Shadows of the Heart

by Lorena McCourtney

  The pickup, roaring over the rough terrain, was too noisy for conversation. Using shouts and motions, Armando told Edith to watch for her father on one side of the vehicle, Trish on the other. It took all his attention to keep the pickup upright and moving ahead. Trish watched so intently, her eyes hurt, knowing Robert Hepler—somehow she still couldn’t think of him freely as her father—might hide in the brush when he heard them coming.

  Almost abruptly the pickup broke out of the trees and brush and onto the barren lava area. Up close it looked even more like a congealed mass of monstrous, prehistoric snakes, with here and there some nightmare shape rising above the strange, twisting tubes.

  The road descended along the edge of the deep, hardened mass, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine some fresh tide of lava flowing over that edge and engulfing them. Firmly Trish jerked her mind away from such wild imaginings and concentrated on looking for Robert Hepler. But her senses were jolted again when Armando stopped the pickup in front of a dark, cavelike hole. Just looking at it Trish felt a crawling sense of claustrophobia.

  “This is the main entrance,” Armando said. “Several tubes lead off it. We’ll separate and each search a tunnel. Don’t give up until you can go no farther. Some hidden, hard-to-reach spot may be just what he is looking for.”

  “But wouldn’t it be better if we stayed together?” Trish asked doubtfully. “I mean… could he be dangerous?”

  Armando handed her a flashlight. “Only to himself. We’ll take too long if we stay together and we may not have much time. Don’t forget your jackets,” he instructed. “It’s cold in there.”

  Edith was already slipping her arms into a heavy sweater. Slowly, feeling guilty at her reluctance to enter the dark hole, Trish put on her jacket and zipped it up. Then Armando led the way.

  The change in temperature was apparent only a few feet inside the tunnel. The air smelled damp, musty, and unused, and Trish was nervously conscious of the deep, hardened river of lava above them. She clutched her flashlight, trying to calm her panicky feeling of claustrophobia. She turned to look back at the circle of sunlight behind them. It took all her willpower not to flee to its bright safety. Already she felt the strange eeriness Robert Hepler had mentioned.

  “Do you really think he came here?” she asked doubtfully. Her voice sounded hollow.

  “I don’t think there’s any doubt of it, especially after he mentioned the place to you only yesterday,” Armando said.

  Armando’s flashlight, more powerful than the other two, lit up the rough walls of the tunnel. The tunnel was larger than Trish had realized at first, the ceiling a good five or six feet above her head, but the knowledge did nothing to loosen that tight feeling of claustrophobia. Farther back the tunnel separated into several smaller tubes. Trish stared at them in dismay as Armando’s flashlight paused momentarily on each dark, forbidding hole. Without waiting for instructions from Armando, Edith started determinedly toward the center tube. Armando looked inquiringly at Trish.

  “That one, I guess,” Trish said uneasily, pointing to an opening taking off at an angle to the right.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Armando said, patting her arm reassuringly. “Just remember, he is your father and he needs your help. Be thorough. He may try to hide.”

  Trish nodded and switched on her flashlight, shivering slightly as she stepped alone into the hollow tube that was barely high enough to clear her head. She stopped and nervously played the beam over the walls. When she turned and looked back, Armando’s light had already disappeared into one of the other tunnels. The bright circle of outdoor light was gone too, cut off by the angle of the lava tube.

  Trish advanced slowly, the flashlight held in front of her as if its beam were some sort of magical protection. This tunnel led away from the others, deep under the mountain. It weighed down on her, made her chest feel tight and heavy. Her hand grew numb from gripping the flashlight, and the cold penetrated her fingers.

