Convicted

by Megan Hart

  Lisa let out a shaky laugh, blowing sticky strands of hair from her cheeks. She crossed firmly to the clawfoot tub and twisted the faucet handles. Water spurted out, hissing and spitting like a bag full of cats before smoothing into a heavy stream. It bonged against the tub's cast iron sides.

  Lisa suddenly thought of that horror movie with George C. Scott--The Changeling--with the little boy drowning in the old iron bathtub. He'd flailed his hands against the sides, banging away, sending the same bonging sound throughout the old house while George wept in his bed for the wife and daughter who'd died.

  In The Changeling, there was also a scene where they taped a séance, playing back the tape later to hear the little boy's ghost whispering his name. Joseph. The thought of it now sent the hair springing up on the back of Lisa's neck, and she shuddered.

  "Lisa."

  She yelped and spun away from the tub, slipped on the old linoleum floor and landed hard. Her shoulder hit the pedestal of the sink, her head the bottom of the sink's bowl. Pain bloomed in both spots at once, and she rubbed them to take away the sting.

  There was nobody in the room with her. Nobody in her bedroom, either, because she could see clearly out the bathroom door to every corner of her bedroom. Unless somebody stood in the narrow space between the open bathroom door and the wall.

  Her gaze instantly flew to the crack in the door, expecting to see a face staring back at her. Jack Nicholson in The Shining, ax at the ready and a big, sneering grin just for her. "Heeeeere's Johnny!"

  There was nobody there. Lisa let out a strangled, shuddering breath and sagged against the tub's rim. The water still boomed. Nobody had whispered her name into her ear because nobody was there. She was imagining things. That was all.

  Just as she reached over to twist the knob that would divert the water from the spout to the shower, a thump vibrated the wall behind her. Her fingers pulled back from the knob and she turned. She had not imagined that.

  This wall backed against the hallway. She waited, tense, the breath growing stale in her lungs, for the thump to come again. It didn't, and when she finally breathed bright spots flashed in front of her eyes again. She forced herself to breath again, slowly, so she wouldn't faint.

  Lisa pressed her fingers against the wall, waiting. Nothing. Behind her, the water splashed. It blocked any sounds she might have heard, but she reasoned it also blocked any noise she made herself. She didn't turn it off, but she did pull out the plug to prevent the tub from overflowing.

  She got up from her crouch, rubbing her thighs to make sure the blood flow hadn't stopped. Her knees felt weak, but that was from nerves. She stretched, her back cracking, then stepped softly through the bathroom door.

  The bang and crash of the water continued behind her, though it was softer in here. Lisa pressed her ear to the bedroom door, listening. She'd finally convinced herself the noise had been nothing, after all, when she heard it again. Not a thump in the hallway, this time, but a more subtle noise and one she couldn't quite identify.

  She strained, trying to hear. Some thudding, muffled through the door and sounding far away. Allegra's room?

  Relief flooded her. Of course! It was only Allegra. Though her sister had moved out, she'd been back before. It must have been her making the noise.

  Lisa's laugh sounded more like choking, and she still felt as though she might be sick. She rubbed her sweaty palms against the denim of her skort, then brushed away the hair from her face. It was just her sister out there, not the ghost of a little boy or an ax-wielding maniac.

  The door stuck when she tried to open it, but a sharp tug finally got it open. Lisa peered out into the hallway, which was now dark. She reached out to her left, just above where she'd felt the thump against the wall, and hit the switch. The hall stayed dark.

  Just down a few feet to her right and across the hall was the closed door to the empty spare room. Now the noises weren't so subtle and their location was identifiable. Someone was in the spare room or maybe Allegra's room.

  "Allegra," Lisa tried to say, but her throat had closed. Despite her self-reassurance that it was her sister in there and not the bogeyman, she could not find her voice to speak.

  She straightened her back, forcing a bravery she didn't really feel. "Who's there?"

  The booming sound of her own voice startled her. She didn't sound afraid. That, in turn, made her confident enough to step out of the bedroom and into the dark hallway.

