“It’s the perfect solution. For everyone concerned. But especially for you.”
“She’s my mother.”
“Maybe so, but you can’t stand the sight of her.”
“I’ll fight you.”
He smiled but only with his lips. His eyes were black with menace.
“I’m co-executor of my father’s will.”
“That’s the second time you’ve brought it up. Arguably, you didn’t read the fine print. But then, Mac was hoping you wouldn’t. He saw this coming.”
“Saw ... what ... coming?”
The notes played on. Kendra lurched forward and released the fallboard. His fingers retreated just in time. Inebriated as he was, his reflexes were sharp. Maybe too sharp.
“Saw what coming!”
Calmly he reopened the piano and ran his fingernail across the length of the keyboard, ending on the highest grating note. “Your incapacitation, of course, which will leave me as sole executor.”
She staggered backward. Her gut heaved with his final blow. The pain was as excruciating as if he had used his fist to deliver the punch. She wanted to cry out. But she couldn’t breathe. Or speak. Or physically lash out at him. She could only use her mind to get the better of him, except her brain spun round and round on the merry-go-round and wouldn’t stop.
He slid out from the piano bench. His eyes might have been drowning in liquor, but his posture never wavered. “Stupid me, I forgot to mention. And I should. I really should get this out of the way so we can settle everything before eating. We can order out. Are you hungry? I see you’re not.” He moved towards her, his body taut and his eyes fevered. Until this moment, he was waging a mental game. Now it became a physical assault. Threatening. Intimidating.
She backed away from a rabid dog that could go for her throat at any second. “You’re not the man I married.”
“Oh, but I am. I’m exactly the man you married.”
He was right. She’d been enamored. Star-struck. Beguiled. She saw the flaws in his character and married him anyway. And after they were married, she ignored the moods, the backbiting, the manipulating, the half-truths, and made excuses for him. He was the overworked husband, and she was the imperfect wife.
After backing Kendra against the edge of the sofa, he loomed over her, his face close and his lips nearly touching hers. She smelled the stink of liquor on his breath. “Soon after we were married, you signed a Durable Power of Attorney. Do you remember?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she sidled away from the sofa and sought escape in the center of the room.
He sent her a counterfeit smile, the kind meant to pacify the mentally disturbed. “You gave me complete discretion should you become incapable of making sound decisions concerning your health care. Tell me, honey. Are you capable?”
She reached behind herself, searching for something solid to grab, but found only emptiness.
“Point of fact, you were and remain incapacitated.”
“Doctor Silverstein ...”
“Signed a letter attesting to your past and present mental state. The diagnosis, as I recall, was borderline personality disorder. In my opinion, she got it wrong.”
She was looking for an escape route, a way to get away from him. But he shadowed her every movement and cornered her wherever she went.
“The drugs helped up to a point, but now you’ve taken a turn for the worse. God, Kendra, you’ve been slipping away from me every day. That’s why I stay out late. Drink. Distract myself with meaningless affairs. I was trying to avoid this. God knows I was. But I can’t anymore. You flushed the pills down the toilet, didn’t you? Your first night home. And never went back to the doctor. Typical, for people like you. As your attorney-in-fact, I’m charged, indeed it’s my duty, to commit you to a psychiatric hospital should the need arise. Has the need arisen?”
“You ... you can’t mean it.”
“The night when it began ... when you blacked out after your birthday dinner ... when you disappeared and then returned and ordered the same meal. Do you remember that?”
She nodded like a marionette but said, “It never happened. Not like you said.”
“Oh, but it did. You were so upset. You wouldn’t listen to the truth. Hell, I didn’t want to face it myself. So I humored you. Skirted the issue. Never mentioned it again. Talked you into quitting work, hoping rest and relaxation would turn the trick. It did for a while, but now ....”
He mirrored her every move. She could smell the sweat of fear. Was it his? Or hers?
“Everything I did, I did for your sake. I only wanted to protect you, darling. Like I want to protect you now. You’re a danger to yourself and others. I tried to make excuses. But I can’t make them anymore. You need help. And I’m the only one who can get it for you.”
Kendra slowly shook her head from one side to the other, more to deny the reality she was experiencing then to refute Joel.
“I convinced myself that my love for you would be enough. But it isn’t, is it? I’ve been looking for a way out. A sign to prove you’re not off your rocker. But it’s only gotten worse. Hasn’t it? What else can I do? Except face the facts and help you in every way I can. Like the dutiful and loving husband I am.”
He backed her flat against a wall, pressing his body against hers. She reached to the side and groped for the knob of the front door. “Did you ever love me, Joel?”
“I love you now.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it until her fingers lost feeling. The door banged shut with a clap of finality. Joel swung her around and locked her arm behind her back, yanking it high against her spine. She started to scream. He slapped the palm of his clammy hand over her mouth. Time stopped. He released his hold and spun her around, catapulting her back into the house and away from escape.
“You can’t sell the house out from under me. You can’t dispossess my mother. I won’t let you. I’ll leave you. I ... I’ll divorce you.”
“You mentioned divorce before. But it’s too late now. Because you see, we’ve come to a crossroads. You need care, my love. And it’s a burden I’ll just have to bear.”
