Paul dropped back on his haunches and stared at her. “Oh Lids, now what?”
“She agrees.” Liddy pointed up to the painting.
He turned, saw Sasha Perry glaring down at him, the words Help me beneath.
“You painted that!” He looked incredulously back at her. “You painted it like that!”
“No, Sasha came to me. She’s been begging me for help.”
“My God, have you really-”
“You killed her.”
He saw her move. Her hands shook wildly as she tried to hang on to her cutter and get out her phone - hit speed dial, call Kerri – but with a yell he was on her like a wild man, one hand crushing her wrist holding the blade, the other hand flinging her phone away. No, God, please…she heard it clunk something and skitter away; knew she was dead as she struggled against his weight, screaming “You killed her, you killed her!” but he was on her face fast, pressing an acrid-smelling cloth. No! His better-than-Propofol, he’d had it all along! Had just been playing her, knew she’d never stay silent, was probably planning to – what? – drown her in the bathtub? Say she’d been suicidal?
She felt the drug’s first effects, started to paralyze but her eyes still moved…and then froze, gaping in horror at what she saw behind him.
49
Ping!
The oddest feeling came to her, just like that, as Kerri waited for the mess to clear on Broadway. Maybe a reflex – the car in front of her had screeched to a stop, hadn’t made it through the yellow light and now was out there, in the middle of the intersection at 72nd, blocking traffic from everywhere. Instant jam, with horns blasting, people leaning out shouting. Great, just the thing for her head pounding with weariness, her blown fuse of a mind still struggling with what Peter Dunn had told her.
Liddy Barron’s hair and clothes, damp as if they’d been wet. Again, the damned water connection…key to her every nightmare, hallucination – and that painting! She’d swooshed her brushes through more water than pigment; had been in too much of a frenzy to notice the colors dripping, dripping.
“What does it mean?” Kerri whispered to herself, watching uniformed cops waving madly, shouting and pointing, getting things moving again. The car in front of her started to inch forward. She did too, her left hand on the steering wheel, her right hand reaching to push back her laptop that had slid forward.
Ping!
She felt it again, straight to her heart as she touched the laptop. She frowned; it was the strangest feeling, like something pulling at her.
Then her phone buzzed; she grabbed it.
“You killed her, you killed her!” she heard and froze; checked the readout.
Liddy Barron’s phone. Sounds of a struggle, another scream and a loud thump, like a body flung down.
Kerri’s blood ran cold. She called it in.
“Dispatch, send available units to 290 Prince Street, assault in progress.” Her heart was exploding. “Yes, assault in progress!” she said again. “Tell ‘em to break the door down - if they hear nothing tell ‘em I heard a cry for help.”
She popped the top hat onto her roof and hit the siren. Whoop whoop! it went. Every uniform looked her way and nodded, pulled cars over, made room. She executed a quick U-turn and raced back down Broadway, hunched not breathing at the wheel, careening and zig-zagging around cabs and cars, barely missing a pulled-over van.
Her radio crackled with urgency. She heard dispatch get blue-and-whites to clear the way ahead, lead her faster.
It took her till 48th Street to get her breath half back; call Alex; tell him to head for Liddy’s too.
50
Paul leaped to his feet as Sasha’s face focused, came to life and rose out at him, dead and withered but raging. His eyes widened as he screamed, stumbled back, crushed a lamp falling and hit his head.
The room fell into shadows.
Liddy’s body was encased in cement, but her mind still worked. And her eyes – she could gape right, left, see Paul’s darkened form lying feet away, dark blood near his head. She’d be paralyzed…for how long? Under five minutes, they said.
She saw Paul stir.
Sasha was back in her painting.
Liddy fixed her frantic eyes on the dead girl. Help me, she implored, but Sasha was back to gazing mournfully down at her. I died too, her eyes seemed to say. Liddy felt stinging tears of despair. Her mind strained at every muscle, fighting. How many minutes since he’d pressed that cloth to her face? More than one; two, probably. She didn’t know, she was reeling. For long seconds, she gave up. Lay there, crying and screaming inside. This couldn’t be happening - no, she’d been through too much; had struggled bravely through too much. She could breathe, at least, though shallowly. A great drug, really; it left you breathing and thinking, you just couldn’t move.