  The utter silence was unearthly, the only sound her own ragged breathing and the reluctant shuffle of her feet. A small rustle behind her made her whirl in near terror. Shakily she realized it was only a bit of the volcanic rubble dislodged by her foot, and she leaned weakly against the rough wall. By now the tube was smaller, and she had to walk slightly bent over. She knew she would soon be down on her hands and knees and she didn’t know if she could stand that or not. Already her stomach was tight and nervous as the tube closed in around her. The tunnel was so narrow that she had to keep her arms tucked close to her sides, and the ceiling close above her seemed to bear down on her like some immense weight.

  Then she heard something. A rustle? A tapping? Cautiously she moved toward, wincing once as a strand of hair caught on the low ceiling overhead. The sound was regular, rhythmic. She rounded a bend in the tunnel and then saw what she had heard, water seeping through the top of the tunnel and dripping into the porous rock below. She wanted to feel relief but there was something eerie about the steady, impersonal dripping. She had the wild feeling that if she were there very long it could send her into screaming hysteria. Her earlier apprehension that Robert Hepler might be dangerous had been lost in fear of the strange tunnel itself. It was like a trap, she thought shakily. A trap yawning open, waiting, only to close silently behind any intruder.

  Then she noticed something else. The water had brought with it over the years a layer of fine sand or dirt that covered the tunnel floor for some fifteen or twenty feet ahead. Tentatively Trish stepped onto the damp material. Her foot left a definite, unmistakable imprint. She probed the wide expanse of damp sand quickly with her flashlight beam. It was completely untouched, no trace of any footprint. Robert Hepler could not have crossed it without leaving footprints and so obviously he had not come this way. Relief surged over Trish. There was no need to go farther. She could turn back now.

  She did so, her eager footsteps taking her back considerably faster than she had come. She was surprised when she reached the junction of the small tube with the main tunnel so quickly. It seemed as if she had gone much farther into the bowels of the earth. Now the large entrance tunnel looked almost spacious and the tight feeling in her chest relaxed as if an iron band had been released. It was lighter here and she switched off the flashlight and stuck it in her jacket pocket. She breathed deeply, then hurried forward, anxious to get out in the sunlight. Somehow she was convinced Robert Hepler was not in this strange place and they would do better to recruit helpers and search the area closer to the house.

  She stopped short, blinking at the glare of light even though the tunnel entrance was still some distance away. Two figures were silhouetted against the light, one standing, one bent over. Trish hesitated, puzzled, but then the bent figure straightened and she recognized Armando’s stocky but well-built figure. The other one was Edith, the awkward cast and some oddly shaped object she was holding momentarily making her mature figure unrecognizable.

  “Did you find him?” Trish called.

  Armando jerked as if surprised to hear a voice. “No, no we didn’t,” he said slowly. His voice had an oddly unconcerned tone. He sounded almost amused as he added, “But then I didn’t think we would.”

  “You didn’t?” Trish asked, bewildered. She started forward.

  “That’s far enough,” Armando said sharply.

  Trish stopped, even more bewildered. “What? Is something wrong?”

  “Not that I know of,” Armando answered pleasantly.

  He bent over again, doing something with some object on the tunnel floor, but with the light behind them Trish couldn’t tell what it was. A wave of apprehension swept over her.

  “Tell me what is going on,” she demanded. “Where is Robert Hepler?”

  “I imagine he’s enjoying the sun on his patio with his nurse,” Armando said calmly. “Wasn’t that where he was when you left him, Edith?”

  Edith said nothing, but with a sick feeling Trish realized no comment was necessary. Something was wrong, terribly, frighteningly w
rong. Trish did not know what it was but she did not intend to stay in this eerie tunnel and play mysterious word games with Armando. She marched forward determinedly.

  “Stop right there.” It was Edith’s voice now, shaky but also determined. “Don’t come any closer.”

  Trish hesitated but did not stop. Armando did not seem to be paying any attention to her now. He was off to the side of the tunnel with what looked like a roll of wire in his hand.

  “I mean it!” Edith cried. “Stop!”

  “No,” Trish said, still walking forward. “I don’t understand any of this, but we can talk about it out in the daylight.”