Kendra was afraid to ask what he meant.
“You’ve forgotten about the trust, too, I see.”
She was scrambling for something solid to grab, but there was only Joel standing between her and sanity.
“The living trust,” he stressed.
“I ... yes, I remember.”
“The Irrevocable Living Trust of Kendra McSweeney Swain, Trustee.”
“You ... you set it up to avoid probate. To protect my ... our assets ... from Emily. Should she ever need a ... a nursing home or ... or a private sanitarium.”
“There was another reason. Do you want the sugarcoated version or the legal one? I can see you want the legal one. You always were a stickler for detail, Kendra, and it’ll tidy up any questions you may have later on.”
Kendra planted a foot on the floor and made a run for it. In a flash, he caught her in his arms and immobilized her, her back to him and his breath blowing flames onto her neck. He was strong. Immovable. Relentless. He didn’t hurt her. He didn’t have to. His strength and force of will was enough to keep her still.
He quoted the document he must have memorized long ago and rehearsed the way a stage actor rehearses a Shakespearean play prior to opening night. “Upon the death or incapacity of Kendra Swain, Joel Swain, shall be trustee. Further, if Kendra Swain becomes physically or mentally incapacitated, whether or not a court has declared her incompetent or in need of a conservator or guardian, Joel Swain shall be trustee. The only requirement, that a licensed physician certify the incapacity in writing. The successor trustee ... meaning me ... shall manage the trust until a licensed physician, the same or another, certify in writing that the grantor ... that’s you ... is again able to manage her own affairs. There’s more, but I think you get the gist.”
She struggled to break free, but one of his arms flung across her throat and the other pinioning her arm b
ehind her back was enough to render her powerless as well as speechless.
His mouth lingered close to her ear. He spoke like a reasoned attorney, his mind focused and his eloquence convincing. “Doctor Silverstein never pronounced you cured, and for good reason. You need care, my sweet. Care and guidance. I can sell this house. I can execute your father’s will. I don’t require your advice or consent, but I would like your appreciation for the personal sacrifice I’m willing to make. From now on, you and your mother come under my custody. It’s a burden, but one I’m duty-bound to honor. It’s the only moral thing to do. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, ’til death us do part. So you see, Kendra, you can’t get away from me. Ever.”
“I have a say,” Kendra said, her voice coming from outside herself, “in what happens to me.”
“Actually, you don’t.” Keeping his fist locked on her wrist, he spun her around and forced her to look into the bottomless depths of his black eyes. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, my love.” His eyes tracked downward and noticed her clutched hand. “What are you holding?”
Dumbly she held out her hand and opened her fingers.
He let go of her and reached down. Obliterating the heart and lifelines that fortunetellers use to give false hope, the detached key left a perfect imprint in the flat of her empty hand. Joel held up the object and turned it. Light flared from its shiny surfaces. “What have we here? Why it looks like a key to a post office box.”
“I ... I found it inside your desk. Taped to the drawer.”
He didn’t miss a beat when he said, “And you don’t remember putting it there, do you?”
Dumbly, she shook her head.
“Another memory lapse. Poor darling. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t mention anything for fear of upsetting you. You’ve been taking out credit cards left and right, haven’t you? Hiding them from me. Hiding them from yourself. Turns out, you’re sicker than I thought.” Tears welled up in his eyes, but his voice held no emotion when he said, “I’m in hell.”
“I saw the bills,” Kendra said, her voice shaky. “The credit card statements. The collection notices. Thousands of dollars.”
“Let’s get real. The way you’ve been spending money, hundreds of thousands.” He didn’t have to touch her to drive her away. “Maybe a million after adding in everything. The house. The cars. The boat.”
“What have you done?” Everything Kendra said was spoken in a whisper. Wispy as air, the words floated on a whim toward a man who heard but didn’t completely understand.
“Done?”
“What happened to all the money?”
“You spent it.” His facial expression was placid and calm, the exact opposite of her emotions. “Or don’t you remember?”
“Not me,” she said. “You.”
He advanced and she retreated as step by step they played a deadly game of cat and mouse.
“Face it, Kendra. Those credit cards are only the tip of the iceberg. You’ve been living an extravagant lifestyle built on wishes and dreams. And me, loving you to distraction, gave in to every indulgence. The boat was your idea, so I’d have something in common with my father. The club dues alone could break any man. But you insisted, and so I did. And then there’s the Porsche. You stood right beside me when we bought it, even though we hadn’t paid off the SUV. As for the piano, you insisted on a Steinway, like the one your mother never plays, either. And then there’s the house ....”
“I didn’t want this house.”
“But you had to live in the city. See how I kowtowed to your every desire.”
“You encouraged ... no, you insisted ... I quit my job.”
“I figured we could make it work. Somehow.”
“You should have told me ... warned me that we were going into debt.”
“I wanted to spare you.”
“From what, Joel? From you?”
“You pretended everything was rosy. Even though we were ... are ... on the brink of bankruptcy. God, how I wish I lived in your mind.”
“You leased the post office box. To hide everything from me.”
“You’re being forgetful again.” Wetness tracked down his cheeks. “Don’t you remember anything?”