Now she knew she was really gone, dead and defeated because her sanity had let go, gone giddy-crazy with a sudden feeling of gratefulness because breathing really was something, wasn’t it? What an underrated function! We ought to bow down every day and give thanks just for breathing! Go around with smiley faces telling others to have a nice breathe! She struggled to pull in a deeper breath. Managed half way. Then did another, that time feeling her shoulders raise ever so slightly to enable the best breath yet.
Her shoulders raised…? She tried that again, got resistance…then again with less resistance. Inhaled deep and hard with something close to a gasp.
Just as Paul’s foot near her moved.
But she could move her foot, too! Which started her heart racing in terrifying hope: she could move her foot and oh my God twitch her fingers! It was wearing off…hurry. The phone. He’d thrown it, she hadn’t been able to hit that one pathetic, little life-saving button for speed dial. The room was in near darkness. Where had he thrown it?
More cement gave way and she was able to roll over. Crawl. Inch her way toward the dim outline of door, having trouble keeping her head up, neck muscles still not cooperating. Her heart whammed. She got her hand out, out further; found the door. That clunk! when he threw it came from here, sounded like it hit the jamb, maybe ricocheted out. Her fingers were working now, groping over wood floor, feeling through shadows. She crawled out to the darker hall.
A sound.
She heard him move in the studio, hit with a clink the lamp he’d knocked over.
He was up. The phone, the phone! Her fingers scrabbled. She could move better now; she just couldn’t see…too dark in the hall and he was coming after her, stumbling, toppling more things from the sound of it. Something crashed, then something else. She crawled faster to get away – and her hand hit her phone. Oh dear God, saved maybe? She grasped it, her hands shaking in convulsive terror – and the phone slipped away again. Just inches away it skidded, she could see it glint-
Too late, he was on her, throwing himself and half falling on her, growling, “Bitch…tried to destroy me…” but he was disoriented, one hand trying to get his acrid cloth back on her face, his other hand crushing her throat, putting all his weight on her throat as she kicked, wrenched away, seized the phone back up into her fingers which groped in the dark and…
Paul screamed.
Liddy got her head around; gaped.
Above him, Sasha, a bright silver mist of withered-faced fury, an all-bones arm up and then down as she plunged the long scissors into his back. Another, higher scream and he fell, face down, his back a spreading stain of dark centered by the glinting scissor rings.
Sasha looked at Liddy, her misted features changing from fury to peace, even something approaching a tragic smile. Then her silvery shape receded, disappeared.
Liddy lay gasping, blinking incredulously toward the door. “Sasha,” she whispered feebly; then with every last ounce of her strength, she raised her voice as if in prayer. “Sasha, thank you.”
From the direction of the studio came a sound. Indecipherable at first, then unmistakable. Gentle and sweet, the sound of singing.
Liddy crawled; found h
er phone. Her numb fingers shook as she finally hit 9-1-1.
“They’re almost there,” a voice said. “You already called.”
“No…I didn’t.”
“Well someone did.”
Liddy didn’t understand. Then thought…Sasha?
There was a sudden pounding at the door.
“I hear them,” she managed. “They’re here.”
“Are you able to let them in?”
She didn’t answer. Just lay her head down and passed out.
51
“Look at her throat.”
Voices came to her, then hands, she felt hands tending her, cradling her head. “Get the neck brace on. Easy, defensive wounds can wait.”
Feet moving, more voices as wheels rolled in, but her head reeled and her eyes refused to open. Much safer, here behind closed lids, safe and dark down here…no pain down here…
Sounds came clearer. The snap of an ironing board being collapsed to the floor…no, not an ironing board…one of those collapsible gurneys. Hello gurney, it’s been a whole three months, gurney…
Strong hands lifted her, covered her with a light blanket, strapped her down. In the crowded murmur someone’s hand was on her shoulder, and a voice said, “Three flights, another strap.” She pictured them managing the gurney on the stairs.
