Jan Burke - Sweet Dreams, Irene

There was a gunshot.

Had one of them killed the other? No, after a moment I could hear their voices again. Raney’s much quieter now. Then the sound of the truck starting and driving off. Had they left?

I heard someone moving around outside. The hair on my neck stood on end. I could taste my own fear. I listened. Nothing.

I waited a long time. Still nothing. Slowly, I pulled myself down to the creek, rinsing my face, calming myself. I felt for the knife, but realized I must have lost it in the fall down the slope. With small, careful movements, I made my way along the creek bed, trying to stay out of the view of the cabin. I would survive. There were trees up ahead that would hide me better.

“THAT’S FAR ENOUGH,” a voice said in front of me.

HE WAS POINTING a gun at me. There was no need for a mask now. I would be dead soon, so why bother? Still, I was surprised. I had guessed wrong.

“Hello, Paul,” I said, as if I were meeting him at a church social instead of after being his prisoner. And now his prisoner again.

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it, and said, “You’re going to very much regret what you’ve done, Irene. Devon was my cousin. I loved him very much.”

“As much as you loved your grandmother?”

I should have known what his response to that would be. Runs in the family. His blow to my face brought me to my knees. He put the gun up against my forehead and told me to stand up.

“Can’t. You’ll have to help me. Your beloved cousin did too much damage to my ankle.”

His help wasn’t gentle. As he reached to grab my shoulders, I saw a set of white ridges on his wrists. It was not a tattoo of a goat that Sammy had seen after all – she had recognized the scars of Paul Fremont’s teenage suicide attempt.

He dragged me between the trees and up a slope that wasn’t as steep as the one I had slid down. I was beyond being able to resist physically. I decided I wouldn’t cry if I could help it. No tears, and no yelling or screaming. No telling him where the journal is. I had my rules in place by the time he let me fall into a heap in the clearing in front of the cabin.

I dreaded the possibility of being put back into the room with Devon’s body, but Paul didn’t take me inside. He stood over me a long while, as if deciding a course of action. I lay unmoving, as much from exhaustion as from fear.

He moved behind me, pressed the gun to my head, and flattened me to the ground by placing a knee into my back. My left arm was pinned beneath me. He grabbed my right wrist, pulling my arm up into my back.

“Uncle,” I said, wincing.

He pulled it harder.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Without saying anything, he eased the pressure off it, moved it around so that my hand was to the side of my head. He held tightly to my wrist, pressing it to the ground. He kept the gun up against the back of my ear. I couldn’t figure out what he wanted me to do.

My shoulder was on fire, having been stretched as far as it would go. Or so I thought. He proved me wrong by suddenly yanking my wrist up into the air with all his might. I felt a burning, tearing sensation. My shoulder, leaving its socket. Tears came to my eyes unbidden, but my teeth remained clenched, so I managed not to scream. He laughed and laughed.

“When Frank Harriman finds you, lady, you are going to be broken into so many pieces it will take all day to count them. Think about that.”

What I thought of was a string of obscenities. I was drenched in sweat. I felt close to passing out. I longed to. I didn’t.

He grabbed my right hand, never moving the gun from my head. He bent my right thumb part way back. My shoulder hurt so much, it was amazing to me that I could feel him pull at my thumb.

“You know what’s coming, don’t you?”

I did, but I didn’t answer him.

When he broke the thumb, I broke my rule about crying out. The scream was something that seemed to happen on its own.

It was as that scream died that I heard the sound of a motor. Someone coming up the drive.

He heard it too. “Raney’s back. Now I’ll have to share some of this fun with him. If I can keep him from killing you outright.”

But I knew he was wrong. I had learned the sound of the truck, and this was not the truck. Hope rose up against my pain. The sound stopped before the vehicle had reached the crest of the drive, and we heard doors closing. Two doors. Now Paul knew as well as I did that this wasn’t Raney.

“Come out where I can see you or she dies,” Paul shouted.

No reply. He pulled on the arm. I didn’t want to, but I screamed again.

“Let her go, Paul.” Frank. Sweet God in heaven, Frank had found me. In the next instant, I wanted him not to be there, not to see me like this. That passed.

“I’ve got a gun pointed right at her head. If you and whoever you’ve got with you don’t show yourselves, she gets a bullet.”

“Let her go, son. It’s too late. The sheriff will be here any minute.” Jack Fremont was walking into the clearing. He came to a halt when he saw us.

“Don’t call me your son, you asshole.”

“Paul, please,” Jack pleaded. “Please don’t do this.”

“Where’s Harriman? Get the fuck out here or I’ll do her right now. Take a good look at her if you think I give a damn!” There was a rising hysteria in his voice. Frank came into the clearing. He had his gun in his hand.

“Drop it, Frank, or I’ll kill her right now.”

He hesitated, but let it drop at his feet.

“Raney’s dead, Paul,” Jack said, moving closer. “The truck went over a cliff.”

“Liar. Stay back. Don’t come anywhere near me. I wish you were dead. I hope you go through hell.”

“Is that why, Paul? You did all of this because I told you I was sick?”

“Not sick, dying. You told me you were dying. And I couldn’t wait around for that old bitch to die. Not when I could make everybody think it was you. Killed her, then all I had to do was wait for you to die.”

“She gave you so much,” Jack said. “And you killed her?”

“She gave all right. Oh yeah. She gave me and Ma everything we could ask for. But she let us know it. Every damn dime, she wanted something back for it. We had to listen to her go on and on. We had to let her know where every penny had been spent. Made us live with her. Like she could buy us! Goddamn I got tired of always having to do things her way. But where were you all that time, Daddy dear? Running around on a motorcycle like some kid. Coming back just to break Ma’s heart. I hate you.”

“Let Irene go,” Frank said. “She’s never done anything to you.”

“Oh no? Well, go on in and take a look at Devon. This bitch killed Devon and she’s going to die for it.”

He grabbed me by the hair and cocked the gun.

“No!” There was so much anguish in Frank’s voice, I could hardly bear it.

Paul laughed.

It infuriated me. “Fuck you. I hope he cuts your heart out.”

“Just for that, bitch, I think I’ll kill him first.”

What happened next happened fast. Paul raised up off me a little to turn and point the gun at Frank. I rolled over against Paul’s legs, trying to throw off his aim. Frank dove to the ground and Paul fired the gun. He missed, and as Frank picked his own gun up, Paul turned and aimed right at me. There was no doubt in my mind that he was about to kill me, but in the next second I heard a whistling noise and a strange thunk . There was a knife in Paul Fremont’s chest.

“Dad?” he said in amazement.

“I couldn’t, Paul,” Jack said, his voice full of misery. “I couldn’t just stand here and watch you do it.”

Paul looked at me then, the gun still in his hand, a bright red stain spreading over his chest. For a moment I thought he was still going to pull the trigger, but suddenly he fell over.