by Joy Fielding
“At the very least, I think her visits upset Casey,” Warren said. “You saw how her blood pressure spiked after Drew left.”
“You think there’s a connection?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Casey pictured her husband burying his face in his hands and tried not to see the slow smile spreading behind his fingers.
“Part of me would like to bar Drew from the house altogether,” he continued. “To lock the front door and refuse to let her in, no matter what she says or does. And believe me, sometimes I’m this close to doing just that. But she’s such a loose cannon, there’s no telling how she’d respond. She might slink away with her tail between her legs, or she might make good on her threat to go to the press. Which is the last thing this family needs.”
The last thing you need, you mean.
“Should you talk to Detective Spinetti about her?”
“And say what? That I’m worried because Drew is actually showing signs of sisterly concern?”
“So, what do we do?”
“We’ll just have to be extra vigilant when she’s around. Don’t let her out of your sight. Make sure she’s never alone with Casey. Think you can do that?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will. You’re the one thing in my life right now I can count on.”
Casey felt her fingers stir beneath the covers and concentrated on keeping them still, knowing the slightest twitch would arouse Warren’s suspicions. He’d barely left her side since returning her to her freshly made bed, and while someone like Patsy might mistake this steadfastness as concern for her welfare, Casey understood that the only welfare he was concerned about was his own.
“Are you going to report Jeremy to the hospital board?” Patsy asked.
“Report him? No. What’s the point? I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
“You’re too nice.”
Yeah, right. Mr. Nice Guy.
“I’m not out for blood.”
Not his, anyway.
“Have you thought about who you’ll get to replace him?” Patsy asked.
“Actually I’ve already hired someone.”
“From the hospital?”
“From my gym,” Warren said.
Casey felt her entire body go numb.
“He’s dropping by this evening.”
What?
What was Warren up to? Had she run out of time already? Was he planning to kill her as early as tonight?
“Should I put some coffee on?” Patsy asked.
“I don’t think he’s much of a coffee drinker.”
“How about some ice cream?”
Warren laughed. “God, you’re sweet.”
“I just want to help.”
“I know you do. And you are, just by being here.”
Oh, please. If I had a gag reflex, I’d throw up.
“Look, it’s still early,” Warren said. “Why don’t you take the rest of the night off, go to a movie or something?”
No, don’t go. Don’t go.
“I’m kind of tired. Think I’ll just go to my room, watch some TV, maybe go to bed early.”
“Sounds good.”
“Just shout if you want anything.”
“I will.”
Patsy made a show of fluffing up Casey’s pillow. The fresh scent of Tide burst like firecrackers around her head. “Good night, Casey. See you in the morning.” She walked to the bedroom door. “Good night, Warren.”
“Sweet dreams.”
“You too.”
Casey felt Patsy hovering in the doorway for several seconds before making her exit. So, what happens now? she wondered, hearing her husband pull his chair closer to the bed.
“So, what happens now?” he echoed.
It’s your call.
He sat there for at least ten minutes, saying nothing, his eyes burning quarter-size holes in her skin. Was he trying to figure out what to do next, or how best to implement what had already been decided? “How did everything get so complicated?” he asked finally.
The doorbell rang.
“Well, what do you know? Looks like your new therapist has arrived. And unlike your old therapist, he’s actually a bit early. Clearly he’s eager to get started.”
“Do you want me to get that?” Patsy called out.
“No, that’s okay,” Warren called back. “I’ll get it.” He touched Casey’s arm. “Don’t get up,” he said before leaving her side.
I have to get up, Casey thought as her husband descended the stairs. I have to get out of here. There’s no time left.
She projected all her energy into her feet. Move, damn you. Move. Miraculously, she felt an almost immediate stirring in her legs and thighs. Her arms stretched to their full length, her hands flexed. Her body was responding. It was gathering its strength, garnering all its reserves, readying itself to propel her out of bed.
And then … nothing.
Her back lay prone against the mattress. Her head remained still on her pillow.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
What had she been thinking? Even if she’d been able to move, she couldn’t see. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t scream for help. Besides, who would hear her if she did? Patsy?
Did she really think Patsy would come to her rescue?
Casey heard voices talking softly in the downstairs foyer, followed by the sound of several sets of footsteps on the stairs. “Casey,” Warren announced seconds later. “Gail is here to see you.”
“How’s my girl?” she asked, approaching the bed and kissing Casey on the cheek.
“No real change,” Warren said.
“I think she’s definitely improving,” Gail insisted. “Her color’s better than it was even the other day.”
“You think so?”
“Don’t let the delicate features fool you,” Gail said. “Casey’s tough. She’s been through a lot, and trust me, if she can survive her mother, she can survive anything. Even this. This is nothing compared to Alana, is it, Casey?”
This may actually have my mother beat.
“She’ll come through this,” Gail pronounced. “Casey’s not going to let a little thing like a coma stop her for long. Are you, Casey?” Gail took a deep breath. It trembled upon release, breaking up into little fragments before disappearing. “I feel guilty about going away this weekend. Maybe I shouldn’t.”
“Where are you off to?” Warren asked.
