Last Seen Alive

by Carlene Thompson

  Rusty stared at her for a moment. Then he said in a rush, “What I’d like to do is talk to you. Privately.”

  “Privately?” Chyna tried to keep her voice light, but it didn’t work. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I need to explain something to you. Can we go outside?”

  “Outside? Why do you want to go outside? It’s chilly. There’s a breeze blowing up—”

  “Chyna, please.” Rusty’s slender, earnest face and gray eyes pleaded with her although he kept his voice low and controlled. “I know this might sound silly. Or maybe it sounds threatening under the circumstances.”

  “Under what circumstances?”

  “Just go out on the terrace with me for a few minutes. If you’re uncomfortable, you can come right back in. Or even scream if you want. There are three other men here.”

  Rusty looked so pale, so pathetic, and so harmless that Chyna couldn’t say no to him, although she knew she should. After all, she’d watched Nancy Tierney running down a path through his eyes—Nancy, who had fallen and smashed her head on a rock, causing a subdural hematoma that had killed her. Chyna knew she could have been seeing Rusty gazing at Nancy a week ago, two weeks ago, or even a day before she died. But something told Chyna that wasn’t the case. Rusty had seen Nancy the day of her death. Minutes before her fall. And if he hadn’t been the one chasing her, causing her to tumble as she fled from a pursuer, then why hadn’t he called the Emergency Service when he saw she was badly injured? Why had he waited for hours until a search party had found her?

  “Rusty, anything you have to say to me you can say right here.” She heard the slight quiver in her voice although she’d

  been trying to sound stern. “If it’s something private, you don’t have to worry. The men are in the living room. They can’t hear you.”

  “My father can walk like a cat when he wants to. He could be standing beside the doorway, listening, and neither of us would know it. Chyna, I’m not going to hurt you, but I have to talk to you and only you. For God’s sake, I beg you….”

  Chyna could feel herself melting when she saw tears rising in Rusty’s soft gray eyes. Good heavens, he’s going to start crying, she thought in horror. Poor Rusty, with that gentle heart and that awful father, is begging to talk to me and I’m treating him like a pariah.

  “Let’s go out the back door and look at the fountain,” she said casually. “Do you mind if the dog goes with us?”

  Rusty looked so grateful, Chyna felt her throat tighten against her own tears. This day had been too much for her. She knew she was losing control of her emotions, doing things that weren’t prudent or safe, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  Rusty asked, “Michelle is the dog, right?” She nodded. “Then I don’t mind. I love dogs.”

  Michelle had fallen asleep under the kitchen table and Chyna nudged her awake and motioned for the dog to follow her. If Rusty was truly dangerous, she was quite sure Michelle wouldn’t attack him—she was too timorous—but at least she would bark at any sign of trouble.

  Rusty followed Chyna and Michelle onto the terrace. The air felt heavy and moist—depressing—not sunny and light as it had when Chyna had talked to Rusty in the park earlier today. She wondered if this was a portent. Was she about to meet her end just like Zoey and Heather and Edie? And maybe Deirdre, too? The rational part of Chyna told her she was being a fool, but her emotions were taking control.

  She and Rusty walked slowly around the old fountain. “This fountain used to be beautiful,” Chyna said, trying to sound offhand. She didn’t want to pressure Rusty into talking before he was ready. “My grandfather designed it and I loved the angel on top. I thought of it as my guardian an-

  gel when I was little. And there were goldfish. Huge goldfish. Only about a month after Grandfather died, the fountain cracked. We came out one morning and the terrace was covered with water and dead fish. I remember sobbing and my mother told my father it had to be fixed immediately. He had it patched and turned on the water every summer, but he never replaced the fish. He said if it cracked again and more fish died, he couldn’t bear to see me as brokenhearted as I had been that day.”

  “He sounds like a thoughtful man.”

  “He was.”

  “Were you … intimidated by him?” Rusty asked.

  Chyna’s gaze sliced to Rusty’s. He’d said “intimidated,” but he’d meant “afraid.” Chyna sat down on the edge of the drained pool beneath the fountain and looked at him. “No, Rusty, I wasn’t at all intimidated by my father. He was rather remote, but always gentle and loving.” Rusty nodded slowly, clearly intending to say nothing about his own father. Chyna asked softly, “What is it you wanted to tell me, Rusty?”

