Текст книги "The Gift of Death"

Автор книги: Sam Ripley

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

65

He watched him come out of the motel room, get into his car and drive off. A few seconds later she started her engine and followed.

He was on the tail of both of them. Where was Ryan Gleason going? And what would Susan Gable do to him?

Whatever was about to happen he was looking forward to getting a ring-side seat. He pushed his foot down hard on the gas. He hadn’t felt this alive in years.

66

What was she supposed to feel now? Of course, part of her wanted to scream, ‘Yes!’ at the top of her voice. Yes, she would go back to him. Yes, she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. Yes, she still loved him. But – somewhere at the back of her mind there was a horrible niggling sense of doubt that threatened to cast a shadow over her life. He had left her once. What would happen if he did it again? She couldn’t bear that to happen.

It would be easier to tell him ‘no’. But then would she always live with a constant feeling of regret? If only, she might wonder to herself, if only I had had the courage to take a risk.

She had to do something to take her mind off him. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself some more ice tea. She took her drink out to the terrace and watched the waves for a while. As she observed their rise, their fall, their fury and their peace she made up her mind to spend some time in the dark room. But first she needed to check on her mother. She called her mom’s line and waited, imagining her mother tending some flowers in the garden, looking up as she heard the noise of the phone, putting down her shears and slowly ambling towards the house. She let the phone ring and ring, knowing that it would take her some time to answer. Finally she heard her mother’s voice.

‘Hello?’ She sounded vague, distant.

‘Hi, mom. Are you okay?’

‘Yes, dear. Why?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, you just sounded a little –‘

‘No, I’m fine. Gorgeous day, isn’t it?’

It was the same weather as always in LA, but her British-born mother never could get used to the fact that in California it was sunny every day.

‘Look – I’m going to be working at the beach house today. But I should be back later. Will you be alright?’

‘Gosh, yes. I’ve got so much work to do in the – or what’s the word for it. The, the – ‘

‘The garden?’

‘Yes, that’s right. The garden.’

It wasn’t the first time she had forgotten a word. In fact, Kate thought it was getting worse. And sometimes, when Kate looked into her eyes she saw nothing but emptiness, a blankness that was frightening.

‘Mom, do you remember we talked about you going to see Dr Harrison?’

‘Yes.’

‘I know you said that you were fine, but I do think it would be a good idea just to see him.’

‘I don’t see why, but –‘

‘So when I get back we’ll have another talk about that. And we can find a good time to go together. Okay?’

There was silence on the line.

‘Mom?’

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Did you hear what I just said?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re okay with that.’

She got the feeling that her mother had been distracted by something, that or she had lost the thread of the whole conversation.

‘Are you sure you are alright?’

‘Fine, dear, fine.’

‘I’ll see you later. And call me if you need anything. Okay?’

Silence again.

‘Bye, then.’

‘Bye, dear.’

She cut the connection and walked into the dark room. In a few moments, after she had changed the light settings, after she had prepared the solutions in the trays, after she had unwound the spool of film from her camera, she would enter that space that she loved, a zone free of problems.

Carefully and methodically she started to organise the room. She closed the door, switched on the safelight and placed the enlarger on the trestle table. She made sure she had everything she needed – the developing fluid, running water, the photographic fixer and the wash. By the door she placed a small wooden stool, the place where she would sit while she unloaded the film from the camera.

Normally at this point her mind was free and clear, only focused on the task in hand. But today, today was different. Her brain felt clouded by images. What was she going to say to Josh? What was she going to do about her mother? What was going to happen about Gleason? As she pushed one worry away another set of problems would take its place.

She took hold of her camera, enjoying the feel of it in her hands. In order to take the film out of the camera and load it onto a development spool she needed complete darkness. Normally she loved the sense of nothingness that washed over her when she turned off the safelight, but again today she felt that something was not quite right. She froze, stopped breathing for a second as she tried to define the nature of the anxiety that hovered on the periphery of her senses.

Cradling her camera in her hands she walked over to the door. She listened intently. Nothing. She turned the safelight off, plunging the room into complete darkness. Using one of her hands to steady herself she traced the door frame downwards until she came to a sitting position on the stool. She closed her eyes and opened them again. The dark room seemed blacker than her world inside.