“Martha’s Vineyard. Believe it or not, I’ve never been.”
“You’ll love it. It’s beautiful.”
“So Stan keeps telling me, but …”
“But nothing. You’ll go and have a good time. It’s what Casey would want.”
“I’m a little nervous,” Gail confided.
“About what?”
“You know,” Gail said. “Janine talked me into buying a new nightgown. It’s black and slinky, and the bodice is lacy and low-cut. It’s really pretty, and it cost a fortune. I think it looks okay. Just that it’s a little bit out of my comfort zone, and I really wish Casey was here to advise me.”
“If I might offer a little advice in Casey’s stead,” Warren said gently. “Just be yourself.”
“You think that’ll be enough?”
“If it isn’t, he’s a fool who doesn’t deserve you.”
Gail’s grateful sigh filled the room. “Thank you.” She leaned over and kissed Casey’s cheek. “You picked a good one, Casey,” she whispered. “I can see why you’re so crazy about him. Anyway, I should go. Bye for now, Casey. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“I’ll show you out.”
So what do I do now? Casey thought as they left the room, her hands curling into fists. Warren had even her closest friend fooled. He was going to murder her, and he was going to get away with it. There wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
There had to be somebody who could help her.
Except what could anybody do?
&
nbsp; Casey tried bending her knees, feeling every muscle in her legs cramp with the effort. But something had moved, she realized, aware of a slight trembling in her thighs. She tried lifting one foot up, feeling it strain against the stiffness of the sheet. She attempted to raise her arms, to bend them at the elbows. She tried turning her head from side to side. Had she moved at all?
“Oh, my,” Patsy said from the doorway. “What happened to you?”
How long had Patsy been standing there?
“Looks like your friend got a little too close for comfort. Look what she’s done to your poor head.” Patsy walked over to the bed and took Casey’s head in her hands, readjusting her position. “That can’t have been too comfortable. Good thing I thought to look in on you.”
I moved my head? I actually moved my head?
Patsy took a step back, as if surveying her handiwork. “That was a pretty quick visit. Although that’s what happens, doesn’t it? Visits get shorter and shorter, with longer and longer intervals in between. Soon it’ll be once a week for five minutes, then once a month for two, then maybe once a year, until you won’t even be able to remember the last time anyone dropped by. That’s the way it goes.” She sighed.
I moved my head, Casey thought.
“Although, personally, I hate when people just drop over. My mother’s like that. She’s always showing up at my door unexpectedly, and then she gets all upset when I’m not thrilled to see her. I keep telling her she should call first, and she says, ‘Why? You have something to hide?’ Wonder what she’d make of this place.” Patsy laughed. “Oh, well. Maybe one day I’ll find out. I could be the new mistress of the manor. You never know. Stranger things have happened.”
“Everything all right?” Warren asked from somewhere behind her.
Patsy quickly spun around. Casey imagined her hand flying to her hair in an effort to hide her embarrassment.
“Everything’s fine. Casey’s head was tilted a bit to one side. Probably Gail hugged her when she said good-bye.”
“Her head was tilted to one side?”
“It’s okay now.”
The doorbell rang. Who was here now? Casey wondered.
“You want me to answer that?” Patsy asked.
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
The front door opened and closed. Then came a man’s muffled hello and a muted exchange of pleasantries, followed by footsteps on the stairs.
“Hello, Warren,” a man said seconds later.
Dear God.
There was no mistaking that voice.
Help me. Somebody, please help me.
The man drew closer. “Hello, Beauty,” he said.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“How are you doing tonight?” the man continued, looming over Casey like a giant king cobra, body swaying and poised to strike.
“Apparently she moved her head,” Warren told him.
“What’s that mean?”
“Could mean nothing,” Warren said. “Could mean Sleeping Beauty’s getting ready to wake up.”
Casey felt the man’s eyes travel down her body as he lowered her blankets to her knees.
“Looks dead to the world to me. Although, I gotta say she’s lookin’ pretty damn good for a corpse. You ever think of …?”
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Warren told him, managing to sound convincingly indignant.
The man laughed. “Did I ever tell you about the time I did it with this girl who was so drunk she passed out right in the middle of everything? I mean, smack dab in the middle, if you can believe it. I’m humping away, and suddenly her eyes roll back in her head, and she is out of there.” He laughed again. “Weird feeling, I gotta tell you.”
“You’re one sick puppy.”
“Good thing for you.”
“So, what’d you do?” Warren asked.
“With the girl? What was I supposed to do? Stop midstream? I kept going till I was finished. She was pretty much superfluous at that point anyway.”
“Superfluous? Pretty big word for you, isn’t it?”
The man laughed off the insult. “She was just lying there anyway. It wasn’t that big a change.” His laugh became a low rumble. “’Course then I flipped her over, did a few things she wouldn’t let me do when she was awake.”
“A regular prince.”
“I do my best. Speaking of which, that little nurse downstairs is pretty cute. I hope you don’t mind, I took her up on her offer of some espresso….”
“When we’re done here.”
“Of course. Let’s have a look. See exactly what we’ve got.” The man reached over and took Casey’s hand in his, moving it up and down, bending her elbow, then rotating her wrist.
