by Joy Fielding
“Oh, God,” Emma cried.
“You don’t have to hurt her, Brad. I’m the one you want.”
“That’s true, I guess.” For a few seconds, he seemed to be mulling it over. “But how can I let her go when you know as well as I do that she’s gonna run straight to the cops?”
“No,” Emma protested. “I won’t. I swear.”
“Swear all you like, sweetheart. I can’t let you leave.”
“Please, Ralph … Brad,” Lily corrected immediately, although it was too late to stop the pointed toe of his boot from connecting with her shin. “She has a son.”
“Yeah, I saw him this morning.” Brad knelt down beside Emma, his knees cracking inside the denim of his jeans. “Cute kid. Not as cute as Corey, of course. Corey’s my son. ‘Course you probably call him Michael. That was Lily-Beth’s name for him. Insisted we name him after her father. Very important to her. So, nice guy that I am, I said okay. Michael Corey Fisher, we called him, although I always preferred Corey myself. Just like I always preferred Beth. But then, we never agreed on much, did we, darlin’?” he asked Lily.
“Please,” Emma whimpered. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.”
“No? She didn’t tell you about me?”
Emma shook her head.
“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” Brad said. “Not to tell anybody about the love of your life, the father of your son. I’m feeling kind of hurt.” He stood back up, paced back and forth, as if deeply upset.
Jamie knew what he was doing. He was playing with them, the way a cat plays with a mouse before going in for the kill. Tormenting them was almost as much fun as killing them, Jamie understood. She glanced at Lily, knowing she was thinking exactly the same thing. If only she had a little of that woman’s courage. If only she had the strength to fight back.
But he’d robbed her of that strength when he raped her, then pummeled her spirit into submission the next night with his fists. Not so fearless now, was she? Even without ropes, she was as bound and shackled as the women on the floor beside her.
“So, what’s your story?” Brad asked Emma. “We didn’t get much of a chance to talk before Beth here came calling. What’s your son’s name?”
“Dylan,” Emma whispered.
“And Dylan’s father? What’s he do?”
Emma paused a split second too long. “He’s a policeman.”
“A policeman?” Brad repeated, with a mischievous grin.
“You should go. He comes home around this time every day for coffee.”
“Really? Well, I guess, in that case, I better hurry up and slit your throat.” Brad instantly dropped to his knees, grabbing a fistful of Emma’s hair as Emma began to scream. Jamie closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands. “Shut up,” he barked at Emma. “And don’t lie to me. I hate it when women lie. Although I guess I should be used to it by now.”
“I won’t lie,” Emma whimpered.
“I mean, you think I’m stupid here? Is that it? You don’t remember me checking this place out when I first got here? I’ve been upstairs, Emma-girl. I’ve seen your closets. I know there’s no man living here. Shit, what kind of moron do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you’re a moron.”
“Well, now, that’s good to hear. You keep talking nice like that, and I might not kill you after all.”
“Please don’t kill me,” Emma begged.
“Jamie,” Brad barked. “Get your hands away from your face.”
Immediately Jamie lowered her hands to her sides.
“See what a good girl she is?” Brad crowed as a wave of shame flushed over Jamie. “Now suppose you tell me where Dylan’s father really is,” he instructed Emma. “And don’t lie to me, because I’ll know the minute you start, even if it’s only a tiny little white one, and I’ll stick this knife in your heart without so much as a ‘tsk-tsk.’ Are we very clear about that?”
Emma nodded, although his hand in her hair afforded her little room for movement. “I won’t lie,” she promised a second time.
Jamie saw Lily lean forward, almost in spite of herself.
“So, where’s your old man?”
“He’s in San Diego.”
“How long you been divorced?”
Emma hesitated.
“You’re not thinking of lying now, are you?” Brad poked the blade of the knife against her Adam’s apple.
“Almost two years,” Emma said quickly.
“And what’s this guy’s name?”
“Peter,” Emma replied. “Peter Rice.”
