The drawing room was in shambles. Several lamps were lying on the floor, glass fragments everywhere. A plant table had been knocked over, with earth and pieces of lacy fern scattered across the oriental carpets.
Near the centre of the room, Scott Fournier held Caroline by the shoulders and was shaking her. Her head snapped back and forth, and she had at last stopped screaming.
Conklin was pulling at Scott’s arm trying to make him release Caroline. Another shoulder radio hung from Conklin’s snow-white lapel. I knew then that Marc and Conklin had been plotting together to catch Scott in the act of entering the house and inflicting more damage to Caroline or the property.
Scott was in a rage. No one watching him now would call him pleasant or good-natured. His lips were drawn back and his teeth looked longer, sharper than they had the few times he had smiled at me with such sincerity.
He pushed Caroline back onto the sofa so hard that later, when I thought about this scene, I was amazed the antique sofa hadn’t buckled under the force. At the same time, one arm came up and he hit her in the face with a closed fist. He lifted the arm a second time, but Marc was there by then and grabbed it.
“Okay, Fournier, enough.”
Marc was a larger man, and when he pushed, Scott fell back. At that point, although I would never presume to criticize a police officer as experienced as Marc, I believe he should have whipped out his gun and smacked Scott with it, then handcuffed him. But he didn’t, maybe because he didn’t think Scott a serious threat. Or maybe he meant to after telling Conklin to unlock the kitchen door to let in the other police officers.
By the time Conklin turned swiftly in the direction of the kitchen, Scott had pulled something out of his jacket pocket and was pointing it at Marc.
“Stop, you,” he commanded Conklin over his shoulder.
It was a little gun. It looked so much like a toy that I almost laughed. I was glad I didn’t after I saw Marc’s face. It was as drained of colour as I had ever seen and his fingers moved spasmodically. I could tell he was cursing himself for letting this happen. The pounding at the kitchen door increased. Underlying the din were the sounds of thunder and the rain as it slammed against the windows.
I was seated on the sofa beside Caroline, trying to comfort her. I could see that Scott had hit her more than once. Both eyes were mere slits in her swollen face, and a thin trail of blood trickled from a cut on her lip and ran down her chin and throat.
“All of you, get over there.”
Scott stepped back a few feet and with the ridiculously tiny gun, motioned Conklin and Marc over toward the sofa. I had stood up at his words, but Caroline sat rigid and still.
“Pull out your gun and put it on the table,” he ordered Marc.
I knew that any police officer would rather lose an eye than give up his or her gun to anyone, and I could tell by Marc’s set face and the clenching and unclenching of his hands that he was thinking about tackling Scott, gun or no gun.
I willed him to look at me, to tell him to hand over the gun. I didn’t think Scott was prepared to shoot all four of us, plus the police officers outside. If Marc refused to give his gun up, I felt certain Scott would lose the rest of his thin strand of control and shoot him.
And Conklin. Conklin was leaning forward as thought he, too, wanted to throw himself on Scott and take him down to the floor and pummel him until he was bloody and motionless.
Okay, that’s what I wanted to do. But I was worried about Conklin doing something foolish and getting himself hurt. The racket at the kitchen door had settled into a rhythmic pounding as if a battering ram were being used to break through. And I could hear fists beating on the front entrance as well. Maybe I should have been concerned about Hammersleigh’s ancient front door with its demon knocker, but I wasn’t. I just wanted them to break it down and help us.
The sounds distracted Scott, and he turned one way and then back the other like he wasn’t sure where his most immediate threat was located. The gun moved back and forth too, back and forth, first pointing at Marc, then Conklin, then Caroline and me. He seemed to have forgotten Marc’s gun for the moment.
Marc appeared not to notice the pounding from either the back of the house or front. He kept his gaze on Scott and moved almost imperceptibly toward him. His arms were hanging straight at his sides and he made no attempt to get at his own gun.
