Jeffery Deaver - Praying for Sleep

“Are you going to shoot me in the back?”

“You tell them that.”

“Are you going to-”

“RUN!”

He ran, never looking back, believing that he’d die before he got ten feet. Then before he got twenty. Then fifty. Running through the streams of rain, waiting for death. He never turned and so he never saw the big man, holding the pistol high in front of him like a nineteenth-century Pinkerton detective, stalk slowly down the driveway of gravel and mud.

Lis stared at the young woman’s face. Even in the dark she could clearly see silver dots of reflection in her eyes. Yet Lis would have turned on all the lights in the kitchen, risked attracting a hundred Michael Hrubeks, to witness her sister’s expression at this moment, to see if her words were lies or the truth.

“Tell me honestly, Portia. Did you know about us, Robert and me? Before you… made love with him.”

Either way I lose, she thought. Either her lover had betrayed her. Or her lover and her sister. Still, she had to know the answer.

“Oh, Lis, of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you. Didn’t you know that?”

“No! How could I know. You’re my sister but… No, I didn’t know.” Lis wiped tears, looking down. “I thought he might have told you, and you, well, you just decided to go ahead anyway.”

“No, of course he didn’t.”

Lis’s heart hadn’t beat this hard since she’d been in the cave at Indian Leap, fleeing from her mad pursuer. “I didn’t know. All these months, I just didn’t know.”

“Believe me, Lis. Think about it. Why would Robert say anything? He wanted to get laid. He wasn’t going to spoil it by confessing that he was my sister’s lover.”

“When I saw the two of you there together…” She closed her eyes and massaged her temple. “And tonight, when you were flirting with Owen…”

“Lis.”

“Weren’t you?”

Portia’s lips pressed together tightly. Finally she said, “I flirt, sure. It doesn’t mean I want somebody. If Robert’d told me about you two, I’d’ve said no. Men look at me. It’s a power I have. Sometimes I think it’s all I have.”

“Oh, Portia. It was Robert of course I was so angry with. Not you. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to kill…” Her voice faded. “I felt so betrayed. Claire died because of him. After she saw you two, she was so upset she ran off and got lost in the cave.”

“Half the guys I go out with are Roberts. You can spot ’em a mile away. Lis, he was all wrong for you.”

“No! It’s not what you think. It wasn’t just a fling. We were equals, Robert and me. Dorothy was dragging him down. They hated each other. They fought all the time. And Owen? He doesn’t love me the same way. Not at all. I could feel it. After being with Robert, all I felt was the absence of Owen’s love. The night before the picnic, that Saturday night… Owen was working late in Hartford. And Robert came over.”

“Lis-”

“Let me finish. Owen called and said he wouldn’t be home before two or three. Robert and I made love in the greenhouse. We were there for hours. He’d pull the petals off flowers and he’d touch me with them-” Lis closed her eyes and lowered her head once more to her knees. “And then he proposed.”

“Proposed?” From Portia’s lips popped her breathy laugh. “He asked you to marry him?”

“He and Dorothy had been unhappy for a long time. She’d been cheating on him for several years. He wanted to marry me.”

“And you said no, right?”

“And,” Lis whispered, “I said no.”

Portia shook her head. “So he was pissed at you. And when I turned my big hazel eyes on him in the truck, he jumped at the bait. Oh, brother, did I put my foot in it, or what?”

“I didn’t want to end it with him. I just couldn’t leave Owen. I wasn’t ready to. He’d given up that woman for me. I thought I should try to make it work.”

“Mistake, Lis. Mis-take. Why didn’t you go for it? My God, it may’ve been your only chance to dump the last of the family.”

Lis shook her head, confused. “You?”

“No, no! Owen. You should’ve done it years ago.”

“What do you mean, last of the family?”

Portia laughed. “Doesn’t Owen remind you just a little of Father?”

“Oh, don’t be crazy. There’s no comparison. Why, look what he’s doing tonight.” She waved at the window. “He’s out there for me.”

“Owen’s a despot, Lis. Just like Father.”

“No! He’s a good man. He’s solid. He does love me. In his way.”

“Well, Father put a roof over our heads. You call that love?” Portia had grown angry. “You call it love when somebody says, ‘You didn’t clean up very well this week’ or ‘How dare you wear that low-cut blouse’? Then lifts up your skirt and leaves those darling little welts on you? The willow tree’s still in the backyard, I see. If I’d moved here, that’s the first thing that would’ve gone. I’d’ve chopped that son of a bitch to the ground in ten seconds flat.

“Tell me, Lis, how did you explain the marks in gym class? You probably changed into your uniform with your back to the locker. I told everybody I had an older lover who tied me up and jerked off while he whipped me. Oh, don’t look so horrified. You talk about love… Love? For Christ’s sake, if we grew up in such normal circumstances, how come you hide away in this Neverland and why’m I the easiest fuck on East Seventy-second Street?”

Lis buried her head in her arms, the tears streamed.

Her sister said, “Lis, I’m sorry.” She laughed. “Look what being back here does. It makes me crazy. I’ve had more of a dose of family than I can deal with. I knew I shouldn’t have come on the picnic. I shouldn’t’ve come tonight.”

Lis touched her sister’s knee, observing that Portia was once more wearing her gaudy silver rings, and the flecked crystal, like a huge grain of salt, again hung from her neck. A moment passed and Portia lowered her hand onto her sister’s toughened, ruddy fingers but offered no pressure and soon withdrew it.

Then Lis too took back her hand and looked out the window, staring at the rain snaking down the glass. Finally she stood up. “There’s something I have to do. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Do?”

“I’ll be right back.”

“You’re going outside?” Portia sounded frightened, mystified.

“The padlock on the basement door. I have to see about it.”

“No, Lis. Don’t. I’m sure Owen checked it.”

“I don’t think so.”

Portia shook her head and watched Lis take the gun from her pocket and awkwardly pull the slide to put a bullet in the chamber. “Lis…”

“What?”

“Nothing. I… Nothing.”

Carefully pointing the muzzle toward the floor, Lis dons the bomber jacket. She pauses at the back door, looking back. The old house is dark, this house three stories high and filled with flowers and books and the spirits of many dead. She thinks how odd it is that we’re awed by our mortality only during the small moments-when we think of painted fingernails, or a passage of music, or the proximity of sleeping bodies-never at mean, ruthless times like these. She flicks off the safety catch of the gun and feels no fear whatsoever as she steps into the rain-drenched yard.

Owen Atcheson, every inch of his skin wet, in agony, ducked against the muddy embankment of the drainage ditch and cringed like a child as a shaft of lightning engulfed the sky above him. The thunder shook his teeth and sent spasms of pain through his left arm.

After all this, he thought, please don’t let me get electrocuted.

He looked along Cedar Swamp Road, down which the Jeep had vanished five minutes before, sending rooster tails of dirty rain into the air behind it. He’d recognized it as Will McCaffrey’s. He supposed the old coot had worked overtime at the mill and was finally heading home.