“Well?” Warren asked.
“I’m not feeling much of anything, to tell you the truth. Certainly no resistance. It’s dead weight, man.” He let go of Casey’s hand. It flopped to the bed like a dying fish.
The man’s fingers slid slowly down Casey’s thighs to her legs. Casey had to summon all her strength to keep her body from recoiling at his touch.
He gripped her right ankle, brought her right knee up toward her waist, then twisted her leg from side to side. “She has good range of movement. No question if you keep working these muscles, they’ll keep getting stronger. Of course, strong muscles aren’t going to take her very far as long as she’s in a coma.”
“And if she comes out of it?”
“You honestly think there’s much chance of that?”
“I think there’s a very good chance.”
“And we can’t let that happen.”
“No, we can’t.”
“So tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do it.”
“Something simple: you come in, you put a pillow over her face, you leave without anybody seeing you,” Warren said calmly, as if he were reading from a recipe book.
You come in, you put a pillow over her face, Casey repeated silently, feeling tears form in the corners of her eyes. Were they real? Would Warren see them?
“Think you can do that?” he was asking.
“When did you have in mind?”
“This weekend.”
“So soon?”
The tear escaped Casey’s eye to trace a thin line down her cheek.
“Things are happening faster than I expected,” Warren said, his attention clearly focused on his murderous thoughts. “I can’t afford to waste any more time. I’ll make sure everybody’s out of the house. While we’re gone, you come in, do the deed, and get the hell out.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Don’t screw up.”
“I won’t.”
“Hey, everybody,” Patsy suddenly called up from the bottom of the stairs. “Espresso’s ready. Come on down.”
“Wendy Jackson, come on down. You’re the next contestant on The Price Is Right!”
Casey pictured Wendy Jackson as a forty-year-old woman with bottle-blond hair and a visible roll of loose flesh that jiggled beneath the bottom of her rose-colored sweatshirt with each bounce of excitement.
Where was Drew? Why wasn’t she here yet?
“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it,” Wendy Jackson cried, no doubt jumping up and down.
“Hello, Wendy,” the host said.
Hello, Beauty.
“Okay, try to settle down now, Wendy, and pay close attention,” the host urged. “Here’s the next item coming up for bids.”
Where are you, Drew? What’s keeping you?
“A new dining room set!” the announcer exclaimed to an escalating chorus of oohs and aahs.
“What a pile of junk!” Patsy pronounced from the chair beside Casey’s bed, as the announcer began his hyperbolic description of the items on display. “I can’t believe how excited she’s getting over that ratty table and chairs. Although I probably would have gotten pretty excited about them myself before I came to live here. Once you see the kind of furniture you guys have—” She broke off. “Don’t let anybody ever tell
you that money doesn’t buy happiness. It buys nice things, and nice things go a long way to making you happy. Believe me.”
And we know it’s all about the money.
“Twenty-five hundred dollars,” came the bid from Wendy Jackson.
“Three thousand,” came the second bid.
“You know they have to pay taxes on the stuff they win?” Patsy asked as the bidding continued. “And they have to sign an agreement promising they won’t sell it. So if they don’t really like it, they’re kind of screwed.”
Where are you, Drew? I’m running out of time.
A loud buzzer sounded.
“That buzzer means you’ve all overbid,” the host explained cheerily.
“I told you it was junk,” Patsy said.
The four contestants quickly offered up new bids, and this time one of them won, although it wasn’t Wendy Jackson.
Bye, bye, Beauty.
“Poor Wendy. She’s not going to win anything,” Patsy said dismissively. “You can tell. She has loser written all over her.”
She can see, she can move, she can talk, hell, she can scream. That makes her a winner in my book, Casey thought, wondering again what was keeping her sister.
“I liked Bob Barker better than this new guy. Did he die or something?”
“You come in, you put a pillow over her face, you leave,” she heard her husband say. Or words to that effect.
Had she really cried?
And if she had, if tears had not only formed but fallen, had Warren seen them?
Not likely, Casey decided, judging by his subsequent actions.
“Espresso’s ready,” he’d said with a laugh, then tossed Casey’s blankets back up across her body, as if she were already dead.
The doorbell rang.
“Can you get that, Mrs. Singer?” Patsy called down the stairs. “Probably your sister,” she said to Casey. Seconds later, Drew hollered up hello. “Told you,” Patsy said proudly.
Drew, thank God! Where have you been? I have so much to tell you, and we have so little time.
Seconds later, Drew bounded into the room, then stopped abruptly. “Oh, hi, Patsy. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“How’s Casey doing today?” Drew took Casey’s hand, gave it a conspiratorial squeeze. “Sorry I’m late. There was a minor crisis at Lola’s school. Seems I forgot to sign this permission slip to let her go on some field trip. And when I showed up at the school, nobody knew who I was. Can you believe it? They’re so used to dealing with the nanny. I actually had to show them my driver’s license. Which, of course, had expired. Remind me I have to go renew it next week. Anyway, the school was very apologetic. It was actually pretty funny. Do you think I could get a cup of coffee?” she asked Patsy.