  Trish heard something then, a metallic click, and at the same moment, Edith moved. She was still in silhouette with the light behind her, her face invisible, but there was no mistaking the object in her arms. A rifle.

  “Edith, this is insane!” Trish gasped. “What are you doing?”

  The answer came from Armando. “Just a few fireworks.” He had the flashlight turned on now, the beam pointed down toward the objects he was working with. “Only this time they’ll be a bit more powerful. But the show will take a few minutes to prepare. You came back sooner than we expected.”

  The glow of the flashlight reflected on his face, turning the handsome features into an unearthly devil mask. Trish gasped. It was as if the veneer of smooth sophistication had been stripped away, leaving only the hidden, raw evil of his character. Trish’s mind reeled, unable to comprehend any of this, knowing only that her life was in danger.

  “Edith?” she appealed tentatively.

  “Why didn’t you die in the fire the first night the way you were supposed to!” Edith cried, her voice anguished. “It would have been so much easier that way!”

  “The fire. You set the fire?” Trish gasped.

  Armando spoke. “I put the burning cigarette in your room, though I had to watch and wait until you finished your foolish midnight swim first. The cigarette was supposed to catch the curtains. Instead it fell on the mattress and smoldered there.” He sounded disgusted. “And then I had to unlock the door when you screamed loud enough to wake the dead.”

  Trish’s mind spun dizzily, hardly able to believe what he was saying. “And the accident with the horse?” Trish asked, her voice rising in panic. “You fired the shots. There was no injured relative!”

  “How clever of you to figure that out,” Armando complimented sarcastically. “As a matter of fact I purchased the horse because he was terrified of gunshots. It seemed a trait that might prove useful.”

  Trish’s mind wouldn’t seem to function, couldn’t seem to make sense out of all this. All she could think was that she had blamed Marc for everything. Marc! And all the time it was Armando who was the consummate actor, Armando with his logical, believable explanations about how and why Marc was trying to commit murder!

  “Edith, I can’t believe this is happening,” Trish gasped. “We’re sisters!”

  “Of course we’re sisters,” Edith said contemptuously. Her voice was no longer shaky. Now it was as cold and hard as Armando’s. “Do you think, from the time I was old enough to think about such things, that I couldn’t count on my fingers and realize there was a very good chance we were full sisters?”

  “But you seemed so stunned when I told you—”

  “Stunned that now you knew the truth too,” Edith said coldly. “It didn’t seem important when I first suspected it long ago. It didn’t matter. Not until I found the will.”

  “What will?” Trish asked.

  “My father’s will, of course. Leaving half of his estate to you!”

  Trish felt dizzy. Armando raised his flashlight suddenly and the beam hit Trish full in the face. She threw up her arm to shield her eyes. Then the beam moved impersonally on by her as Armando continued with what he was doing.

  “You planned it all, didn’t you?” Trish asked tremulously. “From the very beginning. That’s why you invited me down here. Not to be with you at your wedding but to get rid of me so the cafetal would be all yours when your father died.”

  Edith moved, resting the rifle lightly against her hip. Trish knew her sister would have no hesitation about using the gun. Trish now realized what had happened. The fact that they were sisters probably hadn’t seemed important to Edith, not until Armando came along and the will was discovered. How had Armando reacted when he learned Edith would not inherit the entire cafetal when her father died, that she would have to share it with some bothersome American sister? Then their relationship had become important, deadly important. Because if Edith lost half the plantation, she also lost Armando. And Edith, it was obvious, would do anything to keep from losing Armando.

  The silence hung between them, interrupted only by a few small rustlings from where Armando worked, ignoring them.

  “I—I’m really sorry it has to be this way,” Edith said suddenly. She sounded almost regretful as she added, “It sounded so simple when we planned it before you arrived. But then I found I really rather liked you.”

  “Liked me!” Trish’s voice sounded shrill to her own ears, verging on wild hysteria. “You can hold a gun on me and say you liked me? You’re going to kill me and you say you liked me?”

