Devil's Food Cake

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Which meant that anyone who got in his way would be trampled instead. “You killed Diane,” Sadie said after a few more seconds of deciphering what he meant.

  “She was going to ruin me,” Thom said easily, closing the cupboard and moving to the next one. “I should have assumed Damon had help querying agents, but I had no reason to guess it was her. Damon was a dropout—not the typical teacher’s pet.”

  “But she sent the letter to Mr. Ogreski,” Sadie said, wanting answers, needing answers. Thom had already admitted that it was his goal to kill her. That would mean no one would be around to accuse him of the truth. If she somehow managed to get out of this, she needed to know those answers.

  “And Mark brought it to me. I told him Mrs. Veeter was a crazy woman who’d been obsessed with Damon’s death. I told Mark I’d take care of it, and I did.”

  Where did it end? Or perhaps the better question was, where had it begun?

  “And Damon?” she asked, the words nearly sticking in her throat. It suddenly seemed like too much of a coincidence that Damon had killed himself. She looked at Thom in alarm, willing it not to be true.

  Thom stopped looking through the cupboards for the moment and met her eyes, his mouth tight.

  “I remember your kids, Sadie,” Thom said. “Good kids, cute smiles. They’d been raised by a single parent too, and yet they thrived, didn’t they? I, on the other hand, was cursed with a child who would not listen to me, would not let me in, would not love me. When his mother died, she took him with her.” He looked past Sadie, his thoughts taking him back in time. “Puberty brought it out in him—the unbridled rage, the extreme behavior, and the lack of self-control. I did everything I could do to help him—everything any father would do. And how did he repay me?” His eyes came back to Sadie. “By dropping out of school, stealing from me, lying to me about anything and everything.

  “We had a fight the night before the dance, and I told him he couldn’t go. I ended up working late only to come home and find him gone. It was the last straw. I was livid and tracked him down—found him up at Pearson’s Pond with that girl. I demanded he come home. That’s when he pulled my shotgun out of his backpack. That’s when he told me about the book. Told me how he was going to make a million dollars and leave me forever. He said I was an old fool—an old fool who would never be anybody.”

  Every muscle in Sadie’s body was frozen and although her instinct told her to beg for mercy, she didn’t dare interrupt Thom’s confession.

  He continued to talk, though his eyes were completely devoid of any feeling at all—not even anger.

  “I’m not exactly sure what happened after I went for the gun. I know the girl was shot first. I remember Damon screaming as he came at me . . . and then they were both dead, Damon at close enough range for it to look self-inflicted.”

  The mantel clock in the living room chimed once to signal it was nine o’clock. It seemed to remind Thom of where he was and what he was doing.

  “I need to get back.” He closed the cupboard and opened another one. After scanning it for only a second or two, he reached for Sadie’s crystal pitcher on the top shelf. “Perfect.”

  Sadie tried to pull away, thinking he was going to hit her with it, but instead he held it in front of her and released it. It hit the tiled floor in a dazzling explosion, the sun streaming through the window catching the shards of glass as they flew in every direction. A few of those pieces hit her legs, making short work of her slacks in a couple places. Sadie bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “You really shouldn’t stand on chairs in your condition,” Thom said, looking at the glass on the floor as though pleased with his work so far.

  Sadie realized he was going to make it look like an accident, and if he got away with her murder, he’d get away with everything else. She couldn’t let that happen!

  With a burst of energy, Sadie spun away from him, catching him off guard as she twisted out of his grasp. She ran for the hallway, but didn’t make it five feet before he grabbed her around the waist and swung her around, pinning her back against his chest. He immediately grabbed her good wrist so that she was once again rendered incapable of her own defense. She could barely breathe for the pain in her shoulder, and yet she focused on that pain, letting it remind her that she was still here, still alive. If she could harness that pain and feed it with the injustice of everything Thom Mortenson had done, perhaps it would become a strength instead of a weakness. With that in mind, she got control of her breathing, stifled her panic and attempted to clear her mind.