  Rusty remained standing, looked at his shoes, looked over at the nearly leafless trees, and finally fastened his gaze just past her face. “When we were in the park this afternoon and you took my hand, you had a vision or read my mind or, well, you saw something about me, didn’t you?”

  “I had a… sensation,” Chyna answered carefully.

  “It was more than a sensation.” Rusty finally looked directly at her. “I saw it in your eyes. I saw that you saw—” He broke off and sighed wretchedly. “You know I was watching Nancy the night she was killed.”

  Chyna hesitated. Was it wise for her to be honest? Then she knew she had no other choice, because somehow Rusty was already certain she’d had a vision of him and Nancy. Maybe he was a bit psychic himself.

  “I saw you in a group of trees watching Nancy running up the path. As she neared you, you stepped behind one of the trees.”

  “Is that all?” Rusty asked.

  “Yes. It was just a flash. I didn’t even know if it was a vision of the evening she died. It could have been a different evening.”

  “It wasn’t. It was that evening—the evening of her death. But you didn’t see her fall or … or anything else?”

  The despair in his face grew and he sounded almost disappointed. “That’s all I saw, Rusty. Honestly.” Chyna paused, trying to decide if she should push the matter further. But Rusty obviously wanted to talk with her, maybe even confess. What kind of coward would she be if she fled from a murder confession when she was perfectly safe? At least, relatively safe, with the other men so close by. She tried to look composed and asked calmly, “Do you want to tell me about that evening, Rusty?”

  “Yes, even though I’m sure you’ll think I’m some kind of pervert.’^ He jammed his hands into the pockets of his parka. “Maybe I am a pervert. I was acting like one that evening.”

  He fell silent, his vision turned inward. Should I stop him now? Chyna wondered. Or should I prod him to say more, even if I don’t want to hear it? Her mind flashed to the beautiful young girl lying in a coffin, and Chyna knew she must try to find out what Rusty had to say, even if what he had to say was appalling.

  “I don’t think you’re a pervert, Rusty,” Chyna said honestly. No matter what had happened between Rusty and Nancy the evening she’d died, Chyna somehow knew this man was not depraved. Nevertheless, he looked at her doubtfully. “I’m not reassuring you so I can get information, Rusty,” she said sincerely. “I’m telling you the truth.”

  His steady gray eyes seemed to search hers for a moment. Then some of the tension left his body. He looked beyond her at the sky that had turned the color of weathered tin. “I was years and years older than Nancy, but she’d fascinated me ever since she was a little girl. I didn’t lust after her. Honestly, Chyna, I didn’t.”

  Chyna was taken aback by the fervor in his voice. “I believe you.”

  “I guess you could say I envied her. I was never much to look at. You remember me in high school, before I had plastic surgery. I was ugly.”

  “You weren’t ugly, Rusty.”

  “You don’t have to patronize me.”

  “I’m not. I’ll admit, you look better now, but you didn’t look bad then.” She paused. “I was an adolescent when I knew you, and most kids tha
t age aren’t known for their kindheartedness, especially when it comes to the looks of the opposite sex. But even then, I didn’t think you were ugly. Not even close. You just weren’t a heartbreaker.”

  “Like Scott Kendrick?” Chyna blushed and was glad Rusty was looking at the trees again. She couldn’t think of anything to say and was glad when Rusty continued. “My family was disappointed with my looks, my shyness, my clumsiness. Mostly my father. Then along came Nancy. She was a beautiful baby who grew into a beautiful girl. Not just beautiful—extroverted, entertaining, athletic. As she grew up, I used to watch her a lot because everyone doted on her. I thought if I watched her enough, I could learn to be like her. Not feminine, but charming and accomplished—someone people admired.” He finally looked at Chyna. “That was stupid, wasn’t it? Traits like Nancy’s can’t be learned.”

  “I don’t think it’s stupid,” Chyna said. “I used to try to copy my mother because everyone loved her.”

