Gates of Paradise

by V. C. Andrews

  "I wouldn't have done it if I thought I couldn't, but I was able to wheel myself about, and after I tell you all the rest, you'll understand," I replied, quite taken aback by his outburst. This was a side of him he had kept well hidden until now, I thought, the side of Tony Tatterton that made employees shake and servants jump, the ruthless executive who couldn't tolerate anyone going against his wishes and commands.

  "Take her upstairs!" he bellowed before I could add another thing. "And don't use the elevator chair. I want her up there quickly! She looks exhausted."

  Parsons and the handyman rushed forward at his order and took hold of my chair, wheeling me to the foot of the stairway and lifting me to carry me up the steps.

  "Wait, Tony. I don't want to go up yet. I feel trapped in that room. I want to eat downstairs in the dining room tonight and I want to move about freely through this house. I have taken my first steps," I announced proudly.

  "First steps? Where? You need your rest, your hot baths, your massages. You don't know what you're doing anymore. The doctor will be enraged. All your progress will be ruined."

  "But Tony--"

  "Just take her up," Tony repeated. "Quickly."

  "Stop this. Put me down," I demanded. Parsons and the handyman looked at Tony again, but what they saw in his face made them continue.

  "Sorry, miss, but if Mr. Tatterton thinks this is best for you, we'd better do it."

  "Oh, all right," I said, seeing how I was only putting the servants in a difficult position. "Do what he wants."

  "Very good, miss." They lifted me easily and carried me up the stairs.

  "You can put me down now," I said when we reached the upstairs floor. "I'll wheel myself to my room."

  As I went through the outer door, I pulled it closed behind me. It slammed shut and then I sat in silence, confronting my bed, my walker, my medical facilities. It was all so depressing after being outside. I was determined to end this now. Luke was sure to get my message and come to visit.

  And when he did, I would demand he take me home.

  And I would leave this place, this house full of ghosts and haunting memories and painful times.

  Luke and I had lost our fantasy world, perhaps, but we would have each other. It was that thought and that thought alone that made me determined to leave.

  TWENTY A Prisoner's Escape

  . Exhausted from my first outing, my efforts to walk, and Tony's dramatic outrage, I wheeled myself to the bed. Just as I lifted myself out of the chair and leaned over the bed, Tony came through the door.

  "Annie, you should never, never close your door," he chastised. "How will I know when you need something? And look at you struggling to get back into bed. You should have realized I would be right up to help you." He pulled the wheelchair back and then swung my legs up and onto the bed.

  "I can do it myself," I insisted.

  "Oh, Annie. You're just like Heaven--stubborn. The two of you could rile up a preacher."

  "The two of us?" I swung around. "Mommy's

  dead . . . dead!" I screamed. I was so tired and so

  mentally exhausted, I had no tolerance for his confusions.

  "I know that, Annie," he said softly, closing and

  opening his eyes. "I'm sorry, sorry I had to be so

  rough with you downstairs, but you did a very bad

  thing, and I was just overwhelmed by it all." "It's all right, Tony. All right," I said, not wishing to prolong any discussion. I wanted only to get myself into bed, rest, eat my dinner, sleep, and

  wait for Luke's arrival.

  "No, it's not all right, but I'll make it up to you.

  I promise. You'll see. There are so many things I want

  to do for you now, Annie, things I will do, things

  could have done for Heaven if only she would have

  let me."

  "Okay," I said. I closed my eyes and then felt

  his hand on my forehead.

  "Poor Annie . . . my poor, poor Annie." He

  stroked my hair affectionately, and when I looked into

  his eyes, I saw the warm concern again. He was just

  too complex, too confusing for me. I just couldn't deal

  with him on top of everything else anymore. All I

  wanted was to leave here.

  Suddenly the light in his eyes changed. "This sweater you're wearing. Where did you

  get it?" he demanded.

  I didn't want to get Troy into any trouble, but I

  couldn't lie about it. Tony had gone through my

  wardrobe after Drake had brought everything, and he

  knew what clothing was hanging in the closets here

  and what was in the dresser drawers.

  "Someone gave it to me," I said.

  "Someone? Who?"

  "A very nice man who lives in the cottage on

  the other side of the maze," I replied, deciding to

  pretend I didn't know who Troy really was.

  "The other side of the maze? You went through

  the maze?"

  "I'm tired, Tony. Very tired. Please. I don't want

  to talk anymore. I just want to sleep."

  "Yes, yes. I'll help you undress," he said,

  reaching down to help remove the sweater.

  "No! I can do it all myself. I want my privacy.

  Just leave me be!" I demanded. He pulled back as if I

  had slapped him across the face.

  "Of course," he mumbled. "Of course. I'll let

  you rest and then see to your dinner."

  "Thank you." I didn't move, to show him I

  wouldn't do anything until he had left. He understood, nodded, still looking stunned, and then turned

  and left the room.

  I was quite a bit more tired than I had

  anticipated, and the effort to undress and get myself

  into my nightgown was exhausting. It seemed to take

  forever, too. By the time I had pulled myself under the

  cover and lowered my head to the pillow, I was

  drained. In moments I was asleep.