She opened the back of the camera and took out the film. She worked quickly, transferring it onto a spool. But just as she was nearing the end of the process she heard a sound. Breaking glass.

The noise sent a splinter of fear into her heart. She knew, in that instant, what she had been afraid of all along. He had come for her.

It was a matter of minutes – seconds even – before he would find her. But she had once made a promise that, no matter what, she would protect her unborn child.

Quietly she put her camera on the floor and turned on the safelight. She opened her cell and pressed Josh’s number on speed dial. It went straight to voice mail. She cut the connection and, with fingers shaking, managed to tap out a short text. ‘He is here.’ She dialled 911 and waited for the pick-up. She started to speak as soon as they answered.

‘Please come,’ she whispered. ‘My name is Kate Cramer, address –‘

‘Sorry, miss, I’m unable to hear you. Can you speak up a little.’

‘No,’ she hissed. ‘Just get here. I’m at 20452 Pacific Coast Highway. It’s a private track down to the –‘

She heard a noise from somewhere outside. Had he heard her? She placed the cell on the trestle table so that the operator could hear, and record, the conversation. If the cops arrived too late to save her at least they would have a clearer idea of the sequence of events.

But what had happened to the officers stationed outside in the car? How had he got past them? Of course, they were dead. He would have killed them. Just as he was about to kill her and her baby.

No. It wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t allow it.

She stood up, quickly turning off the light and locking the door. She moved quickly, like a hunted animal, across the dark room. She could hear him outside, searching the house. It sounded like he was coming closer.

She found the tool box and took hold of the chisel and the piece of cheese wire. She pushed them into one of her pockets. Silently, trying to swallow her fear, she used her hands to trace a path in the darkness back towards the door. She waited there, desperately trying to ignore the quickened pace of her breathing. She listened to his movements as he searched the house, stealthily moving from one room to the next. She pictured him as he walked into her bedroom, defiling her private space with his presence. She saw his black, expressionless eyes, scanning the room for a clue to her whereabouts. She pictured him walking down the stairs, through the lounge, the kitchen, opening the door to the storeroom, before making his way down towards the dark room. As she waited she felt the blade of the chisel press into the flesh of her thigh. She ran a finger over the length of cheese wire, imagining how it could cut deep into the flesh.

She willed him to come to her. Come on, you fucker, she said under her breath. She ran her tongue along her top row of teeth, deliberately pressing it hard onto each sharp edge so she would feel as much pain as possible. She was sure she could taste blood. She pushed her fingers onto the blade of the chisel, nearly slicing into her skin.

She was ready.

67

No. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He had first felt something was not right when Gleason – and then Susan Gable – turned off the 10 and headed towards the Pacific Coast Highway. By the time he saw the sign for Malibu he knew where Gleason was heading. He shouted for him to stop, to turn back, to do anything but this, but still the man carried on driving, and still she followed. Why weren’t they obeying his orders? After all, weren’t they his creations, his characters?

He wanted a nice moral ending, a neat match of crime and punishment. There were certain people who didn’t deserve to get hurt. And Kate Cramer was one of those people.

He should have foreseen it. But he had assumed that Gleason would be smart enough not to put himself at risk. And surely, he wouldn’t get past those cops stationed outside? No, nothing would happen to her. She would be safe.

He followed at a safe distance, his anxiety growing with each thrum of the engine. By the time he arrived it was too late. As he turned down the private drive towards the beach house he saw the cop car. The two officers had been shot in the head. Both Gleason’s car and the one belonging to Susan Gable were empty. This was not what he had planned for the end of the story.

68

Josh was on the 10 when his phone vibrated. A text message. Ignore it, he thought. It would be Jules, asking where he was. He hadn’t told her of his – what would you call it? – his change of heart. The shit that he was – and God, didn’t he just know it – he was going to wait for Kate’s answer before telling her.

Or would he? No. Fuck it. He was better than that. He would tell her before Kate gave him her response.

Yes or no. His future was bound up in those little words. Yes, she would take him back. No, and what? He couldn’t imagine a life without her now.

The phone buzzed again. He fished it out of his pocket, bringing it up to the steering wheel. He checked the traffic around him on the freeway and quickly glanced at the message. It was from Kate.