  “You think I’d let you get away?” Thom said into her ear, causing goose bumps to run up her arms and legs. “After all these years of work, you’re not going to screw it up for me now.” He pulled harder against her diaphragm. “See, I did it, Sadie. I made something of myself. I proved them all wrong.”

  In the next instant Thom pushed her forward, but kept hold of her hand, causing her to spin away from him as though they were dancing. Her slippered feet sent glass shards scattering across the floor. The jolting pull when she reached the length of their connected arms caused a sharp pain in her injured shoulder, but she pushed the pain into her reserves which were building by the second. She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “The only reason you’re anything is because of Damon. You’ve proved nothing but—”

  “Shut up!” Thom said, pulling her forward and hitting her across the face.

  She saw pinpricks of light and feared she might pass out, but as she lifted her head, she caught sight of the pan from last night’s Evil Chicken on the stove where Shawn had left it. Sadie looked up at Thom. He hadn’t noticed her looking at the pan, had he? She began gathering all her strength and confidence. When she’d taken her self-defense class all those years ago, the instructor had said that even if neglected, the skill would come back in times of panic. She’d felt that before, but would it hold true one more time? Broken as she was?

  Eric’s words from last night came back to her: “What do we have to lose?”

  Thom was studying the chair and the cabinets, planning out how best to make this accident look real, she assumed. Sadie took advantage of his distraction and pulled her arm up and away from her body. His grip on her wrist tightened but as soon as he pulled back, she used his own resistance against him and crossed her hand in front of both their bodies. Before he could compensate for the lack of balance she’d initiated, she twisted around, her arm behind her back, and roundhouse kicked the back of Thom’s knees—well, almost. She hit his calves, but the force was enough to cause him to stumble forward while she finished the spin that got her out of his way. She planted a follow-up heel kick to the back of his knees, but he didn’t let go of her wrist like she hoped, instead taking her down with him in an awkward pile on the glass-covered floor.

  Sadie grunted at the impact when she landed, half on Thom’s back and half on the tile. The glass stung her legs, and she immediately tried to pull her hand away from Thom’s iron grip. Thom rolled over, throwing her off of him without letting go. The glass had cut his face just below his right eye.

  “How . . . are you going to . . . explain that,” Sadie gasped as he rolled on top of her. Glass crunched beneath her back, piercing her skin while her shoulder felt as though it were being severed from her body.

  He pulled back his fist just as Sadie remembered another move from her class. A move she’d never used before. If ever there was a moment to use it, however, it was now.

  As quickly as she could, she snapped her head forward, connecting her forehead with the bridge of his nose. She could feel the cartilage of Thom’s nose collapse beneath her skull. Thom screamed. Unfortunately, the move was not painless on her end either and stars burst before her eyes. Thom loosened his grip on her wrist just enough for Sadie to pull her hand out of his grasp. She felt the warm sensation of his blood drip onto her neck. She nearly gagged, but she managed to hit him in the nose with her hand—a kind of half-slap, half-punch move.

&nbs
p; Thom made a noise between a growl and a scream, lifting his hand to protect himself. Sadie rolled to the side, causing him to fall off of her.

  With no time to waste, Sadie scrambled for the kitchen stove. One hand, and a floor covered in shards of her favorite crystal pitcher, made the going slower and far more painful than she’d have hoped. The palm of her hand stung, but she forced herself forward. The pan was mere feet away when Thom grabbed her ankle, causing her to belly flop on the floor. The glass made traction impossible, so she rolled onto her back and tried kicking Thom’s hand. She kicked her own leg as much as she kicked him though.

  “Let go!” she screamed as loud as she could, finally finding her voice.

  He didn’t, so she screamed it again and again.

  Thom only seemed to get stronger, and he pulled her leg toward him with incredible force. His nose was mangled, and he sneered at her while blood dripped off his chin.

