Harlan Coben - Play Dead

Helplessness overwhelmed her. There was no phone nearby, no way to move Stan toward the car and safety. She took off her coat and pressed it against the wound, tears streaming down her face.

‘I’ll be right back,’ she said. ‘I’m going to get help.’

Stan looked up at her through his dying eyes. Delirium was beginning to set in. He was going to die, goddamn it. He was finished, through. There was no pain now but he could feel his soul slowly being torn away from his body. Something was tugging at him, dragging him away from this cold alley.

Stan could make out Gloria’s concerned eyes. Another woman looking down at him with pity. Women had been the bane of Stan’s short, miserable existence on this planet. They had punched him, abused him, hated him. They had ripped deep into his soul, leaving scars and wounds maybe death would finally heal. But Stan still craved vengeance on them, on the whole vile gender. As Gloria looked down upon him, he had one last chance before he died. He had one last opportunity to crush a woman like an insect. He would tell her that he had never cared for her, that he only used her, that she was nothing but a worthless whore like all the others.

She rose to leave but his hand reached out and grabbed her. Now she would know pain, he thought. Now she would know what it was like to have your insides shredded.

‘Gloria?’

‘I’m right here.’

Death crawled toward him. His eyes began to roll back and close. ‘I love you.’

They were only one block away now. The time had arrived. In a few moments, Laura would see her mother.

Serita drove the car slowly. She resisted the temptation to gun the engine, to speed her white BMW down the road and past the driveway up ahead. In many ways, she wished that the ride would last longer, that they would never get out of this car, that they would never find out the truth about David’s death. She felt like they were sitting alone in a doctor’s office waiting to hear the results of some life-and-death test, trying to distract themselves by reading the diplomas on the wall and the useless health pamphlets.

‘Laura?’

Laura’s breathing came in short gasps. Serita could almost feel her friend’s mind pulling in different directions, stretching to the point where it would not snap back. ‘What?’

‘You sure you don’t want me to go in with you?’

‘No,’ Laura said firmly.

‘What time do you want me to come back for you?’

‘I’ll make my own way home.’

‘Humor me, Laura. I’ll come back in a half-hour and wait out here until you’re ready, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Laura replied.

Serita flipped up the blinker. There was no way to put it off any longer. She swung the car into the driveway, her headlights dancing across the bushes as though searching for an intruder. She drove the BMW up to the front door of the house. No lights shone through any of the windows. No lights illuminated the outside of the familiar home. Laura opened the door and stepped out.

‘Looks like nobody’s home,’ Serita said.

‘Not yet,’ Laura answered. ‘My father is working late tonight. My mother should be home in a few minutes.’

‘Are you going to wait out here?’

‘I have a key.’

‘Right,’ Serita said. ‘Well, good luck, Laura. Keep your cool.’

‘I will.’

Laura turned away from the car and made her way to the door. She fumbled through her purse, found her key, placed it in the lock. The door opened easily. She moved into the house and closed the door behind her.

Her hand located the light switch from rote memory. She had been flicking that switch since she was a fat infant who had had to stand on her tippy-toes to reach it. She glanced about the surroundings of her youth as though they were all new to her. The familiar house seemed different today, like a book she had only skimmed through but never bothered to read from cover to cover.

Laura climbed the steps to the upper level of the house. She knew exactly where she was heading. At the very least, her mother was an organized person. Everything had its place. Mary Ayars lost nothing. It was a characteristic her youngest daughter had not inherited. Whenever Mary had visited Laura’s office, she invariably asked, ‘How can you work in this mess? How can you find anything?’

The truth was that half the time Laura could not find what she was looking for, but then again that was why she had Estelle. Estelle, who was up at Colgate with Judy’s mystery key, kept great files, freeing Laura to create mass disarray in peace. Laura’s mind worked fast, too fast sometimes. Ideas flew in and then details would slip out. Not so with her mother. Her mother was a plodder. She did one thing at a time and she did not take on a new task until the prior one had been completed.

My mother would never hurt me, never hurt our family. She loves us…

Laura’s head pounded. Her mother. Her beautiful, loving, often smothering mother. Mary Ayars had taken care of her daughters when they were sick, had held them when they were scared of the dark. She had read them stories before bed and tucked them in with a kiss before sleep. Could it have all been a lie? Did Laura ever really know her mother? Questions like these ate away at Laura’s brain, ate away at her ability to be rational. So few things in life were consistent. Her mother had always loved her unequivocally and unselfishly, but now Laura was forced to wonder about the very foundation of her life. Mary Ayars’s ravishing facade was being slowly peeled away, and Laura no longer wanted to see what was underneath it.

There has to be a mistake. There just has to be…

But her mind knew that her mother held the key to David’s death. How, why, she could not say. Her mother had hated David from the beginning, had begged Laura not to see him. Why? She had never even met him, had never even sat in the same room with him. Why was she so against their relationship? Couldn’t she see how happy he made her, that for the first time she was truly in love? Had a thirty-year-old love affair blinded Mary so? Had the past forced her to fly to Australia, meet with David and…

And what?

A chill passed through the corridor. Laura did not know the answer to that question but it would come soon enough. Right now, there was something else that Laura had to do. She entered her parents’ bedroom and made her way straight to the night-table on her mother’s side of the bed. She pulled open the second drawer and spotted the blue cover almost immediately. She took it out, opened it, quickly glanced through the pages. In a matter of seconds, her fears were confirmed. She had known it was coming, had prepared herself for it, but the confirmation still wrenched her heart painfully.

It’s true. My God, it’s true…

A door opened downstairs. ‘Hello?’

Her mother’s voice. Even the sweet voice now seemed tainted. ‘I’m up here, Mother.’

‘Laura?’ Mary called back surprised. ‘What are you doing here?’

She placed the blue item from the drawer into her pocket. ‘I came to talk to you,’ she yelled down.

‘At eight o’clock at night? Why didn’t you call, darling?’

‘I… I don’t know.’

‘You should get to a hospital. Dr Clarich says – ’

‘I feel fine.’

‘And how did you get here anyhow? Your car isn’t in the driveway.’

Though the voice was only coming from downstairs, it seemed to echo from so far away. ‘Serita drove me.’

‘Then you’ll be staying the night?’

Laura could hear the hope in her mother’s voice. ‘I don’t think so. She’ll be back for me in a little while.’

Mary moved into the kitchen. ‘Why don’t you come downstairs, Laura? All of this yelling is giving me a headache.’