  I woke abruptly. It took me a few moments to

  acclimate myself again, and when I looked at the

  clock by the side of-the bed, I realized I had slept into

  the middle of the night. The house was as quiet as a

  funeral parlor; my curtains had been drawn closed,

  and only that small, weak lamp in the sitting room

  was on, casting long, thin pale-yellow shadows over

  the walls.

  My stomach churned and growled, complaining

  because I had slept right through supper. I pulled

  myself into a sitting position. Why hadn't Tony woken

  me to eat? Rye had not come in and left a tray of food

  here, either.

  "Tony?" I called. There was no answer, nor did

  I hear him stirring about in the sitting room. "Tony?" I

  raised my voice and waited again, but still there was

  no response. "Tony!" I screamed.

  I expected he would come charging in after that

  outburst to chastise me for sleeping through supper,

  blaming it on my excursion over the grounds of

  Farthy. But he didn't come. All remained quiet, still. I reached over to turn on the lamp on the night

  table, deciding that I would get up and out of bed,

  wheel myself into the corridor to see what was going

  on and why no one would respond. But after I turned on the light and illuminated the room, I was shocked to discover that my wheelchair was gone. And so was

  my walker! I was really trapped in my bed.

  "You can't do this, Tony," I muttered. "You

  can't keep me a prisoner here any longer. I'm going to

  leave. Do you hear me? I'm going to leave in the

  morning!"

  There was no response. I fell back against the

&n
bsp; pillow, exhausted and overwhelmed once more. I

  must have dozed of again, because a movement near

  the bed made my eyes snap open and my heart thump.

  Grinding my fists over my eyes, I tried wiping the

  sleep away. Tony must have returned to my room

  after I had fallen asleep and turned off my lamp. Even

  the light from the sitting room seemed dimmer. I

  could barely make out his silhouette at the foot of the

  bed, but I recognized his shadowy figure.

  "Tony? What are you doing? Why are you

  moving about in the darkness, and why did you take

  away my wheelchair and my walker?" I 'demanded.

  He didn't respond. He simply stood there, gazing

  through the darkness at me. "Tony!" I exclaimed, my

  voice more shrill. "Why don't you answer me? Why

  are you standing there staring at me like that? You're

  frightening me!" There was a long moment's pause

  before he finally did respond.

  "Don't be afraid, Leigh," he said in a loud

  whisper. "What?"

  "You shouldn't be afraid. I'm not here to hurt

  you." He spoke as if he were speaking to a little girl

  who might be frightened by his sudden appearance. "Tony, what are you saying?"

  "I'm saying I do love you; I do want you. I do

  need you, Leigh." His voice was a hoarse, .throaty

  whisper.

  "Leigh? I'm not Leigh. I'm Annie. Tony, what's

  wrong with you. Please . . get me Rye. I want to

  speak to Rye. I'm hungry," I said, nervous and

  frightened now. "I slept through supper and I'm

  hungry, I'm sure Rye will be happy to get up and

  prepare something for me," I babbled, hoping to snap

  him out of his dream. He sounded and looked like a

  man who was sleepwalking. "Go wake him. Please." "She's asleep. She won't know anything," he

  said, moving around the side of my bed.

  "She? Who's asleep?" My heart was pounding

  harder and harder. I felt as if my lungs were collapsing. it was so hard to catch my breath. My face felt

  hot, my neck on fire, and my mouth had become

  terribly dry. I couldn't swallow.

  "Not that it matters. She doesn't know what I do

  at night or where I go. She doesn't even care anymore.

  She has her own interests, her own friends." He

  laughed. "She has herself. She's always had herself

  and that's always been enough for her, but it's not

  enough for me, Leigh. You were right." He reached

  out for my hand. I pulled it back and moved as

  quickly as I could to the other side of the bed, but the

  newfound strength I had found in my lower body

  during the day seemed gone. Fear and shock drove all

  my energy away. I was beginning to feel numb all

  over and not just in my legs. I had to bring him to his

  senses; I had to.

  "Tony, I'm not Leigh. I'm Annie! Annie!" For a long moment he didn't move or say

  anything and I thought I had gotten through to him,

  but then he untied his bathrobe and let it drop to the

  floor. In the dim light spilling in from the sitting

  room, I could see that he was completely naked. Oh no! I thought. He's in a dream, moving

  through a fantasy, and there's no one here to help me,

  not even that horrible nurse. I was going to shout for

  Rye, but then I wondered if I would cause Tony to

  become violent or even more crazed, and Rye slept in

  the servants' quarters, so far away, anyway, there was probably no chance he would hear me. My only hope

  was to talk Tony back to sanity.

  "Tony, it's not Leigh; it's not Heaven. It's

  Annie, Annie. You're making a mistake, a terrible

  mistake."