Should have gotten an elevator place. The ridiculous thought came unbidden, probably mercifully. Minutiae were so much easier than the fact that your life as you knew it had just ended. Horribly. The final nightmare made real. So just allow in minutiae…or nothing. Later will be time to grieve, deal with – no, stop it - you’re safe…and good people who save people have strapped you to an ironing board that’s carried hundreds of others. Welcome back to the trauma club…
Liddy opened her eyes; saw the ceiling come closer as they raised up her gurney. She was dimly aware of Kerri arriving, trading brief exchanges with the others, then bending to her, hugging her gently. “Thank God. Your call was in the nick.”
The lips were too dry to speak, but Liddy tried. “I never called,” she whispered.
“Huh?” from Kerri, distracted by grim monosyllables filling her in about “the body;” and, “No way she could have struck from that angle;” and, “With that strength? She’s a noodle.”
Their voices floated out there, far from the dark comfort of eyes closed again: Kerri saying that other detectives were coming; they’d go over the room; someone else commenting about the force it must have taken to plunge in those scissors. Kerri’s hand stayed on Liddy’s shoulder. “I’m coming with you,” she said, and Liddy opened her eyes to her, tried to smile; felt her face crumple and cried.
The gurney wheels were moving. Liddy saw the ceiling busy with shadows, activity, then the top of the door frame as they maneuvered through, then the living room ceiling, the dreadful white iron column. Kerri was by her side, comforting. Liddy tried to roll toward her. Kerri said, “Don’t move, honey. You’re pretty banged up.”
The stairs, the stairs. Feet first and strapped in, strong guys on each side. Sometimes you just have to depend on others to carry you, but if they’re good people… Liddy’s eyes even closed stung and brimmed. “Hey,” said a man’s voice, reaching to wipe her cheek. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re okay.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The night was ablaze with emergency lights swirling. Liddy saw bright, winking stars and an almost full moon, and then – “One, two, three,” she heard – she was hoisted into the ambulance to hands that got busy taking her vitals, swabbing her arm, starting her IV.
Kerri climbed in, sat on the bench next to her. Peripherally, Liddy saw a man in plain clothes appear too; stand over Kerri and reach for Liddy’s hand.
“This is Alex Brand, my partner,” Kerri said.
“Oh.” Liddy smiled weakly. “You saved Kerri’s life.”
“We save each other,” he said, squeezing her hand, sitting next to Kerri as the ambulance started to move. The siren sounded…such a safe sound. Liddy felt every swerve of the small Soho corners, and then they were really moving. Somebody mentioned Bellevue, which meant straight up First Avenue.
“Sasha…” Liddy breathed, straining at her gurney straps.
“Easy, hon.” Kerri had one hand on her shoulder as her free hand pinged her cell phone. “I’m calling your friend Beth. She’s your first in case of emergency contact?”
“Yes, thanks.” Not counting Paul. Never again counting Paul. Impossible to believe, would she ever process it? Kerri’s question and its answer were devastating; hearing her on the phone with Beth, loudly weeping and frantic, was a wrecking ball to the heart.
“She’s okay, yes conscious,” Kerri was saying. “May need a night in the ER for observation…Good, I’ll tell her.”
She disconnected. “Beth’s on her way,” she smiled encouragingly.
Alex told Liddy, “From the sound of it, you’ll have to calm her.”
She thanked them, but her heart felt ruptured, in real physical pain. So many dreams, that whole future, gone. But she had never known him, had she? Understanding who he was, what he’d done…that would take time. Years, maybe.
Sasha loomed up again, her silver, ghostly features going from rage to something softer, like peace. And then she vanished; Liddy heard the sound of singing from the studio.