“Scott, right now all we can charge you with is assault on your wife. And if you give me the gun that’s all we’ll charge you with. We can work this out if it doesn’t go any further.” His voice was calm and deliberate.
I realized in that moment of danger that I loved him without reservation, hoping it wasn’t too late to matter.
Scott wasn’t buying it. Either he knew the many charges he faced included the more serious firearm violations, or he was beyond reason, or he didn’t care about his life or freedom. Whichever it was, he didn’t put down the gun. He stepped closer to Caroline and me.
Reaching across in front of me, he pulled Caroline to her feet and dragged her farther back from the rest of us. She stood still as a dead woman, beaten both physically and emotionally. Her eyes stared at the pale intricate pattern in the carpet and as we watched, the essence of her, the last bit of strength and defiance, dissipated and I knew she would not fight him back ever again.
I couldn’t stand any more. I walked over to them and pulled her by the other arm.
“Let her go. She doesn’t want to be with you anymore.”
The gun was pointed at my chest. I think I still believed then that this was just silly, plain and simple. People in Blackshore didn’t have little guns that they frightened other people with, and they didn’t shoot real bullets at anyone.
“Lyris…” Marc moved a half a step closer. From the corner of my eye I could see Conklin inching away toward the kitchen. He was out of Scott’s sight.
“Get back.” Scott shouted. The gun moved from the level of my chest to Marc’s abdomen. I didn’t like that any better so I spoke again.
“Caroline is not your property. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want to be your wife anymore and you must respect that. You should go away and leave her alone.”
“Shut up, you interfering busybody. She’s coming with me now.” He pulled Caroline away from me, and swung the gun in Marc’s direction again. I noticed that Marc was now about a foot closer to Scott. Conklin was still backing away behind Scott. If he made it to the dining room he could dash through the pantry and from there to the kitchen.
I tried to distract Scott from Conklin and also from Marc, who inched forward whenever Scott’s attention was on me or Caroline. “Can’t we talk about this before you leave? You can see Caroline is hurt. You wouldn’t want to take her away before we fix her face, would you?”
“Can’t you shut up?” Scott was almost crying. “I love her. And she loves me. I know I lose my temper sometimes, but she knows I’m sorry, and if she wouldn’t make me so mad, it wouldn’t happen.”
“Lyris…” Marc warned. I shut up.
Conklin was not quite out of sight. It was almost impossible to ignore the racket coming from both ends of the house, but Marc and I managed not to react. The kitchen door was a solid slab of steel and I wasn’t sure it was penetrable by human hands, and I knew it would take a tank to batter down the front door. Why didn’t they just break a window and crawl in?
Caroline was beginning to sag at the knees, and I was afraid she was going to collapse and force Scott into a desperate act. He couldn’t carry her and manage the gun at the same time.
“Can’t you just leave us alone? Caroline needs to lie down and there is no place you can take her where the police won’t find you.”
My blood froze when he answered.”It won’t matter if they find us.”
Marc’s expression changed, and I knew he had understood Scott’s words too. He attempted once more to make Scott listen to him.
“Scott, put down the gun. We can get you some help from people who know
and understand what you are feeling. Your life can be good again.”
“My life has never been good,” Scott snarled. He turned his body fully to face Marc. The two men were only a foot or so apart by this time, but Marc made no attempt to grab the gun.
Scott shifted his attention back to Caroline. I had my arms around her again and realized that Scott had turned his wrath on me. Although the thunder was still breaking the sound barrier, I could hear his words very clearly.
“You…if it wasn’t for your interference, my wife would have come back to me a long time ago. You turned her against me.”
The gun wavered in his hand as his eyes darted back and forth between Marc and where I stood with Caroline.
I was scared. I should have been scared before. Now I was for real. I was scared for myself, for Caroline and mostly for Marc, who was almost imperceptibly moving in on Scott. I wanted to tell him to run away, save himself.