“And what’s Peter Rice do for a living? I know for sure he ain’t no cop.”
“He’s a salesman. Computers, software, that kind of thing.”
“No kidding.” Brad laughed out loud. “I had a computer business once. Didn’t I, Jamie?”
Jamie stared at the floor, said nothing.
“So what made you leave San Diego and Mr. Peter Rice?”
“I had no choice.”
“And why is that?”
“Because he was going to take my son away from me.”
“That would be Dylan?”
Again Emma hesitated. “Martin,” she whispered after a pause. “His name is Martin.”
Brad laughed. “Well, what do you know? You think there’s anybody on Mad River Road who goes by their real name?” He lowered himself to the floor beside Jamie, leaned his back against the beige-and-green chair. “Come on down here, Jamie-girl,” he directed, pulling on her arm and dragging her down. “Join the party. We’re gonna learn everybody’s secrets here.”
Jamie knew Brad didn’t have the slightest interest in Emma or her secrets. She knew he was only playing with all of them, prolonging his enjoyment by prolonging their suffering. Brad would keep them alive only as long as they continued to amuse him. Then he would slaughter them one by one.
“So, what you’re saying is that instead of letting him take your son away from you, you took his son away from him,” Brad said. “That doesn’t sound too fair to me. Tell me, Emma. Was Peter Rice a bad father?”
Emma shook her head. “He was a good father,” she acknowledged. “That wasn’t the point.”
“Really? What was?”
“The point was I thought my son was better off with me.”
“Is that what the courts thought?”
“No. They sided with Peter.”
“They awarded him custody? That’s kind of unusual, isn’t it? The courts granting the father custody? Why’d they do that?”
Emma closed her eyes. When she opened them again seconds later, they were filled with tears.
“Tell the truth now, Emma. Were you an unfit mother?”
“I’m a very good mother,” Emma insisted, looking to Lily for confirmation. “But I’ve done things, things I’m not proud of …”
“What kind of things?”
“Please …”
“Don’t get coy on us now,” Brad warned. “This is just starting to get interesting. What kind of things?” Brad let go of Emma’s hair. Her head snapped toward her chest in defeat.
“I’ve stolen, and I’ve lied.”
“Well, well, well. So you’re a thief and a liar, are you?”
“Yes,” Emma said clearly. “I’m a liar.” She turned toward Lily. “I lied to you. About my past. About my ex-husband …”
“You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“Yes, I do. I owe you. And I owe Peter. And most of all, I owe my son.”
“Hey, don’t forget about me,” Brad said with a laugh.
“Peter wasn’t the monster I’ve made him out to be,” Emma continued, unprompted. “He didn’t cheat on me. He wasn’t a pervert. He’s a good man, and I’m so sorry I inflicted all this pain on him. He was just this basically decent guy who got in way over his head. He tried to understand why I did the things I did, why I lied when it was just as easy to tell the truth. I didn’t have any answers for him. What could I say? Why would h
e believe anything I said? After a while, he just gave up, said he couldn’t take the drama anymore, that he wanted a divorce, and that he thought Martin would be better off with him. I knew he was right. I knew I didn’t stand a chance in court, but I just couldn’t let him have my son. He’s the only decent thing I’ve ever done with my life.” She took a deep breath, released it slowly. “I love my son so much. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know that,” Lily whispered.
“You sure pick some peculiar friends, Lily-Beth,” Brad said. “Although I gotta admit, I like this one better than old Gracie-girl.”
Lily’s mouth fell open. Her eyes grew wide. “Grace?”
“Yeah. Did I forget to mention I paid her a little visit last week?”
“What did you do to her?” Tears immediately filled Lily’s eyes.
“Well, I wouldn’t waste a lot of tears on old Gracie-girl. She’s the one who gave you up, told me where to find you.”
“What did you do to her, Ralph?”
“Brad,” he reminded her.
“You killed her, didn’t you?”
