transfixed expression. Preston scrabbled at the wall at his back, but there was nowhere for him to go. The ash thickened and formed into a miniature dark funnel cloud, and it began to swirl faster and faster. It moved toward Preston, who tried to back away, his face a mask of unmitigated horror.

  “No,” he whimpered, tears filling his eyes. “Please, just…stop. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

  “Too late,” the ghostly voice intoned, almost sadly. “Too late.”

  The funnel of ash collapsed to the floor but didn’t dissipate. Still whirling madly, it lifted again, rising to encompass Preston’s feet, his shins and then his knees. He screamed and batted at it, trying to move, but he had backed himself into the corner and had nowhere to go. Whipping faster, thickening with even more ash and small bits of charred wood, the small tornado swallowed Preston whole, rising above his head, a charcoal gray shroud.

  Preston’s screams rose in volume from inside it, even more desperate, more insane. It continued until Preston grew hoarse and was sobbing brokenly, so long Matt was sure he’d never get the sound out of his head. Then, as abruptly as it started, the sounds stopped, the funnel cloud dissipated, and the ash fell with a soft rush to the floor.

  Matt almost expected him to be gone, but Preston was there, collapsed in the corner, his arms wrapped around his knees. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was open, lips hanging slack. He stared vacantly, rocking, and Matt had never seen anyone who looked so completely mad.

  “Abby?” Karen was staring at the apparition of her daughter, tears spilling down her pale cheeks. “Oh, Abby. My baby.” She took a step forward, her hand stretched out. “Are you…it is you, isn’t it?”

  The child nodded, a soft smile dimpling her face. “I love you, Mommy. I’ll always love you.”

  She started to fade, and Karen made a tortured sound.

  “Don’t go!”

  “I love you…”

  As the final word faded away, so did the vision. The light that had surrounded her was snuffed out, plunging the room once again into darkness. Karen collapsed heavily into a chair next to the fireplace, her hands over her face as she sobbed. Matt turned to Kiernan, who was no longer behind the sofa.

  “That was…” he began, but immediately noticed something was wrong. Kiernan was standing but he was leaning on the couch, one hand clutching his chest and a dark stain on his lips near the corner of his mouth. Something wet and shiny began to drip down his chin. “No.”

  Kiernan collapsed onto the floor.

  “No, no, no…” Matt scrambled to him and yanked open Kiernan’s jacket, searching his chest, but it was too dark for him to see anything. “Turn on a light. For God’s sakes, Karen, turn on a light!”

  He laid his hand in the center of Kiernan chest and felt heat and wetness under his palm. “No,” he said again, pressing down. “This isn’t happening.”

  A lamp flared to life in the corner. Matt lifted his hand and stared at his palm. It was smeared with blood. A stain was spreading from a neat hole right between the giraffe’s too-large, absurdly lashed eyes.

  “Karen, dial nine-one-one,” Matt shouted. “Hurry. Do it now!”

  She appeared around the sofa, her eyes wide. “Oh my God, is he hurt?”

  “Just dial the number.” Matt tore off his hoodie and balled it up. “Quickly!”
Karen disappeared. “Oh, Christ,” he cried, pressing the wad of fleece over the wound. “Kiernan…”

  The wide blue eyes didn’t look frightened, just startled. “I’m shot, aren’t I?” The blood at the corner of his lips grew frothy.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he told Kiernan softly. “You’re going to be all right.” His heart lurched. Blood had dripped down onto his neck and covered his lips.

  “Matthew.” Kiernan lifted a trembling hand and Matt caught it in his, squeezing hard. “Funny,” he murmured, his eyes drifting closed. “I can’t really feel it at all.”

  Matt continued to squeeze his hand and press against the wound as the sound of sirens grew in the distance.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The plastic chairs in the waiting room outside the ICU were unforgiving but Matt scarcely noticed. The nurses came to check on him periodically, but he barely noticed them, either. He felt numb. Utterly and completely numb.

  When the police arrived at the Reynolds’ home, he’d still been pressing the blood-soaked jacket to Kiernan’s chest, still speaking to him softly, although he’d long since ceased to reply. Kiernan was having trouble breathing, and Matt had no idea what to do for him.

  Karen Reynolds talked to the first responding officers, and they approached Preston but when they found him unresponsive, decided to wait for medical personnel.

  It was the only time Matt spoke to them. “If you think that piece of crap is being seen before this man, you’re out of your fucking minds.”

  The uniformed officer came over to assess Kiernan’s wound and agreed.

  The ambulance arrived, and Matt stood aside as they did rudimentary field treatment, cutting the shirt away, packing the wound with gauze and putting a thick bandage over it. It was the first time Matt became aware that the wound in Kiernan’s chest was the exit wound. There was another in the middle of his back. He supposed he should have known from the pool of blood that had been spreading beneath Kiernan, but he’d been too focused on his chest to notice.

  He heard something about a collapsed lung and hemorrhaging. The words made his blood run cold.