At that instant, the universe shifted and everything changed forever, for so many of us.
Marc must have decided that Scott was going to shoot me, and it was now or never. At the second that Scott’s arm and the gun moved once again toward Caroline and me, he lunged.
Scott saw the movement. He turned and pointed the gun at Marc. The sound of the shot was drowned out by yet another clap of thunder, so loud the house shook.
At the same instant a flash of lightning turned the room white, and time seemed to stand still. Marc’s eyes met mine and I thought he said something to me. Then he dropped to the floor.
Time resumed, and in the after flash of the lightning, I almost missed the movement in the hall.
A black streak was airborne. At the very instant that Scott turned the gun toward me, Rasputin jumped onto his back and dug in his claws.
Scott yelped in pain and flung his arms wide. The gun flew from his hand as he spun around, trying to throw the cat from his back. Rasputin hung on and Scott whirled around the room, tripping over tables and knocking over objects that had escaped his earlier rage.
I don’t clearly remember the next half hour in correct sequence.
I know I flung Caroline aside and crawled over to Marc. He had fallen on his side, and as I reached him, a final tearing, wrenching sound from the kitchen preceded the arrival of Ronnie, Tammie and two or three other police officers.
Several of them chased after Scott who had run out toward the hall and the front door.
Somebody called for an ambulance. I watched in horror as blood spread across the carpet from beneath the spot where Marc lay, still and motionless. I was sure he wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t see his chest rise and fall. I knew at that moment he was dead.
I was pushed aside and other, urgent hands surrounded Marc. Conklin pulled me away to where Caroline sat staring at nothing. The three of us grouped close together as if for warmth—I was shivering uncontrollably and could feel Caroline’s body trembling beside me. I was scarcely aware that a wet nose pushed into my hand and a white furry body climbed into my lap. I wondered what had happened to Rasputin. He saved my life, Caroline’s too. I never would know whether he leaped on Scott with intent or by accident since Scott was the only moving object in the room at the time.
Later, when I would have climbed into the ambulance with Marc, they wouldn’t let me. I stood in the driveway with the thunder booming and the unrelenting lightning flashing around me. The cold rain plastered my shirt to my body and mingled with the tears I knew were running down my face.
I could feel them. Because tears are hotter than rain.
CHAPTER 31
Rasputin slipped inside just as I was closing the door on the storm. He must have clung to Scott’s back as far as the driveway and either jumped or was shaken off before Scott got into his car and disappeared into the darkness. The cat was wet through to the skin and looked half his normal size. He slunk past me and slowly climbed the staircase, looking back once with his enormous copper eyes.
Conklin stood at the foot of the stairs, standing out of the way while the police went about their business in the drawing room. I didn’t want to know what they were doing and I didn’t want to see the enormous, dark stain on the carpet.
“Conklin, I’m going to the hospital. Have you seen my purse?”
“Madam, you can’t drive yourself, and you can’t go looking like that.” He pointed at my shirt.
I looked down, at the thin fabric, wet and pink.
“Go and change, Madam. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
I didn’t take the time to shower or even dry off. I just swiped at the blood and pulled the shirt over my head and threw it on the floor of my bedroom. I was aware that Jacqueline and Rasputin were in the middle of the bed and I didn’t have any comfort to give them.
Neither of us spoke on the drive into town. Conklin drove with his usual care, and a few times, he almost stopped completely. I couldn’t blame him. The wipers couldn’t keep up to the sheets of water hurled at the windshield by the storm. But it took all the self-control I possessed not to wrench the steering wheel from his hands and slam my own foot down on the gas. Conklin turned on the heater, but I still couldn’t stop shaking.
I was at the point of screaming by the time we reached the emergency wing of the hospital. I opened the door and jumped out as Conklin slowed the car.
Inside was systematic chaos. Nurses and doctors in blue and green scrubs ran in and out of examining rooms. Three or four police officers, including Ronnie and Tammie, stood in a group in one corner of the hallway. I could hear a quiet sobbing from one of the treatment rooms and knew it was Caroline.
