Meg O'Brien - The Final Kill

Abby shot a surprised look at Davis and caught him smiling just before she sent him a Twisting Vine—including the kick to the groin and fingertips to the eyes. Davis was perfectly capable of protecting himself, so she didn’t do any damage. However, it gave her some small sense of satisfaction that she’d almost managed to catch him off guard. Not that she didn’t love Davis, but when they practiced she went into a zone where he became just one more enemy needing to be struck down.

They continued like that for another half hour. When they’d finished, Jancy was looking around the walls at the black-and-white framed photos Sister Liddy had taken of Davis and Abby training. Usually, when people looked at those pictures, they had something nice to say about them. Even flattering.

Not Jancy, though.

“I can tell from these pictures, and just from watching you today,” Jancy said matter-of-factly, “that you’re trying way too hard. That’s why you can’t get your black belt.”

“What do you mean?” Abby asked, only slightly offended that Jancy didn’t comment on how wonderful she was to have made it this far at all.

“Well,” Jancy said, shrugging, “it seems to me that you’re learning all these moves so you can know how to hurt someone—not just to defend yourself. So you’re going at it way too hard.”

“You think so?” Abby said testily.

Jancy shrugged again. “It shows that you’re insecure. Maybe you should practice meditation. Meditating could help build your self-confidence.”

“Well, thank you so much for the advice,” Abby said sweetly. “Do you think meditating could get you to stop shrugging so damned much?”

“Abby?” Davis said.

She bit her lip and turned to him.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with your young friend here,” he said mildly. “Whatever those pictures are in your mind while we’re working out, maybe they need to be a bit more…friendly. I nearly lost all hope of having children today.”

Abby flushed. “Oh, God, Davis, I’m so sorry. I had no idea—”

He grinned. “Abby, the point is moot. I’m gay, remember?”

“Oh…right.”

“So I won’t be having progeny. I sure would like to know who you’re thinking of, though, when you go off in that world of yours.”

Abby could have told him. A three-hundred-and-sixty-degree, clockwise-twisting circle down the opponent’s arm? Jeffrey.

Left foot to six o’clock, in a right cat stance facing twelve o’clock? Jeffrey.

Right kick to the groin, fingers stabbing the eyes? Who else but her former bastard husband…Jeffrey?

She sometimes thought of Marti, the horrors of her final hours, but that took her to places that made her truly afraid of what she might do.

“Sorry,” Abby said again. “Really. I’ll work on that.”

When Davis left, she gave Jancy a pair of her own black jeans and a black jersey top to wear. Then she pinned the girl’s multicolored hair up and covered it with a small veil borrowed from Narissa, one of the expostulants at the Prayer House. Giving her a once-over, Abby said, “Okay. That looks pretty good—you could pass for a nun in this getup.”

They headed out to the stables. Now that it was daylight, she could see that there were no agents or cops nearby. If anyone happened to be watching from one of the surrounding hills or roads, they just might take Jancy for one of the young sisters.

When they got inside the stables, Jancy talked to the horses, asked their names and rubbed their noses. She clearly loved the animals, but no longer seemed interested in riding.

“I just don’t feel like it right now,” she said, sliding down into a sitting position and leaning her back against the outside of the stall.

She’s depressed, Abby thought. Nearly all the young girls who came through here with moms on the run were depressed, to some extent.

“Maybe someday I’ll take vows and all that,” Jancy said, her fingers twisting in the veil as if it were hair. “It must be easier than living in this stupid world.”

“Well, if that’s what you want,” Abby said, sitting beside her.

“All my life, I’ve wanted to be like Audrey Hepburn in The Nun’s Story,” she said.

“Really? All your life?” Abby smiled. “You’re fourteen, Jancy. When did you see that movie?”

Jancy blushed. “Last year, on video. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I became a nun at eighteen.”

“You?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised. It was a temporary fling,” Abby said.

“Wow. I never would have thought that you…I mean, my mom told me about you once, and I thought you were rich. You know…one of those society matrons.”

Abby laughed. “A society matron? God forbid.” “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Have you informed your parents of your plans to become a Bride of Christ?” Abby asked.

“Once. We were driving by a convent and I told my dad. But he pointed at bars on the windows. He said they lock the nuns up in there.”

Attaboy, Gerry. Keep the kid off that vocational track.

“It does seem that way to some,” Abby said. “But actually, in those convents where there are bars on the windows it’s because the nuns want to lock the world out.”

“Really? On purpose?”

“On purpose.”

Jancy seemed to think about that. “Those people last night were looking for us, weren’t they? Mom said if they catch us they’ll lock her up.”

Abby saw no point in telling her anything but the truth. “They said you and your mom had something to do with a man who was found dead at the Highlands Inn last night. They want to question her. And you, too, since you were with her.”

She let that sink in a moment before she asked bluntly, “Did Alicia kill him, Jancy?”

The girl gave a small jump. “No way! We just found him like that!”

“Can you tell me how you and your mom ‘just found him like that’?”

Jancy shook her head and didn’t answer.

“You must know you can trust me by now,” Abby said. “I won’t repeat a word to anyone.”

Jancy hesitated, but then it began to pour out. “He…the guy…he was some sort of reporter. I don’t remember his name, but that’s what Mom said. Some old guy.”

“Old?”

“Fifty, at least.”

Abby tried hard not to smile. “So did your mom know this guy well?”

“I guess. He was eating in the restaurant, and so were we. Mom went over and talked to him. I don’t know what they talked about, but he seemed pretty mad. He got up and walked out, and when she got back to our table she was mad, too. I wanted to go into Carmel and walk around the shops after dinner, but she said no, she had business to take care of. So I sat in the lobby while she made a phone call, and when she got done she said we were going to visit somebody.”

She wiped her eyes, as if to clear them of unpleasant images. “It was awful. We went outside and up the driveway to some room that looked like a private condo from the outside. You know, not in a hallway like a hotel. Mom knocked on the door. Nobody answered, but the door was open a little, so Mom pushed it open more and we went inside. She called out a couple of times—”

“What name did she call?” Abby asked.

Jancy shook her head. “I can’t remember. I wasn’t really listening, because I felt like somebody could walk in any minute and shoot us for trespassing. All I wanted to do was get out of there.” She took a breath, and her voice began to shake. “Then we saw him. This guy, the same one in the restaurant, that reporter. There was one of those big square tubs with jets right in the middle of the bedroom, and he was there—”

She gave a shudder. “There—there was blood in the water all around him. It looked like somebody had—had cut his throat.”