As if awakening from a nightmare, she looked at her surroundings. He had backed her into the kitchen. She felt around and touched the kitchen table. This wasn’t a nightmare she was about to wake up from. It was real and demanded every bit of attention. “You can’t sell the house without my signature.”
His voice was steady. “Did you forget the quit claim deed?”
Dreading his response, she shook her head.
“Oh, dear. You forgot that, too. You signed the house over to me. Last August.” He scrubbed away tears and cleared his throat.
“Not me. One of your whores.” The more he said, the less she felt. There was nothing left inside her anymore. Not anger. Or dread. Or even hatred for the man she once loved. A man who never, it seemed clear to her now, loved her back.
“You’re delusional, poor dear. You imagine all sorts of things.” He shivered with a sigh. “As soon as possible, I’ll put the Queen Anne up for sale, too. Have you any idea what it’ll bring? Your father bought it ... when? Not long after you were born. I’m sure the price was steep, even for those days. In today’s market, it’ll fetch millions.”
“I won’t sell the Queen Anne.”
“I’m afraid, sweetheart, you don’t have a say in that, either.” At the counter, he poured another drink into a tall glass and drained half the contents before setting it down and examining the knife block. His hand—his long-fingered hand—so delicate and graceful, so capable of passion and tenderness, pulled out one knife after another from its appointed slot, and one after another, let them drop back into place. Eventually he settled on a carving knife short in length but broad at the base. Holding it to the light, Joel admired the razor edge. “You always were a stickler for keeping them sharp.”
Kendra lurched toward him.
The vodka hadn’t dulled his reaction time. Nimble and elegant, he used the knife like a broadsword and cut a wide berth around her. She tracked every step as he backed into the dining room and headed toward the staircase. “Do you want to run?” he asked her. “You can try, but you won’t get far. Because I know you, you see. You have to see this to the end. Like I do.”
She wasn’t scared of him anymore. And she didn’t care what happened to her. She had seen the bottom of the well. It only went so deep. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His silhouette slithered along the walls like the shade of a ghost. His face had drained of blood. He looked ghoulish in the dim lighting. “You still have time to get out.”
“What are you going to do with the knife?”
“I wanted to believe you were getting well. I almost convinced myself, too. Until I saw the dress.”
“Tina ... it was Tina Ambrose who bought that dress. I ... I saw her in the store video.”
“My poor darling wife.” His eyes never blinked. They were focused solely on her.
She had to distract him. Throw him off his game. She took out the only weapon in her arsenal. “I know about Hunter.”
The mention of his childhood friend took him by surprise, but not for long. Scarcely a blip went by before he recovered from her preemptive strike. He finally blinked and gave himself away with ingenuous innocence. “Hunter Steele?”
“You threw us together, knowing him for a pervert.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’ve taken Hunter as your lover? Shit, it’s bad enough finding out you’ve been cheating on me. But to find out that you’re also a hosebag ....” He shook his head with mock grief.
“He’s impotent. Did you know that? He’s incapable of making love to a woman. Oh sure, he can get it up. But he can’t fucking use it!”
Moonbeams sliced through the front windows. The knife danced in the luminosity. “The man’s been hounding me for years. He’ll do ... say anything ... to
get back at me for ... there’s no better way of saying it ... rejecting him.” He climbed the staircase backwards, one hand riding the banister and the other waving the carving knife.
Kendra followed, staying three stair steps below. “How much did you pay him?”
“I had no idea how far he was prepared to go to get back at me.”
“Though I suppose,” she said, “the price of admission was payment enough for a man like him.”
When he reached the bedroom, he went around to the nightstand and picked up the phone. Streetlight entering through the stain-glass window struck his face, shrouding half his profile in gruesome fuchsia and accenting the other half in gallows green. He dialed three numbers. Kendra watched with morbid fascination as he panted into the mouthpiece. “My ... my wife. She ... she has a knife. That’s right. A ... a butcher knife. I’m afraid she’s going to hurt herself. Yes, that’s the address. This is her husband Joel Swain. She’s sick. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. I don’t think I can stop her. She wants to kill herself. Please hurry.” For effect, he screamed into the phone. “Oh, God! Kendra! No!” And neatly dropped the phone into the cradle. He was playing out a sick drama, a drama he must have rehearsed in his mind as they slept next to each other night after placid night.
“Very convincing,” she said. As if she had stepped outside herself, she was calmer than could be.
When he moved forward, Kendra backed away. “You don’t have to be afraid, my love. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re carrying my child. It is my child, isn’t it? And not Hunter’s?”
“You don’t scare me,” she said.
“Oh, no? Maybe this will.”
His free arm darted out. She recoiled, but his reach was long. He looped his fingers into her hair and tugged her forcefully against him. She smelled the sweat of fear pouring off his skin and yelped when she saw the knife hand descend. Her keening wail ripped like a saw blade. She rebounded and backed away from him. When a brown mass of shorn hair fluttered to the floor, she called out for divine intervention. God wasn’t listening. Neither was Joel Swain.
“The hand,” he said, “is quicker than the eye.”
Trick of the Mind Page 23