Compulsion forced the words out. “He drowned Sasha,” Liddy breathed, looking at both detectives. “Swam…out with her from the dock, let the current take her.”
“He told you?” from Alex.
“When he was drunk that night. Lucked out that my concussion...I didn’t remember.”
She watched Kerri go limp with the sudden knowledge that it was over; her long, hard struggle was solved. They’d be needing more details…there’d probably be an attempt to retrieve what might be left of the body…but that, really was it.
“Whoa,” Kerri said quietly, with her lips parted.
Alex held up a phone he’d been fiddling with.
“Yours,” he told Liddy, looking confused. “You called Kerri, right?”
“No, I couldn’t.” The words came hard. “He knocked the phone away.”
Kerri said, “I got your call at 7:38. Heard you screaming for help.”
“I didn’t make the call.”
“Who then?”
The ambulance swerved. Liddy felt too drained for more; just managed, softly, “Sasha. It must have been her.”
She closed her eyes, picturing the two detectives trading looks. She was in pain but her mind was sharp again; sharp enough to remember cops’ voices saying No way she could have struck from that angle, and, With that strength? She’s a noodle.
A noodle. That was funny.
They would take a while trying to figure it, and then they’d say, Well something explains it, the case is solved at least, that poor girl can be put to rest.
There was a final swerve, then feeling the ambulance climb a slight incline.
“We’re there,” someone said; and Liddy heard Kerri say, “That’s it. Now I believe in ghosts.”
“Put that in your report,” Alex said teasingly.
“I plan to!”
They started going at it with each other, and Liddy smiled.
52
They found her.
It took them four meticulous, grueling days in the murk and swirling current, but when they’d nearly given up one of NYPD’s scuba divers searching nearly 70,000 square feet of the river bed was down in maybe a foot of visibility…and had the strangest feeling, he later told reporters. “It’s like I felt it,” he said. “I was pretty much on my stomach feeling around in front of my face, going back over the same rotted pilings I’d been over, and suddenly I just saw it - like what was left of it was waving to me in the current.”
It was a piece of blue shirt, nine inches square roughly, tangled around river grass, some broken glass, part of a broken boat propeller, and part of a skull. Caught in the rotted edge of the shirt’s f
abric was a Winnie the Pooh ear stud.
Liddy had been there, watching, on the third and fourth days, and so had been present, behind the yellow tape, when they brought up the tangle. From where she stood, behind the docks, she had seen the exhausted, sad but relieved silence of the team as they bent over their find. A general murmur had gone up, detectives were called, and Kerri came to identify the ear stud.
“It’s hers,” she’d come to tell Liddy, tearful and hugging her, then returned to the divers on the dock.
The bone was a DNA match, it was confirmed thirty hours later, not that any cop felt they needed it.
And four days after that, on a Sunday, Liddy found herself standing at the edge of a stone wall, by the tumbling gate of a small cemetery in upstate New York. The others had left. Three cousins who’d barely known Sasha had found a small place near the grave of her mother, and there had buried her remains. There was no stone, though they’d told the few reporters present that there would be. Now there was just the freshly dug earth and a little pile of flowers, already wilting.
Liddy moved forward, and kneeled. Placed her plump, happy Winnie the Pooh bear holding his single white rose next to the wilted flowers. She reached, and arranged Winnie’s duds: red boots and a little hooded raincoat over a heavy sweater, for colder weather. She’d gone to a children’s clothing store for them.
“Rest, Sasha,” she said. “Winnie’s here to keep you company.”
The little grave was silent, but somewhere near a bird sang, and Winnie smiled at her.
Sometimes, trying to sleep, Liddy thought back to the soft singing she’d heard that night from the studio. Her crazed fog of memory had finally realized: it was the theme song to “Winnie the Pooh.” Now, softly, she sang it: “Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh, tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff…”
Tears stung, so she stopped; peered up and around. The place looked so desolate. If once there had been grass it was now tall weeds studded by old, untended stones.
Fear Dreams Page 20