  Enough light shone from her room to illuminate the door to the spare room. The brass doorknob gleamed dully. Lisa reached a hand to it, then pulled back. This was insane. This was exactly the kind of thing stupid movie heroines did; the same thing that always made her scream at the screen, "Don't go in the basement/deserted alley...spare bedroom!"

  Another muffled thump, then the soft beat of music. It was Allegra. It had to be, if for no other reason than her mind strictly refused to comprehend it could really be anyone else. No ghost, no lunatic. Only her sister.

  Lisa put her hand back on the knob, and turned, stepping through the doorway into the black room beyond.

  "Hello?"

  It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the greater darkness inside the spare room. Squinting, she stepped further into the room, meaning to knock on her sister's door. Before she had the chance, the door to Allegra's room opened. Lisa squinted, turning her head against the blast of bright light pouring out. Blinking, she expected to see her sister's tall frame.

  She saw instead a blank-faced alien. In the next instant she recognized it was no alien, but instead a tall figure wearing a motorcycle helmet. The light shining from behind the figure made it seem to glow. As it stepped toward her, Lisa saw the person not only wore the helmet but the jacket, too.

  Deacon's helmet. Deacon's jacket.

  She knew them both on sight. The ones he'd claimed had been stolen at work. Another lie, because he was wearing them!

  This was her worst nightmare come true. He'd come after her. Before Lisa could run or scream, Deacon reached out and grabbed her by the upper arm. His fingers, even through the thick motorcycle gloves, pinched mercilessly. Pinning her.

  "Let me go, you son-of-a-bitch!" Lisa twisted without effect.

  She kicked out and up, but her position was not good and she couldn't connect. Deacon said nothing, just pinched down on her bare arm. His silence, coupled with the bizarre outfit, frightened her as much as anything else.

  "Let me go!"

  She flailed with her other arm, knocking against the helmet with a loud thunk. Deacon dropped her arm, holding his head and stumbling back. Lisa turned, meaning to run. He recovered faster than she'd thought possible and grabbed the length of her hair.

  Her head snapped back and Lisa went down. Deacon lost his grip as she fell making him stumble forward to land on one knee. Lisa rolled to her knees, seeking to regain her footing, but again Deacon was too swift. As she got one foot beneath herself, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

  Being on the floor gave Lisa an unexpected advantage. On her back, she could brace herself for another kick. Lisa's foot shot up and out, connecting with Deacon's stomach. With a loud oof, he flew back surprisingly easy for such a large man. She'd never have thought she could move him so far.

  Deacon groaned, bending over at the waist. Lisa lost no time in scrambling to her feet. Once upright, she immediately went back to one knee with a shout of pain herself. Somehow she'd twisted her ankle, and badly.

  Lisa threw a glance over her shoulder. Deacon was no longer groaning and holding his stomach. Now he was reaching for her again. His hands reached for her, still sheathed in the menacing black gloves. He shook his head, rattling the helmet almost as though it were too large.

  Something was wrong. Something didn't mesh, but Lisa didn't have the luxury of time to figure out what it was. Limping, she managed to get to the doorframe where she paused out of sheer necessity. If she took one more step, the pain was going to make her pass out.

  She felt him
grab her shoulder and she didn't try to get away. Instead, Lisa turned to meet his grasp, ducking and bobbing as she did. Her shoulder slipped out of Deacon's hand and she ducked beneath his outstretched arm. Now she faced the inside of the room.

  Deacon was moving slowly. She must have injured him. Lisa took advantage of his lack of reaction and broke toward Allegra's door. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and when she entered the bright light, it momentarily blinded her.

  She didn't have time to waste. Behind her she could hear the thump of Deacon's heavy motorcycle boots on the wooden floor. The rooms were small and his stride long. He'd be on her in seconds.

  Blindly, Lisa kept hobbling toward where she thought the second door, the one leading to the back hall stairs, must be. She misjudged by just an inch or so, slamming her shoulder into the other doorframe. She kept going, gritting her teeth against the pain and hoping his helmet impeded his vision as much as the light had hers.

