The Last Innocent Hour

by Barbara Taylor Sissel

  He followed the lake road to the new boulevard and turned right, didn’t see anyone and heaved a breath. “Why don’t you get a goddamned grip?” he asked himself. “Sightseers is all it was. C’mon. Aren’t there signs everywhere inviting them in?” He made a U-turn and headed back in the direction he’d come from, but then, when he reached the county road, he spotted a blue Camry ahead of him, turning left.

  On a hunch, Jason followed it. He got within a few car lengths and hung there. He didn’t want to attract their attention. But he was close enough he could see it was two women. He could tell by their size. Something about the one riding passenger struck him. It was the way she held her head, maybe. That hair was--

  His mobile phone rang, startling him, short-circuiting his thought process. Jason answered it, eye trailing the bumper ahead.

  “I got bad news.” Lance sounded edgy.

  Jason's foot eased off the gas; the big Mercedes slowed. The Camry disappeared around a curve. “Don’t tell me Cunningham is still alive.”

  Lance didn’t say anything.

  “I told you to get somebody inside the hospital who can take care of business. Fucking fortune I’m paying, you ought to be able to--”

  “Security there’s tighter than a pig’s ass.”

  “Somebody fucked up starting that fire. I ever find out who--”

  Lance interrupted. “Maybe you ought'a get somebody else to help you.”

  “What? Who the fuck am I going to get now? Huh?” Jason jerked the phone from his ear and banged it on the steering wheel and jamming it back against his ear, shouted, “You sonofabitch. Don’t forget what you got paid. You run your mouth about this to Jimmy Lee, you're dead! Do you hear me? I'll kill you. Am I making myself clear?”

  He banged the phone against the steering wheel again and then flung it onto the floorboard. “Who needs you anyway?” he muttered. “Any of you assholes?”

  He swiped at his face with his hand, pulled his palm away wet. Cold as hell outside, and he was sweating. He was probably having a goddamned heart attack. Jesus Christ! He didn't need this. Cunningham alive? Could it get worse? His mind jumped back to the car he'd seen earlier. Something about it ... the woman riding shotgun....

  Beth. It was Beth. He could feel it. She’d get to him through Cunningham, now; she’d put the pieces together unless he could stop her. Was that right? Was he thinking right? Jason pressed two fingers against his forehead.

  It must be right. He wasn’t stupid; he wasn’t some crazy guy given to wild imagination and panic. Beth had been riding in that blue Camry. She was his caller. It’s all that made sense. It was her ... and she'd been inside Lucy’s house ... seen it was empty ...

  ... stupid bitch was playing games with him. Jason hunched over the steering wheel. Her and Cunningham, and Lance, too. They were using him, laughing at him.

  Jason's lips drew back off his teeth. The thing hummed in his brain ...motherkillermotherkillerkiller—

  “Shut up!” he yelled and the noise receded. Thoughts formed in the welcome curtain of near quiet that dropped around him in its wake. They were trying to take him down. They thought he was stupid, thought they could play him and win. It’s what his mother had thought. And Lucy. Jason laughed, a loud bark.

  He stared into the rearview mirror. Saw them there, the ones who were still alive. They were lined up in the backseat facing his reflection. He addressed them: “You assholes want to play? We'll play,” he said. “But you won't win. None of you. You won't get away from me again.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Tim was waiting on the porch when Beth and Sharon returned to Beth’s apartment.

  “What’s wrong?” Beth hurried to join him. “Is it Chrissy? Has something happened to her?”

  He caught her hands. “Chrissy’s fine. It’s your husband,” he said.

  Charlie had been attacked, Tim said. Charlie had been beaten and set on fire. Beth watched Tim’s mouth and tried to focus, but she couldn’t take it in. She felt lightheaded, dots whirled in her vision. Don't let go, she ordered herself. Don't you dare let go. “When?” she asked.

  “A month ago.”

  “Is he--? Did he--?”

  “He’s alive. Where are your keys? Let’s go inside.”

  They sat on the couch. Sharon made coffee.

  Beth said, “He’s not all right is he?” Her heartbeat was as erratic and quick as the flight of a small bird.