  Sadie felt her stomach churn as she moved closer to him, her heart beating so fast she couldn’t feel it anymore. She willed herself to be patient. A few more inches, then, and as soon as she was in range, she lifted her free foot and brought it down hard and fast into his face.

  He screamed again and his grip on her ankle loosened.

  Sadie took off toward the stove again. The few inches worth of a head start made all the difference. She reached for the pan just as she felt his hand grab at the hem of her pants. With a burst of power, she managed to knock the pan from the stove, then fumbled for the handle as it fell.

  Thom’s hand tightened like a vise around her ankle again but this time she let him pull her closer, identifying the spot on the side of his head just above the left ear. The spot Donna Hender had caught on Sadie’s head last night. It had knocked her unconscious long enough for Josh’s mother to leave. She could only hope that she, too, could buy herself a few seconds.

  Thom saw the pan, but his eyes simply narrowed into smaller slits.

  She lifted the pan over her head and then brought it down with all the force she could muster.

  Thom’s head snapped to the side, but immediately swung back to the front, his eyes fairly glowing with rage.

  Sadie refused to die on her own kitchen floor. She refused to let Shawn find her there. She swung again, and again, and one more time before Thom’s eyes rolled to the ceiling and his face fell onto the floor.

  Sadie’s staccato breathing was the only sound in the overwhelming stillness that descended on the kitchen. Sadie stared at Thom’s body in disbelief as she considered who he really was and how close he’d been to getting away with everything. All the lies, all the betrayal, all the lives lost at his hand. She felt the tears well up in her eyes.

  She looked at the frying pan in her hand and dropped it as her body began to shake. It slid a few inches on the glass-covered floor. Sadie stared at it while the adrenaline that had made her strong began waning, and the pain and exhaustion caught up. Thoughts began to clutter her mind, which had been so clear moments before. She needed to get to the phone.

  Cautiously she rose to her feet and pressed her back against the counter as she limped around Thom’s body, watching him closely for any signs of movement. She didn’t think he was dead, but she wasn’t about to get close enough to find out for sure. She was nearly at the phone when she heard the back door open.

  She froze on instinct until the familiar voice of her son called out.

  “Mom, I’m back. You ready to go?”

  He came around the corner and stopped cold, his eyes instantly wide as he looked first at her and then at Thom Mortenson’s body lying on the kitchen floor. Shawn’s mouth fell open, but Sadie spoke before he had the chance to ask what had happened.

  “I’m okay,” she said, well aware of the cuts all over her body. “We need to call the police.”

  Shawn nodded dumbly and then fumbled for his cell phone, still staring at Thom.

  Sadie turned to look at him as well. Had any of this really happened? It seemed so unreal, so . . . wrong. She reached for a chair and lowered herself into it, still staring, still trying to understand all that had happened. As she tried to accept the last fifteen minutes of her life, she was reminded of her first exchange with Josh. “It’s about time things came full circle,” she murmured to herself.

  Who could have guessed that the circle would complete itself on Sadie’s kitchen floor.

  Chapter 52

  Knock, knock?”

  Sadie opened her eyes and looked toward the doorway of the hospital room, instant fear rushing up her legs and arms. The resident hospital shrink who’d talked to Sadie earlier in the afternoon had said such a reaction was normal—something about thalamuses and endorphins and stuff. Sadie thought her reaction had more to do with the fact that Thom was recovering in a room one floor below her. Pete had explained that Josh and his mother had given Thom a place to stay the night before and he’d slipped away without anyone noticing. On the one hand, Sadie was shocked that such a simple plan could work, but then again, it hadn’t really worked, had it?

  If thoughts of Thom weren’t enough to stress a woman out, she’d had to leave someone else in charge of cleaning all the glass shards off her kitchen floor. That was not the kind of job Sadie liked to leave to someone else.

  She was so wrapped up in the psychology behind her reaction that she forgot what it was she was reacting to until a man poked his head around the curtain. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and slicked-back dark hair. The smell of his cologne nearly canceled out all the medicinal scents of the hospital.