  Apparently, it did because Lisa heard the thud and crash of Deacon falling as she flew out into the back hallway. Here it was dark as well, once more an adjustment for her eyes. She skidded to a stop before she could tumble headfirst down the stairs.

  In Allegra's room, she heard muffled cursing, a string of phrases so foul it made her catch her breath. The voice was low pitched and growling. A sick voice. A mad-dog voice. It made her stomach churn to hear it.

  Lisa grabbed the banister and began hopping down the stairs as fast as she could. She dared not look behind her, afraid to see the looming, helmeted figure at the top of the stairs. She reached the narrow landing and kept going, favoring her injured ankle as best she could.

  The kitchen light was still on, just as she'd left it. Her feet slapped the faded linoleum as she jumped down the last two steps. Her ankle screamed and her voice with it, but Lisa barely noticed. She had to get out of the house.

  She took two steps and ran straight into a brick wall. Arms grabbed her, holding her, and Lisa went crazy in reaction. She shrieked, her voice like a fire siren, rising and rising until she thought it just might break. She kicked out, feeling her toes connect with something solid, even as she punched and slapped. He would not get her! He would not hurt her!

  "Lisa! It's Terry!"

  He managed to pin her arms, and as the sense of his words sunk in, Lisa stopped struggling. She sank into Terry's arms dazed.

  "Terry? What're you doing here?"

  "My God, Lisa, what happened to you?"

  "What are you doing here?" she asked again, knowing the question was stupid, but having to ask it anyway.

  "Karen told me you'd been by, and when I got your page, I came right away. What happened?"

  She couldn't seem to make her lips form the words. Terry tried to lead her to a chair, tried to make her sit, but Lisa's gaze fixed on the back stairs and what she expected to see appear there any moment.

  "He's coming," she managed to cry out. "Look out!"

  But there was nobody there. She let Terry push her into the chair and watched while he looked up the staircase. He came back to her, kneeling in front of her. Concern filled his handsome face.

  "Who's coming, Lisa?"

  She'd calmed somewhat under Terry's comforting gaze. "Deacon," she said, voice trembling. "He came after me. Out of Allegra's room. He had on the helmet. And the jacket. He said they were stolen, but he lied!"

  Lisa began to shudder, her body shaking as though she was being touched with a cattle prod. Terry put his hands on her shoulders briefly, soothing her.

  "Campbell was here?"

  "Upstairs," Lisa said through chattering teeth. She thought she might never be warm again.

  Terry stood, pulling his gun. "I'll go check."

  "Don't leave me!"

  He looked from her to the stairway. "I have to see if he's still up there, Lisa."

  He was right. Lisa nodded. "Okay."

  Terry put a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be right back."

  He disappeared up the stairs. Lisa closed her eyes waiting for the sounds of struggle. She heard Terry's footsteps cross through Allegra's room, into the spare room, into the hall. She heard him enter her room.

  "Lisa?"

  Her eyes flew open, her neck whipping around to face the back door. Deacon stood in the doorway.

  It was like being a child again, struggling to call for her mother after a bad dream. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a hiss of air came out. Her body convulsed, scooting the chair back from the table.

  "Lisa, are you all right? I came as soon as you called."

  He crossed the kitchen toward her. He wasn't wearing the helmet or the jacket. Not even the gloves. A darkening welt marred his tan cheek.

  "Stop! Don't move!"

  Terry appeared from the back stairs, aiming his gun at Deacon. Deacon put his hands immediately into the air, taking a step back from Lisa. Terry moved closer, stepping in front of her.

  "What's going on here?" Deacon asked.

  "I should ask you that," Terry said. "Turn around and put your hands on the wall. Slowly."

  Deacon did as ordered, talking over his shoulder. "Lisa called me--"

  "I didn't," she retorted, finding her voice again. "I didn't call you! You were here!"

  "What?" His outrage sounded real.

  Terry pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and hooked them around Deacon's wrists. As though satisfied Deacon would no longer be a threat, Terry holstered his weapon.

