Kevin O'Brien - One Last Scream

Catching her breath, Sandra gazed at the ugly mark it had covered on the back of Annabelle’s wrist.

“I want you to have this,” Annabelle said, slipping the wide, silver bracelet onto Sandra’s wrist. She did it in an almost ceremonial way. “It means we’re one and the same.”

Baffled, Sandra stared down at the bracelet.

Annabelle was pulling her down the hallway. “C’mon, take a look at him,” she said. “He’s totally unconscious.”

“Can’t we just go ?” Sandra pleaded. “Please, I want to get out of here.”

“No, I need to say good-bye to him,” Annabelle insisted. She dragged her into the master bedroom.

Her father lay on the bed, his jeans unfastened in front and a T-shirt riding high on his exposed, hairy beer gut. It rose up and down as he breathed heavily in his sleep. Sandra could see the red marks on his face from the chloroform.

Annabelle stared at him, and her grip on Sandra’s arm tightened. “I hope you wake up in time to feel the flames,” she whispered to her unconscious father. She shook with rage. “I hope you’ll be in terrible, terrible pain, you fucking scumbag.”

Then she spit in his face.

Sandra winced. “Annabelle, please, you’re hurting me….”

The talon-like grip on her arm loosened, and then Annabelle released her. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “I better give him one more dose of this stuff,” she said, reaching for a bottle and rag on the bureau.

“What did you just say about flames ?” Sandra asked numbly.

But Annabelle didn’t answer. Her face pinched up and turned away from her work, she soaked the rag with chloroform.

Sandra rubbed her arm and, once again, frowned at the silver bracelet on her wrist.

When she looked up, she saw Annabelle coming at her. Before Sandra knew what was happening, Annabelle shoved her against the wall and stuffed the rag in her face.

Sandra’s head slammed back against the wall. Dazed, she fought and struggled to push Annabelle away, but the other girl was stronger. The fumes were too much. She tried not to breathe in, but it was no good. She couldn’t move. She felt paralyzed.

“You promised,” she heard Annabelle say. “You’re going to help me get away and start new someplace else.”

After that, Sandra didn’t hear anything.

Sandra Hartman didn’t feel anything either, not even later when the flames burned her body beyond recognition. She never regained consciousness during the fire. She never felt the horrible, excruciating pain.

But Lon did.

Amelia still hadn’t shown up yet. And she wasn’t answering her cell phone.

Standing on the steps outside the Wenatchee Public Library, Karen felt the cold night wind cut through her. She glanced at her wristwatch: 7:00.

She couldn’t have missed Amelia. She’d been at the rest home for no more than a half hour. The trip had been worthwhile, too. Miriam Getz had given her a better idea about the incident that had traumatized Amelia as a child. Still, it didn’t make sense that Amelia clung to such sweet memories of this neighbor man who had obviously been trying to molest her. The only people who didn’t believe that Clay Spalding was pure evil were Amelia and Clay’s friend Naomi Rankin.

Karen had left Naomi a second voice mail, but still no response.

However, the person she was most concerned about right now was Jessie. It had been at least ninety minutes since she’d spoken with her. How long did it take to find a stupid hotel room, anyway? Jessie certainly should have called her by now to say that she and George’s kids were all right. Something must have happened. And Karen had no way of getting in touch with her, because Jessie didn’t own a cell phone.

She took out her phone and punched in George’s number. Maybe Jessie had gotten in touch with him instead.

She caught George in his car on his way to the Salem airport. He told her about the graves at the Schlessinger ranch.

The wind kicked up, and Karen shuddered on the library steps. “Well, there were four missing-person cases in Moses Lake in 1992,” she said into the phone. “The last one was a few months before the Schlessingers moved to Salem. I’m still trying to dig up more information about that incident with the neighbor molesting Amelia. So far, it seems pretty much the way Annabelle’s teacher described it to you. In the meantime, I’m standing in front of the library here, freezing my butt off, waiting for Amelia.”

“Are you sure it’s Amelia?” George asked.

“Almost positive,” Karen said. “She borrowed Shane’s car and drove out to Grand Coulee Dam early this morning. God knows why Grand Coulee Dam. But she’s on her way here now. If all goes well, we should be back in Seattle before ten.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m worried about Jessie and the kids. Have you heard from her?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m trying to get home. Jessie called a little while ago. I think something’s wrong at the house.”

“What do you mean?”

“Steffie had an asthma attack. She’s supposed to be okay now. But I’m not sure Jessie’s telling me the whole story.”

“She called from your house?” Karen asked.

“Yeah-”

“And Jessie didn’t say anything to you about running into Amelia at my place this afternoon?”

“But I thought you said Amelia’s been at Grand Coulee Dam all day.”

“She has been.” Karen told him about Jessie’s brush with Annabelle that afternoon, and how Jessie had noticed Blade’s Cadillac parked outside George’s house earlier in the day. “Jessie didn’t tell you any of this?” Karen asked.

“No, she didn’t say anything-”

“Did she mention that Shane is dead?”

“Oh, no,” George murmured. “God, no, she didn’t….”

“The police think he shot himself,” she said sadly.

“Jesus, Karen, what’s going on?”

“I told Jessie to take the kids and check in at a hotel,” she explained. “It doesn’t make any sense that she’d go back to your house. George, something’s wrong.”

“Well, maybe she just got a little mixed up with everything that’s happening,” he said. “Plus, Jessie has a family emergency of her own, too. She has to take off for Denver tonight. Her sister’s very sick. It sounds serious.”

For a moment, Karen couldn’t say anything.

“George,” she whispered, at last, “I’m sorry, but Jessie doesn’t have a sister.”

“I’ve called ahead and chartered a plane,” George said. “I should be at the Salem airport in about five minutes. I’ll call you when I land in Seattle. That should be at around eight-thirty. Can you stick around until then, Jessie?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” she said into the phone the young man held to her ear. He listened in on George’s cordless. Jessie was still strapped to the chair, with her hands taped behind her. She’d lost some of the feeling in her arms.

“Any updates on your sister?” George asked.

“No. I was just about to call them,” she replied.

“Is it your sister Estelle, the one with Alzheimer’s?”

Jessie hesitated. He somehow knew this was a setup. “Yes, it’s Estelle,” she said, going along with the fake name George had picked. “I’m really worried the old girl won’t last the night,” she said carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Jessie,” he replied. “Well, I’ll be there soon, unless you want me to send someone else over there to take over.”

His Majesty shook his head at her.

“No, I–I can hold down the fort until you get here.”

“Could I talk to Steffie? Or is she still asleep?”

“Sorry, George, she’s still napping.” Jessie glanced up at the young man. Behind him, through the living room window’s sheer drapes, she could see someone walking up the McMillans’ driveway. Jessie couldn’t tell who it was. The person was too far away. With his back to the living room, the man in the dark glasses hadn’t noticed yet.