  Sadie didn’t recognize him for a few seconds, then her eyebrows tried to go up, but the swelling from the beatings to the head she’d withstood the last few days, coupled with the cuts from the glass, made it a painful endeavor.

  “Eric?” she asked.

  He just smiled wider.

  More like Eric’s younger, better-looking brother, she thought to herself as he took a few steps closer, revealing that the slicked-back hair was really just his regular hair, but clean and pulled into a ponytail—although she could swear he’d had a trim.

  Gayle had come to the hospital earlier and fixed Sadie’s hair while Sadie relayed the whole shocking story, but there was nothing to be done about her face and the stupid shoulder sling. Seeing Eric all cleaned up made her feel vulnerable and self-conscious. He held out a handful of daisies. Sadie loved daisies.

  “You should wear a name tag,” Sadie suggested as she accepted the bouquet. Even his nails were clean. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  Eric smiled and did a single shoulder shrug. He was dressed in jeans and a black polo shirt. He looked good in black. Maybe too good.

  “So, I went to the station at ten only to hear how you just can’t get enough adventure in your life,” he said.

  “Or adventure can’t get enough of me,” Sadie said. Once her injuries had been attended to, she’d had two hours of discussion with Pete and the captain, but it had all been focused on what happened this morning rather than the charges from last night. Then the captain had insisted she stay at the hospital overnight for observation and for her home to be properly photographed and cleaned up.

  “How did it go with the police?” she asked.

  “I’m not in jail,” Eric said. “That’s a plus. They said it could be weeks before the district attorney decides what to do. I don’t think we’re supposed to leave the country until they decide.”

  “Oh,” Sadie said, surprised, but in a good way. “I think I can handle that.”

  They both were quiet for a moment. When Eric spoke, his voice was soft. “Are you okay?”

  Sadie nodded. “I will be. I heal incredibly well.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Eric said. He nodded toward the bouquet. “You didn’t read my card.”

  Sadie hadn’t even noticed a card. But she turned the bouquet in her hands until she saw the corner of a little pink envelope poking out between the stems. Unfortunately, it was impossible for her to grab the envelope, si
nce she was holding the bouquet with her one good arm. She tried turning the flowers on their side and shaking the card out. When that didn’t work, she tried to hold the bouquet low enough that her immobilized hand could help her, but the angle was all wrong.

  Eric stepped up and plucked the card out of the flowers with a smile on his face. “Trade,” he said, taking the flowers and giving her the little card. He looked around the room. “Is there a bedpan or something I can put these in?”

  Sadie managed to laugh even though she’d have gotten after Shawn if he’d said something like that. The card was easier to hold at her side, allowing her to use both hands to open the envelope. It wasn’t sealed, which she found rather thoughtful. On the front was a watercolor rendering of a Saint Bernard. The words “Get Well Soon!” were written on the rum barrel around his neck.

  “Hello?”

  They both turned as Breanna stepped around the curtain, holding a large, flat, multicolored box in her hands. A plastic grocery bag hung from her arm. She’d arrived in Garrison a couple of hours earlier and had been hovering ever since. She’d taken over the position of “woman in charge” seamlessly, something that used to be difficult for her to do. Sadie wasn’t sure she liked the bossy Breanna, but had finally convinced her and Shawn to get her some real food. The meatloaf the hospital had served for lunch had been . . . below Sadie’s standards.

  Breanna put the box on the bedside table as Shawn appeared behind her. He acknowledged Eric with a quick nod, which Eric returned as he moved around the bed to make room for Sadie’s children.

  “Okay,” Breanna said, too intent on her task to be bothered with taking inventory of the room. “We ended up at the ice cream shop down the street. Someone thought you’d like that better than a burger.” She eyed Shawn accusingly.

  “Tell me you wouldn’t choose ice cream cake over McDonalds?” Shawn challenged, raising his eyebrows. He looked at his sister and grinned. “Tell her what it’s called.”