  “But you didn’t need to copy anyone, because you were also beautiful, smart, admired.”

  “I don’t think I was admired after I reached age seven and people started thinking I was a kook because the gossip was that I claimed to have ESP.” She made herself laugh. “In fact, I don’t think those people who gathered on my lawn today, pitched a rock through my window, and called me ’the devil’s spawn’ admired me one bit.”

  Rusty smiled faintly before his face once again fell into morose lines. “I know things have been bad for you lately. But still, you’re special. Nancy was special, too, but in a different way.” He looked back at the sky. “But back to my disgraceful tale. Once I got into the habit of watching Nancy, I

  couldn’t seem to stop. I just wanted to figure out what she had that drew people to her when they seemed to avoid me, even when I had my looks improved.”

  He sighed. Chyna felt she should say something wise, but nothing came to mind. Besides, she didn’t want to break Rusty’s talkative mood. “I used to watch her run. She was so agile, so elegant, even when she was running and panting and sweating, that I was amazed. I knew where she went to every evening, and I’d hide and watch like some nasty voyeur, just to see how she could manage to be so charismatic even when she was just jogging.”

  A pinecone from a nearby evergreen fell and blew across the terrace. Rusty kicked at it and missed, although it was only an inch away from his shoe. “I started doing some soul-searching and decided I was acting stupid. Watching Nancy wasn’t going to help me to be more charismatic. Besides, it felt weird, almost… dirty.

  “So I started taking my evening walk down a different path,” Rusty went on. “I’d been doing this for about two weeks when one evening I heard someone running behind me. Not close, but definitely running. Fast. I don’t know what got into me.” He paused. “Okay, I was scared. Another one of my admirable traits—I scare easily. So I got off the path and sort of hid behind some trees. In just a minute, Nancy ran by. At first she was running like usual, with that professional style. Then she started running like a regular person would if they were running from something. At least I thought that’s how she looked. I didn’t want to spook her, so after she passed by me, I moved forward and stood behind another tree. I just stood there.”

  “Nancy didn’t see you?” Chyna asked.

  “I don’t think so. She was going so fast, mostly looking straight ahead, but a couple of times glancing over her shoulder. Her face…” He shook his head. “I only caught glimpses, but she looked alarmed. Panicked, actually. And then …” He broke off and closed his eyes. “And then she fell. Well, she didn’t really just fall; she stepped in a hole in the path and crashed to the ground. I’m sure I heard a thump

  as her head hit that rock. I could swear I heard the bones in her ankle breaking, but maybe that’s just my imagination. Before she fell, though, I heard something else. I heard someone running behind her. There were hard footsteps pounding down the path. They weren’t as fast as hers. In fact, they sounded a little bit clumsy. But they kept coming. When she fell, though, they slowed, then stopped.”

  For a moment, Chyna fell silent. Rusty was lying, she thought. He was making up a story, covering for himself. He must be.

  But something within her demanded, What if he isn’t? You can’t just dismiss what he’s saying. You can’t. Softly she asked, “Rusty, did you see who was running behind Nancy?”

  “N-no.” Chyna focused, trying to sense whether he was lying, but she failed. He sounded sincere, but she wasn’t certain. “I didn’t see anyone,” Rusty said mechanically. “Only an empty path. No person.”

  “All right,” Chyna said softly, determined not to sound as if she were interrogating Rusty. She instinctively knew that would send him into silence. “What did you do after Nancy fell?”

  Rusty was silent, gazing into the distance as misery grew on his face. “I stood there behind that tree, looking at her. I just stood there! I didn’t have my cell phone with me, but I could have gone for help. I could have, but I didn’t!”

  “Why not?” Chyna asked casually.

  “Because then everyone would have known about me. Because everyone in my family, hell, everyone in town, would have said, ’There’s that awful Rusty Burtram. He hides and watches girls.’ I couldn’t bear the shame. I couldn’t bear my father’s anger and indignity, I couldn’t bear his disgust with me, and believe me, he would have been disgusted. He would have felt repulsion every time he looked at me, even more than there already is, and I just couldn’t bear it.”