  “It was touch and go at first; they thought he wouldn’t make it, but when I spoke to the warden, he said Charlie would be out of the hospital and back at the Walker unit in a couple of days.”

  “Thank God.” Beth paused. “That he’s alive, I mean.” Another pause was filled with her misgiving, her consternation and bewilderment. “I just can’t believe he’s in prison at all.” She looked up at Tim. “Why did this happen?”

  “That he went to prison?”

  “No. Why was he hurt? Who would do such a thing?”

  “There are gangs in prison, Beth. They pretty much control everything. Evidently Charlie got crossways with one of them, the Mexican Mafia, and--”

  “Jason,” Beth said. “Jason’s behind it.”

  “Hold on. You're making kind of a quantum leap, aren't you?”

  “You don't know him. He won't be happy until Charlie's dead. Until we're all dead.” Beth went for her coat. “I'm going to see him.”

  “Jason? Not by yourself--”

  “No, Charlie.”

  “You can't. Visiting at the hospital is restricted. Even at Walker, there’s a schedule, rules.”

  Beth dropped her coat, took her head in her hands. “But I have to do something to help him.”

  “You have to go to the police, doesn’t she, Tim?” Sharon came from the kitchen and handed around mugs of steaming coffee.

  “No, no police,” Beth said. “Swear you won't talk to them either. Both of you, because I’m telling you, if Jason finds me, he'll kill me. It’s that simple. And if he can find me, he can find Chrissy. You can't put my daughter in that kind of danger.”

  Tim set his mug down on the coffee table. “The police can arrange protective custody for you and Chrissy until they get Jason.”

  “They can't protect me. They'll lead Jason right to me. If I can get a gun, I can take care of myself.”

  “Beth, no!” Sharon and Tim spoke at once.

  She glared at them, mutiny tightening her jaw. They were acting like her parents, always telling her what to do.

  “Do you even know how to use a gun?” Tim asked.

  “I grew up on a farm. I know one end from the other.”

  Sharon said, “A car followed us for a while after we left the farm this afternoon.”

  Beth frowned “What car? You didn’t say anything to me about a car.”

  “I don't want to make too much of it, but it came up on us real fast, then dropped back. It was kind of weird.”

  “What kind of car?” Tim asked.

  “Mercedes. Silver. Looked new.”

  Beth said, “Jason drives a Cadillac.”

  Tim said, “Well, there you go. It couldn’t have been him then.”

  Beth didn’t say anything; she didn’t point out that by now Jason could have bought a new car, and a Mercedes would suit him. It would be the exact car to buy with her mama’s money .

  Tim patted her knee. “You’re under so much stress; it would be easy for your mind to play tricks on you.”

  Beth looked hard at him. “I'm getting a gun.”

  He stared back at her. “You have to get a permit first, take a class.”

  “I'll do whatever it takes.” She smiled agreeably. But inside, she was thinking of Hollis, her boss, and the loaded .38 he kept under the counter at the nursery.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  On Tuesday morning Beth baked a buttery pecan coffee cake, a peace offering for Freida Pearson, and drove in Glenda's borrowed Thunderbird to Freida's house. She rang Freida’s doorbell and waited feeling nervous; she
was even trembling slightly and impatient with herself for it.

  Frieda opened the door and looked at her, unsmiling, through the screen. “Chrissy's in the backyard,” she said. “We bought her a swing set.” Because we thought she would be our daughter.

  Beth waited for Frieda to say it.

  “I don’t want to let you in,” Freida said instead.

  “I know, but you will because it’s best for Chrissy.”

  “I will because according to your friend Sharon giving her back to you is inevitable.”

  “I never abused her, Freida.”

  Freida eyed Beth for a long moment and then opened the screen.

  Beth handed her the coffee cake. “Butter pecan,” she said absently. Her mind was on Chrissy, on how her arms ached to hold her. “My mama’s recipe,” she added.

  “I was sorry to hear what happened to her,” Freida said, not warmly, but not grudgingly either. She thanked Beth for the pastry and said Beth should come into the kitchen with her.