“Well, I have to admit the last time I saw her, she did look pretty dead.” Brad laughed as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “God, I’m having a good time. How about you, ladies?”
“Please,” Emma pleaded. “Just let me go. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”
Instantly Brad’s hand shot from his side. Without even looking in her direction, he plunged the knife deep into Emma’s chest. Emma’s eyes widened as a cry of disbelief escaped her lips. “Tsk-tsk,” Brad said as he pulled out the knife. “Didn’t I warn you about lying to me?”
Jamie stared in disbelief at the blood that rushed from Emma’s chest, soaking the front of her pretty yellow blouse. The slaughter was starting, she realized. First Emma, then Lily, then herself. And if Brad didn’t kill her, if he chose to kill the others and let her live, would she be able to live with herself?
When are you going to start accepting responsibility for your actions? she heard her mother and sister demand in unison.
Had they been right about her all along?
And suddenly the room filled with the sound of screaming as Jamie threw herself at Brad, jumping on his back and ripping at his eyes with her furious fingers. Brad spun around in an effort to dislodge her, but she held firm, even when he began blindly slashing at her arms with the already bloodied knife.
“Goddamn it,” he shouted, stumbling over Emma’s legs as Lily’s bound feet shot toward him, catching him around the ankles and sending him sprawling across the room, the knife flying from his fist into the foyer. Jamie leapfrogged over him, lunging for the knife. But even now Brad moved with alarming speed, his hands latching onto the slightly flared bottoms of Jamie’s jeans just as her fingers found the switchblade’s carved wooden handle.
“No!” Jamie screamed as he reeled her along the floor toward him, her fingers losing contact with the knife.
“You really are a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” He laughed as he flipped her onto her back, his fingers lacing around her throat. “I’m sure gonna miss you, Jamie-girl.”
Jamie felt a rush of air, saw Lily throw herself at Brad, landing on his back with a thud strong enough to knock the wind from his lungs. In the second it took for him to regroup and shrug Lily off his shoulders, Jamie was sliding out from under him, her eyes frantically searching the floor for the knife. She found it just as Brad was reaching for her again, and she clambered to her feet, Brad right behind her. Before she could get to the door, he was spinning her around, his hands once again reaching for her throat. “You ready to die, Jamie-girl?” he was asking.
There was a flicker of movement, a sudden flash of metal. Jamie didn’t see the knife as it slid between Brad’s ribs; she saw only the surprised look on his face as he crumpled to his knees in front of her. She watched as, seconds later, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell backward to the floor, the handle of the knife protruding from the vicinity of his heart.
She raced to the phone, punched in 9-1-1, hollered for an ambulance. Then she untied Lily’s arms and legs. Both women rushed to Emma’s side, Lily cradling the semiconscious woman in her arms.
“You’re going to be all right,” Jamie assured her, trying to stanch the flow of blood with her fist. “Do you hear me, Emma? You hang on. You’re gonna be all right.”
Emma stretched her head toward Lily’s, strained to speak. “Tell my son I love him,” she said.
THIRTY
Jamie sat on the beige-and-green chair, tears streaming down her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away or push them aside, although occasionally the woman officer standing beside her reached down to dab at her cheeks with a tissue, and someone always seemed to be inquiring if she was all right. How can I be all right? she asked them without speaking. I killed a man. A woman in Atlanta is dead because of me. Another woman might not survive her injuries, although the paramedics seemed hopeful that Emma would recover from her wound.
“She’s still breathing,” Jamie recalled someone shouting as the ambulance crew jumped into action, securing an oxygen mask around Emma’s ashen face and transferring her limp and bloodied body onto a stretcher.
“Can’t say the same for this one,” a second paramedic said, looking down at Brad.
The echo of the siren’s wail still filled Jamie’s ears, although it had been at least an hour since the ambulance left Mad River Road.