  “Would he have fired you?”

  “Fired me?” Rusty almost laughed. “No. Worse. He would have stood behind me in public. The public image is what counts, you know. He would have praised me and made

  up some story about why I didn’t do something for Nancy. But in private—”

  Rusty shivered. He’s like a little boy, Chyna thought. A little boy terrified of his father.

  Rusty swallowed. “So I just stood still, watching her. I saw how her foot was twisted in a way that had to mean her ankle was broken, and I saw blood seeping from her scalp onto that rock. So much blood.” He shivered again, then looked at Chyna. “I thought I heard the other footsteps running away, but I wasn’t sure, so I waited for at least twenty minutes. And then I left. Nancy was still alive, breathing, bleeding, so badly needing help, and I… just… left!”

  Rusty’s voice had risen dramatically. His gentle eyes looked wild and he slapped a hand over his mouth, as if to choke back more words and maybe sobs. Sensing trouble, Michelle stood up and moved closer to Chyna, never taking her amber gaze off Rusty. Chyna didn’t take her gaze off Rusty, either. She couldn’t imagine that the cringing, tortured man standing in front of her now was the same nonchalant, smiling guy she’d seen earlier today in the park. She knew strong emotion could change a person’s physical aspect remarkably, but the difference was almost unbelievable.

  “I let Nancy die because I was worried about me!” Rusty ground out. “Don’t you see how loathsome that is?”

  Silence spun out for a few moments before Chyna managed to say, “I can’t say it was heroic, Rusty.” She was glad her voice was gentle and steady even though she felt as if she was quivering on the inside as hard as Rusty was on the outside. “But no one is perfect. We’ve all done things or not done things we regret.”

  “Like let someone die? Have ever just let someone die, Chyna, because you were afraid of what people would think of you?”

  Chyna drew a deep breath and thought, wondering what harmless, soothing thing she could say to this hysterical man. But she didn’t have to say anything, because Rusty went on in that awful voice turned gravelly by torment. “And the worst thing is that I know her death wasn’t just an acci

  dent! When Nancy ran by me, she looked scared. After I heard the other footsteps, I knew why. She was fleeing. Good God, Chyna, Nancy was chased to her death!”

  By now Rusty’s face was crimson from the effort of speech, sweat pouring from his forehead over his
slender cheeks, his hands held out to Chyna almost in supplication, as if he were asking her forgiveness for his cowardice. She sat rooted on the fountain rim, her dog pushing in alarm against her right leg, her mind blank, unable to come up with one consoling, calming word.

  Suddenly Rusty’s head jerked around to the kitchen doorway and his eyes filled with dread. Almost in slow motion, Chyna turned as well to see Owen, Rex, and Gage standing there, staring, motionless.

  Then Owen, looking at Rusty with narrowed eyes cold as winter ice, said in a quietly furious voice, “It’s time for us to go home, son.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  1

  By seven o’clock, darkness cloaked the Greer house and Chyna wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake by not accepting Ned’s offer to stay with him and Beverly. Then she thought of the children, who would no doubt expect to stay up later than usual because they had a special guest— Michelle the dog, not Chyna. Beverly would enforce bedtime, which would cause arguments and perhaps tears, neither of which Beverly needed when she was already upset about Deirdre Mayhew. Ned, in the meantime, would be watching any sports show he could find, not a difficult task, because they could get about two hundred channels using their satellite dish. Chyna didn’t mind watching an occasional live ball game, but she couldn’t bear Ned’s whooping and yelling at the television.

  No, she’d made the right decision to stay in this house tonight even if she felt slightly uneasy, she thought as she sank down on the couch, Michelle beside her. Chyna needed her dog, a light dinner, time to read or to listen to music, and, most of all, peace.

  Peace. It sounded nice, but how could she have peace with her mother gone forever? They had been so close. They’d talked to each other on the telephone every three or four days. Sometimes, when Chyna had endured a particularly grinding

  shift at the hospital or a child she’d come to love had died, she’d called her mother, who always managed to make her feel better. If not better, at least calmer. And Vivian had always been there for her, day and night, knowing just what to say. Now they could never talk again.