  "She says you attacked her upstairs." Terry's voice was grim.

  Deacon shook his head. "I swear to God--"

  "Tell it down at the station," Terry interrupted.

  Lisa could only watch numbly as Terry yanked Deacon around. For one instant, Deacon's eyes met hers. She found she could not look away.

  "You have to believe me," he told her. "I was at home until ten minutes ago. When you called me."

  "I didn't call you," Lisa said.

  "Don't talk to him, Lisa," Terry ordered. "I'm going to call for someone to come sit with you while I take this jerk down to the station."

  "I swear to you, someone called me," Deacon said. "I thought it was you. She said she was sorry about what happened and could I come over right away? And I did, but the minute I walked in that door was the first time I've been here all night. I swear to you, Lisa."

  "You're a liar," Lisa said, ignoring Terry's order.

  "She says somebody attacked her upstairs," Terry spat. "Somebody wearing your helmet and jacket. Take a look at her face, Campbell. She's obviously been assaulted. And you want to tell me you didn't do it?"

  "If I did it, how come I just showed up in the kitchen now?" Deacon spat back. "It wasn't me."

  "The front door is wide open," Terry said. "You had enough time to run down the stairs, get rid of the clothes and come to the back door."

  "But I didn't," Deacon growled.

  "How'd you get that bruise, Campbell?" Terry asked.

  Deacon looked at Lisa. "I didn't get it upstairs."

  Terry turned away from Deacon, as though the other man's words weren't even worth listening to. "Someone will be here in a few minutes."

  "Believe me, Lisa," Deacon said, ignoring Terry as the man ignored him. "Look inside yourself and decide if you can really believe I'd ever try to hurt you."

  Lisa shook her head, wanting his words to go away. "You can't trick me this time, Deacon."

  "I don't want to trick you," Deacon said.

  Terry jerked him upright. "Shut up, Campbell. You'll sit out in the patrol car until someone gets here."

  As he was being dragged away, Deacon struggled only to call over his shoulder. "Someone stole my helmet and jacket, Lisa! I didn't lie about that! They took them from my office. Check the video!"

  Then Terry had yanked him through the doorway. Lisa sat back in her chair, unable to move. Her ankle throbbed, as did a dozen places on her body she hadn't noticed were in pain until just now. From upstairs, she could still hear the faint sound of running water.


  She heard the crackle of static from Terry's radio, then the burst of voices. Someone would be here soon to sit with her while Terry took Deacon to the station and threw him in a cell. Someone would protect her even as the man who'd assaulted her was locked away.

  Chill doubt still assailed her with its skeletal fingers. Something was not right. It was not right. She ticked the fingers of one hand against the palm of the other, before looking down and stopping the motion with a shudder. That was Allegra's nervous habit, not hers.

  Lisa shook in the kitchen chair, wishing for a sweater and unable to force herself to find one. Something was not right. What was it? What still nudged at her brain?

  Deacon had said she called him. She didn't. Terry said she'd paged him...and she hadn't done that either. Lisa got up from the table so fast she knocked over her chair. She didn't call and she didn't page. But someone did.

  Someone wearing a helmet and jacket attacked her. Deacon said those items had been stolen. Check the video, he'd said. Barely aware she was moving, Lisa grabbed her keys and headed for the back door.

  Check the video. The video would tell her the truth. About everything.

  Chapter 14

  * * *

  Terry hadn't put the lights on his patrol car on, but there had been enough commotion to get the neighbors peeking through their blinds. Lisa paid them no attention, focused on her mission. The car keys bit into her palm as she slid behind the driver's seat.

  "Lisa!"

  She heard Terry calling, but ignored him. She could see the dark outline of Deacon's head in the back seat of the patrol car, and Terry began heading her way. Lisa yanked the gear stick into reverse and backed out of the driveway. She didn't bother to see if Terry ran after her.

  Her mind raced along with her car as she sped down the dark and narrow streets. She should not believe Deacon, not after finding her purse under his bed. Not after she'd seen the figure in his helmet and jacket looming up, outlined by the light from Allegra's room.