  The words seemed to echo around them and the two women stared at each other. Kill me… kill me… kill me. Trish felt dazed as with her own words the full force of terror hit her. They were going to kill her. Whatever Armando was working on was the instrument of death.

  “For God’s sake, don’t make this any more difficult than it already is!” Edith cried suddenly. “I was so sure it was over when Armando came back to the car and said you were lying dead at the top of the mountain. And then we got back to the house and there you were… alive! And I realized we had to do it all over again.”

  Trish remembered that day of her “accident” with the horse, remembered how stunned Edith had seemed. Trish had put all the wrong interpretation on that. She had put all the wrong interpretation on Marc’s actions too, she thought with bitter anguish.

  Edith went on, almost as if she were talking to herself now. “I was so afraid you’d leave, and yet I hated the thought of having to try again. You were so nice to me.”

  Edith’s voice drifted off vaguely, as if her determination to carry this through had weakened. Trish tried to press her slight advantage.

  “Edith, we’re sisters. Do you think you can live with yourself if you do this thing? And what about your father?” she added with sudden inspiration. “You love him. I know you do. Will you hurt him more by destroying me?”

  “She’s trying to play on your emotions now,” Armando warned. “Watch out.”

  Edith seemed to get hold of herself. The rifle, which had momentarily sagged in her arms, lifted again. Trish could see the silhouette of the butt cradled under Edith’s right arm, the barrel supported by her fingers protruding from the cast.

  “Neither my father nor I need you,” Edith said coldly. “We got along just fine without you all these years. You have no right to any part of the plantation.”

  “You really did it all, didn’t you?” Trish said, still incredulous in spite of what was happening in front of her very eyes. “The fire… the accident with the horse… the car wreck. That was meant for me too, I suppose.” Trish’s voice rose hysterically. “What went wrong there? Did you make a mistake and get caught in the trap you had set for me?”

  “That’s enough,” Armando said harshly. “There is no need for all this chatter. Everything is ready.”

  But Trish wouldn’t be silenced as fresh truths dawned on her. “You were never worried about my meeting your father, our father, because it might upset him, were you? You were willing to let me think he was mentally deranged to keep me from talking to him. You were afraid if I did talk to him and learned the truth I’d suspect you were out to get rid of me!”

  “But you weren’t that clever, were you?” Armando remarked, sounding evilly amused. “You went running to Edith to tell her the good ne
ws about your being sisters. When Edith’s father ‘disappeared,’ you even conveniently suggested where he might have gone and saved us the trouble of having to convince you to come here.”

  With a sense of desolation, Trish realized that was exactly what she had done. And she had swallowed Armando’s clever, twisted accusations against Marc all the way. Oh, if only she had told Marc everything. If only she had ignored her jealous heart when she found him with another woman! What did any of that matter now?

  Armando almost seemed to read her mind. He laughed an ugly, humorless sound. “I was afraid you’d get to Marcantonio de la Barca and tell him you and Edith were sisters. He’d have known what was going on then.” Armando’s voice hardened and he spit out an epithet about Marc. “Always so damn clever and suspicious, always snooping around.”

  “But you won’t get away with this!” Trish cried. “Marc… Marc cares for me! I know he does. He’ll search for me!”

  “Yes, Marc is in love with you. You should have had more faith in him,” Armando said dispassionately. “But it does not matter now.”

  “He’ll ask questions!”

  “Marc and everyone else will be told you suddenly decided to return to the States. Marc will have no difficulty finding consolation in other feminine arms, as I’m sure you realize.”

  He said it with the deliberate intent of hurting her, Trish knew. He was enjoying her pain. Physical torment wasn’t enough for him; he had to wound her very soul too.

  “But my father might not believe that story,” Edith said suddenly, sounding worried. “He’ll think it peculiar that Trish went away without saying good-bye.”