  “You won't take her right away, will you?” Freida set the coffee cake on the counter. “You'll give her time to get reacquainted? She's been so frightened, but just lately, she’s begun to settle in.”

  Beth followed Freida’s glance through the window in the adjacent breakfast nook, and her heart lifted when she caught sight of Chrissy, intently climbing the swing set ladder to the slide. “Oh, look at her.” She tented her hands over her mouth. “She's grown so much, I can't believe it.”

  “She’s eating better, sleeping through the night now.” Regret limned the cadence of Freida’s voice.

  “I know this is hard for you,” Beth said, “but I hope we can work together, help each other?”

  “I'll do my part,” Freida said. “Go on now.” She gestured toward the backdoor, not unkindly. “I don’t reckon you need me to introduce you.”

  Chrissy sat at the top of the slide, rosy-cheeked in the morning light. Her hair glimmered. Longer than when Beth had last seen her, it formed a dark curly halo around her small face. When she saw Beth, her expression turned wary.

  Beth folded her arms to stop herself from grabbing Chrissy and holding her close. She wanted desperately to kiss her sweet face all over. But all she said was, “Hi.”

  Chrissy didn't answer.

  “Want to slide down, and I'll catch you?”

  Chrissy shook her head and lifted her hand toward her mouth.

  Looking for her thumb, Beth thought. They’d been working on breaking the habit. Beth guessed Chrissy had forgotten all about that, though, and no wonder, but now as if she heard Beth admonish her, Chrissy let her hand drop, and Beth felt a thrill of elation. Maybe she had stopped after all, all by herself. “Want me to push you in the swing?”

  Another head shake.

  Beth wished she had Lamby. She lowered herself onto the swing nearest the slide. “You're getting to be such a grown up girl. I guess you can go down the slide and swing all by yourself now, huh?”

  Chrissy nodded.

  “Will you show me?”

  Solemn faced, Chrissy obliged, scooting down the metal ribbon and landing upright within reaching distance of Beth's arms.

  Using every shred of self control she had, she kept them folded, exclaiming, “Oh, sugar, just look at you!”

  Chrissy regarded her mother with a speculative gaze. “Does your head still hurt?”

  “No, Chrissy.” Beth used her daughter’s name deliberately. “Not anymore.”

  Chrissy's eyes widened. “You know my name?”

  “I sure do. It’s the same as your great-gramma’s name. Remember?”

  “Christabelle. Daddy calls me Stinkerbelle, though.”

  Beth held her breath. Don’t ask, she begged. Please don’t ask about your daddy.

  Chrissy didn’t. She said, “Want to see me do a cartwheel?”

  Beth said yes, vigorously, and Chrissy bent her small hands flat to the ground and hopped her feet over. She smiled when she straightened, and Beth clapped and laughed out loud. The urge to pull her precious child against her, to smell her and feel her all over was almost unbearable; Beth might have cast caution aside but for Maizie's voice that just at that moment came alive in her head: Patience, child. Cain't move too quick, you'll scare her....

  “I brought cake,” Beth said. “Would you like some?”

  “What kind?”

  Beth told her, and they went back into Freida’s house together and sat in Freida’s kitchen, sharing coffee cake. Beth asked if she could return that evening to read to Chrissy before she went to bed, then had to stifle her shout of celebration when first Chrissy and then Freida agreed. Progress, she thought, as she backed out of the drive, is measured in small steps.

  Beth knew even before she left Frieda’s house that she would go to John Sealey Hospital in Galveston where Charlie was a patient. She knew she should call Glenda, too, and inform her. Technically, the Thunderbird still belonged to her even though she'd agreed to sell it to Beth, but if Beth phoned Glenda, she’d go straight to Tim, and Beth didn't want an argument.

  Tim thought he understood everything about her situation; he thought he knew exactly what was good for her. He didn't want her to visit Charlie, the way he didn't want her to carry a gun.