The police had arrived within minutes of her frantic call to 9-1-1. Almost immediately after that, another officer had rushed into the room, followed by a woman in a belly-baring, gray sweat suit. “Where’s Lily?” the woman was shouting as an officer quickly dragged her from the house. “Lily, are you all right? Jeff, do something.”
The officer named Jeff had assured her he’d call her later and that Lily was indeed okay. Jamie looked over to where Lily sat now, on the brown sofa, crying softly in Jeff’s arms. Clearly, this was more than a professional relationship. It was a small room. Jamie didn’t have to strain very hard to overhear their conversation.
“We located Peter Rice,” she heard Jeff say. “He confirmed that his ex-wife kidnapped their son almost two years ago when the court granted him custody, says he’s been searching for them ever since. Her real name is Susan, by the way.”
Lily shook her head. “She doesn’t seem like a Susan.”
Jamie smiled sadly. People are so rarely what they seem, she thought.
“Anyway, he’s flying out here on the next plane.”
“That’s good.” Lily rubbed the wrist of one hand with the fingers of the other. There were still red lines on her skin where the ropes had been. “You know that Emma isn’t the only person who’s been lying,” she told Jeff. “There’s so much I have to tell you.”
“You don’t have to tell me now.”
Lily’s smile was full of gratitude. “Can I tell you later?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Lily reached over to stroke his hand. “How did you know to come over?”
“I went by the gym for my workout. Jan told me about that stupid trophy, and how you’d taken off and hadn’t come back. She was worried, and frankly so was I, so we decided to drop by, see what was up. We saw the police cars and the ambulance as soon as we turned the corner. My heart just about fell to my knees,” he confessed.
Jamie smiled as Lily lay her head against Jeff’s shoulder. She was thinking that Jeff Dawson was a nice man. Lily had found herself a good one.
“So, how’re you doing?” the woman officer asked Jamie. Jamie wasn’t sure, but she thought the ebony-skinned woman had introduced herself earlier as Angela Pauley. Officer Pauley looked to be about ten years Jamie’s senior and was maybe twenty pounds heavier.
Jamie shrugged. What could she say? She had no idea how she was doing. One minute, she’d been sitting on the floor, quietly preparing to accept whatever sad fate awaited her, and the next minute, she was on her fee
t and fighting for her life. “You ready to die, Jamie-girl?” she heard Brad taunt. The answer was no. She wasn’t ready to die. She was ready to live.
“Those are very beautiful earrings,” Angela Pauley was saying now.
Jamie’s fingers fluttered to her ear. She removed the earrings, handed them to the officer. “They belong to my mother-in-law. Could you see that her son gets them?”
Angela Pauley gave the earrings to another officer who’d been hovering nearby. They exchanged quizzical glances. “You feel up to giving us a statement now?” A pen and paper materialized in the officer’s hands as she knelt beside Jamie.
What could she say? Jamie wondered. Where could she begin?
“She saved our lives,” Lily interjected, smiling gratefully from the brown sofa.
“What was your relationship to Ralph Fisher?” Officer Pauley asked Jamie.
I was his lover, Jamie answered silently.
“She was amazing,” Lily said.
His traveling companion, his accomplice, his victim.
“If it weren’t for her, we’d all be dead.”
His killer.
“What were you and Ralph Fisher doing here?” Officer Pauley pressed, trying a different approach.
Jamie looked toward the front window overlooking Mad River Road. What could she say that could even begin to explain the events of the last few days? Where could she start? In that awful little motel outside of Dayton? In a stately old home in Atlanta? In a popular bar in West Palm Beach?
Tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, her mother whispered in one ear.
Don’t tell them anything until you speak to a lawyer, her sister said in the other.
The two women began to bicker, their voices buzzing, like flies, against the inside of Jamie’s skull. Jamie shook her head forcefully, dislodging them. The only voice she could rely on, she understood in that moment, was her own.
“Why don’t we start with your name,” Angela Pauley said gently.
“Jamie Kellogg.”
“Would you like anything, Jamie? A glass of water, maybe?”