She had been taken away by a second ambulance, but since her wounds were far less severe than Marc’s, she was not getting much attention. I should have gone to her, but my whole focus was on Marc. Was he even alive? I wondered if he had died alone in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.
That was the moment of my deepest despair. If I had stayed upstairs when Marc instructed me to, I wouldn’t have antagonized Scott, and Marc would have controlled the situation from the beginning. And he wouldn’t be here now, dying or dead.
Ronnie saw me standing there and came over. Tammie turned her back and continued talking to the other officers.
Ronnie pulled me away from the middle of the room and pushed me into an empty chair. “He’s still alive, Lyris.”
Good thing I was sitting down. Still, there were spots in front of my eyes and I felt my head wobble.
“He’s lost a lot of blood, but all of us have stored three pints of our own blood here at the hospital. They’re giving it to him now. And if he needs more, we’ll get it. Don’t worry, Lyris.”
“I love him, Ronnie.”
“I know you do, Lyris.”
The freckles stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin. I could tell he was as scared as I was.
“Once Marc is stabilized, he’ll go into surgery so they can repair some of the damage. The bullet went right through his shoulder, but missed his heart.”
The spots danced again. When they cleared, Ronnie was gone and Conklin sat in his place. He patted my shoulder and murmured words of hollow comfort. I heard Ronnie talking to Caroline, and while she didn’t answer, at least she had stopped crying.
A sudden flurry at the front door broke the silence. My heart leaped again in my chest, and seemed to stop.
Another stretcher was wheeled in through the double emergency doors. The storm might bring several accident victims in for treatment and I felt a furious resentment at the idea. I didn’t want any medical attention directed away from Marc. I didn’t care about any of those other people. Marc was important. No one else mattered.
A high-pitched wailing nicked my consciousness. Caroline ran out of the examining room and hurled herself on the accident victim. The man on the stretcher was Scott. He was accompanied by the two police officers, who had pursued him as he fled Hammersleigh.
By the state of his body, I guessed he had lost control and crashed. He didn’t
look like he had been shot. Not like Marc. I looked at Scott Fournier lying there bloody and broken, and I hoped he was suffering more than Marc.
Conklin sat beside Caroline, trying to calm her. He wasn’t having much luck, and there was nobody left to treat her. The few medical personnel not assigned to Marc were bent over Scott in a nearby treatment room.
It took only a few minutes before a young intern came out of the room and walked toward me. “Are you related to Scott Fournier?”
I didn’t answer, just gestured toward Caroline and Conklin. Then I averted my eyes from the intern’s blood-encrusted scrubs. I was so relieved it wasn’t Marc’s blood.
They had to sedate Caroline. Her wailing filled the emergency waiting room for what seemed like hours before finally ceasing. In the meantime, I watched as they rolled Scott’s body away, to the morgue I guessed. I felt no pity or compassion.
After that, time passed, must have passed. I sat there wishing I had a blanket over my jeans and sweatshirt to warm me.
Police officers came and went away again. Ronnie alternated between me and Caroline, who remained unconscious on a nearby stretcher. I wanted to be oblivious too, but was afraid to close my eyes. I knew if I fell asleep, Marc would be dead when I awoke.
Believe, Lyris. Life is full of endless possibilities.
I sat straight up in my chair.
You, Leander. Where have you been? You should have let me know this would happen. I could have done something to stop it. I would have listened to Marc.
I’m so sorry for your pain. However, as I mentioned before, I am not always within reach. And there is no way you could have prevented this.
What good are you to me, then? You must at least know if Marc is going to live. Can you tell me that, Mister All-Knowing?
I understand how afraid you are. Marc’s recovery depends on his own soul’s journey, whether he will take advantage of this exit point. Or stay.
Cheat the Hangman Page 31