  Beth parked in a parking garage adjacent to the hospital and killed the engine. And waited, staring through the windshield at nothing. Her mouth was dry; she felt sick to her stomach. Why had she come? What if Charlie wouldn't see her? Why was she putting herself in this position? But she wanted to help him. And she wanted to know if he hated her. And she wanted to tell him about Chrissy, that it seemed that their daughter had finally stopped sucking her thumb. Beth got out of the car.

  At the main floor reception desk, a teen-age girl working a wad of pink gum between her back teeth, told her Charlie wasn’t allowed visitors.

  “But I'm his wife,” Beth said.

  “But he's next door, like in the prison hospital? It's restricted. You have to have permission.”

  Beth felt a warm flush of humiliation climb over her face. “Who should I speak to?”

  The girl stopped her gum chewing and gave Beth a look. “Like someone with the TDC, I guess. Texas Department of Corrections?” she added as if Beth might be retarded. Like, if Beth was really Charlie’s wife, wouldn’t she know he was in jail? Wouldn’t she know there were rules? Beth could nearly hear the girl’s thoughts. She managed a curt nod and found her way back to the elevator and out of the hospital, but the moment she re-entered the parking garage, she froze. The hair on her neck rose.

  Jason!

  He was watching her. She could feel it, his eyes were like needles jabbing her flesh. She quick-stepped to the car, fishing for the keys, sliding under the steering wheel. She kept a constant lookout as she negotiated her way out of the garage and into city traffic. She took the I-45 interstate north and called herself a fool. Jason was nowhere around. It was only her mind playing tricks on her, the way Tim said. It was sheer imagination. An acute case of stress-induced paranoia.

  Her glance flicked to the rearview mirror again. And he was there, his image caught in the glass. She took another moment to be sure. Yes, it was him. Oh, God. She jerked her gaze down. Okay. Okay. Breathe, just breathe damn it. She checked the side view mirror. He was driving a Mercedes, silver, exactly the one Sharon had described. He was in the lane next to her but three car lengths behind.

  The bastard really had spent Mama's money on a Mercedes! The thought shot across her mind, an angry incongruity weaving through her terror. And then she thought, Chrissy! If Jason could find Beth, he could get to Chrissy. Heart pounding, she glanced again in the rearview. He seemed to be maintaining his position and his speed. It didn't appear that he was aware she was on to him, but, of course, he wouldn’t want it to appear that way.

  She drifted across two right lanes toward the next exit, under what guidance she didn't know. Panic gripped her; she felt herself wanting to let go--of the steering wheel, her mental functions,
everything. She fought useless, stupid tears, Jane tears. But she was so sick of this, sick of him. From the day they’d met, she'd been caught in the cross hairs of her obsession with Jason and her fear of him. His shadow had dogged her every step and decision. She had left home because of him; her mama and Maizie were dead because of him. And Charlie, oh, Charlie. . . .

  She checked and Jason was still there, still some distance behind her. Did he intend to run her down? Somehow kill her with his car? Her hands trembled on the steering wheel. Small rivers of alarm bled up her spine. She was in the left-turn-only lane, creeping toward the intersection. The light was red. He was only two car-lengths back now. The light changed, but instead of turning, Beth gunned across the intersection. Horns blared. There was a squeal of brakes. A loud smack. Beth didn’t look back until she’d re-entered the freeway. She didn’t see the Mercedes, although she kept an eye out for it all the way to Tim’s office.

  He glanced up from his desk, the pile of paperwork under his hands, blinking in surprise when she burst in unannounced.

  “I went to the hospital--no wait--” Beth held up her hand to forestall his interruption. “I know what you said, and you were right. They wouldn’t let me see Charlie, but Jason was there. He followed me from there.”

  “From John Sealey? You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I lost him finally. I think I caused a wreck. I hope he was in it, but I don’t know.” She held Tim’s gaze. “I’m scared.”

  “Surely now you see that you have to go to the police.” Tim tossed his pencil aside.

  “I knew that's what you'd say. But you don’t understand.” She pressed her fingers to the vee above her collarbone, made herself draw a breath. “I'm going to take Chrissy, leave Texas.”

  “Leave Texas?”

  “It’s the only way I can protect my daughter.”

  “What about your husband? Sit.” Tim gestured at the chair in front of his desk.