Linwood Barclay - Fear The Worst

The one shot Veronica managed to get off had caught Patty in the chest. The gun fell from Patty’s hand as she collapsed against the wooden beams, then slumped down into an awkward sitting position.

I lunged for Veronica, grabbed her wrist and slammed it against the railing. But there was no fight in her. The gun went over the side and down into the creek. Veronica didn’t move.

Syd was screaming.

I got my arms around her. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” I said. I kept telling her it was okay, that it was over, that we were going home, that she was going to see her mother, that everything was going to be okay, that the nightmare had come to an end.

Even though the sirens were closing in, suddenly it seemed very quiet.

I kept holding Syd. I wanted to hold her forever, never let her out of my arms again, but we weren’t totally out of the woods yet. People were hurt. Patty. And Bob. Even though I’d only been nicked in the ear, I was feeling very faint.

No doubt a large part of that was emotional. This roller-coaster ride we’d been on for weeks was coming to an end. I felt like I was shutting down.

“Sydney,” I said softly, trying to calm her, “it’s over. You’re coming home. You know that, right?”

I felt her head go up and down.

“We’re going home. We’re going home now.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

“The police, the ambulance, they’re coming,” I said. “They might see Bob, but they won’t know anyone’s in here.”

Another nod, a sense that she was pulling herself together, at least slightly. “I’ll tell them,” Syd said.

“I’ll stay here with Patty,” I said. “She’s shot pretty bad.”

“You too,” Syd said, looking at the blood running down from my ear.

“It’s not that bad. But… I’m feeling a bit weird.”

Then we both looked at Patty. There was a huge black spot rapidly spreading across her chest.

“Daddy,” Syd said, not able to take her eyes off the blood, her voice shaky. “You said she was my-”

“Hon,” I said. “Go. Now.”

She looked at both of us a moment longer, sniffled, nodded, then started running down to the end of the bridge.

I slid over, put my arm around Patty, pulled her into me, felt the warmth of the blood that was soaking her clothes.

If only I’d known. If only I’d known.

“They’re coming,” I said to her. “Just hold on.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I barely made out the words. They came out raspy, bubbly.

“Don’t talk,” I said, trying to comfort her, putting my face up against her cheek, our tears coming together. “Don’t talk.”

“I just wanted you to love me,” Patty whispered.

“I love you,” I said. “I do.”

I stayed and held Patty as she drew her last breaths while my other daughter flagged down the ambulance and the police.

As always, I want to thank my terrific agent, Helen Heller, and at Bantam, Nita Taublib and Danielle Perez for their continued support. Also, thank you to Deborah Dwyer, for her usual meticulous copy-edit. My friends Carl Brouwer and Mike Onishi, two retired car salesmen who’ve both persuaded me over the years that I really did get a great deal, were generous with their time in explaining how their business works. Dale Hopkins filled me in on credit card fraud, and told me a slew of private detective stories I hope to rip off from him one day. Finally, none of this would mean anything without Neetha, Spencer, and Paige, who deserves a special thanks. Eating the eggs I’d made her one morning, she said, “Suppose you came to pick me up at my job, and found out I’d never worked there?”

LINWOOD BARCLAY is a former columnist for the Toronto Star . He is the author of several critically acclaimed novels, including Too Close to Home and No Time for Goodbye , a #1 bestseller in Great Britain. He lives near Toronto with his wife and has two grown children. His website is www.linwoodbarclay.com.