  "I think I loved you from the moment I set eyes

  on you," he replied. "Jillian's beautiful. She will

  always be beautiful, but beautiful like a butterfly. If

  you touch her, she won't be able to fly and she will

  fade and die. That kind of beauty belongs locked up in

  a glass case, to be seen, appreciated, but never loved

  and experienced like your beauty, Leigh. Jillian's a

  picture to hang on the wall; you're a woman, a real

  woman," he added, his voice full of sensuous

  meaning.

  He sat on the bed and reached out for me. I

  cringed.

  "TONY! You're my great-grandmother's

  husband. I'm Annie, Heaven's daughter, Annie. You

  don't realize what you're doing. Please, get off my bed

  and go. Please," I pleaded, but my pleas fell on deaf

  ears, ears unable to hear anything but the sounds and

  words spoken in his imagination.

  "Oh, Leigh . . Leigh, my darling Leigh." His

  hand groped about until he found my left wrist and began to pull me toward him. I tried to resist, but I was so weak and so tired, I could barely put up a struggle. I was sure he was taking that as a form of encouragement. "We'll make love through the night, just as we did before, and if you want, you can call me

  Daddy."

  Call him Daddy? What horrible thing was he

  suggesting?

  Tony's hand was on my shoulder and he was

  lowering his face toward mine, bringing his lips to

  mine. I pulled my head back, but his other hand was

  on my waist, gripping it tightly. Without the full

  strength of my lower body, I was at a great disadvantage.

  "TONY! STOP! STOP!"

  His hand moved up my waist to my breasts and

  he moaned with pleasure.

  "Oh, my Leigh, my Leigh."

  I broke free of his grip on my left wrist and

  swung down at his left hand, catching him on the

  forearm and driving his fingers from my bosom. The

  blow shocked him.

  "TONY! STOP! I'M ANNIE! AND YOU ARE

  DOING A TERRIBLE THING, A THING YOU

  WILL REGRET FOREVER!"

  My words finally found their target. He froze in

  a sitting position. To dramatize my resistance, I

  leaned forward and pushed on his chest with both my

  hands, driving him back. The effort took all my

  strength and I collapsed against the pillow.

  "What?" he said, as if he heard voices I couldn't

  hear. "What?"

  "Go away," I pleaded in a strained voice. "Go

  away. Leave me alone."

  "What?" He turned and stared into the darkest

  shadows of the room. Was he imagining someone

  there? Were one of Rye Whiskey's ghosts calling to

  him? Perhaps it was the ghost of my great

  grandmother, or even the ghost of my grandmother

  demanding he leave me be. "Oh, my God," he said to

  himself. "Oh, my God."

  He stood up and looked back at me. I waited,

  my heart pounding. What was going through that

  twisted and tormented mind? Was he returning to

  reality or was he taking some other channel through

  the maze of his madness to find himself on my bed

  again?

  "I'm ,.. I'm sorry," he whispered. "Oh, I'm so

  sorry. ." He knelt down and scooped up his robe. Then he quickly put it on, tying the belt snugly. I watched without speaking, afraid that the sound of my voice might set him back. "I . . . I've got to . . . to

  go," he said. "Good night."

  I held my breath and barely turned my head as

  he moved away from the bed
and out the door. In a

  moment he was gone, but my heart didn't stop its

  racing. I was terrified he would return, and I was just

  too weak and too overwhelmed to struggle out of bed

  and crawl out of the suite.

  I was sweating so much my nightgown stuck to

  my skin. I had to get out of this place. I had to

  convince Drake or Luke or someone to take me away

  immediately. But Drake was in New York. And what

  if Luke didn't come? Panicked, desperate, my mind

  raced like a caged bird. Rye Whiskey! I must get him

  to help me! Or Troy! Or Parsons! Anybody! Please

  somebody help me get away from this madman! What

  had he done to my grandmother to make her run

  away? I could barely stand to think about it. The only

  thing that comforted me was the realization that it

  would soon be morning. I embraced myself as tightly

  as I could, the way Mommy would hold me to her

  whenever I had a bad dream and she came to my bed.

  And this was more than a bad dream. This was a

  living nightmare. I was afraid to fall asleep again, afraid that I would awaken once more to Tony naked at my side, but my eyelids grew heavy and I slipped

  into an exhausted slumber.

  "Good morning," Tony sang cheerfully. My

  eyelids fluttered open and I saw him opening the

  curtains wide. The bright sunlight turned away each

  and every shadow. He raised the windows to permit

  more air, and the curtains began a happy little jig over

  the windowsill. I didn't lift my head from the pillow.

  Instead, I lay there silently, watching him move about

  the room. He was dressed in a clean, light blue silk

  robe and looked unbelievably chipper. Was he pretending so I would think that none of what happened

  last night really happened?

  "I'll have your breakfast in a jiffy," he said.

  "Being nice to me this morning isn't going to help,

  Tony. I haven't forgotten last night."

  "Last night?" He turned, smiling. "Oh . . last

  night. You mean when I yelled at you downstairs. I've

  already explained and apologized for that, Annie. You

  shouldn't hold grudges. All of us make mistakes." "I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about