He is here.

He knew who she meant. Ryan Gleason. He had come to exact his final revenge on Kate. And her – their – child.

He hit the accelerator and overtook a couple of cars and a truck, before swinging back into the slow lane. He slammed on the breaks, and took the next exit from the freeway. He pulled over onto a patch of waste ground and called Curtis.

‘I’m nearly there,’ she said, ‘about two minutes from the –‘

‘Ryan’s at Kate’s house,’ he interrupted. ‘The beach house.’

‘Shit. Where are you?’

‘Just off the 10. What about the rest of the team?.’

‘Lansing is here with me and Holt’s in the office.’

‘And what about – who was it? Who were the cops stationed outside the house?’

‘Young and Westchester?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ll get them on the radio now. Hold on.’

Josh listened to her call and then to an empty silence that seemed to last forever.

‘Where the fuck are they?’ Then the realisation came, and the nausea. ‘Fuck. Fuck. No.’ He tried to take a deep breath. ‘Okay. I’m only about fifteen minutes away. I’m heading back there now. If there’s anyone nearer send them over. But tell them to be careful. You know how much – ’ His voice failed him.

‘I know,’ said Curtis. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be – ’

Josh cut the line and hit the gas. He manoeuvred the car back under the multi-lane highway. He was about to take the feeder lane that led back on to the 10 when he remembered the ongoing argument he and Kate had about freeways versus surface roads. He turned the wheel at the last minute. Today seemed like a good day to trust her.

69

In the pitch black she couldn’t see, but she could hear the door handle begin to turn ever so slightly. She heard him push himself against the door and then step away from it. She manoeuvred herself behind the door and pressed herself into the corner. She placed her hands over her ears just as she heard the gunshot. The lock exploded, sending fragments of metal flying across the room, and an acrid smell filled the room.

He kicked open the door, which shunted towards her. The shock of light made her blink. Hidden behind the door, she steadied herself for an instant. A moment later he stepped into the room. She waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to come into sight. As soon as she saw his back she leapt out from behind the door and plunged the chisel into the space between his shoulder blades. He screamed loudly, turning to grab her as he did so. As he raised his gun she noticed that a couple of his fingers were covered in bandages. Although she felt too heavy to do it she raised her right leg and kicked hard. She aimed at his fingers, sending the gun over the other side of the room.

‘Fuck!’ he screamed, a bloom of blood spreading through the white cotton bandages.

He grabbed her hair, pulling out a clump of silver from her head, but she pushed him away and ran towards the gun. Just as she was about to reach it he pulled her down by her ankles. She fell heavily, but she had turned on her side to protect the baby from the impact. She hit the floor at an awkward angle, heard a bone in her arm crack and then felt an explosion of searing pain.

She grappled for the gun, now within sight under the trestle table. Her fingers stretched towards it, but he jerked her back by the ankles. She managed to free one leg, and kicked him hard in the face.

‘Bitch!’ he shouted.

She looked back to see his eyes full of fury. Blood streaked the floor like a scene from a slaughterhouse. She knew if she did not fight she would end up torn apart.

She kicked him again, but his grip tightened on her ankle. He pressed hard into her leg, puncturing her skin. She cried out in pain. She heard him shuffle towards her, his hand now rising up her leg, pressing her into the floor. She stretched out once more, willing the gun to come towards her. The pain in her leg merged with the pain in her arm. It felt as though all her body was nothing but a mass of seared nerve endings.

‘I’m going to fuckin’ kill you, but before then you know what I’m going to do,’ he said.

She knew how his sick mind worked. Something worse than rape. She couldn’t let that happen. With one last stretch she reached towards the gun, first of all teasing it towards her with her fingertips and then, suddenly, clasping it in her hand. Although her legs were pinned to the floor she tried to turn her upper body towards him. With a swift movement she managed to swivel her arm round. She cried out in pain as the bone felt like it was about to protrude through her skin.

‘Take this, fucker,’ she snarled, pointing the gun towards him.

He looked at her with amazement, incomprehension. He was about to make a lunge towards her when something stopped him. A sound. There were footsteps coming towards them.

Kate breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. It was Josh. Or the cops.

‘In here. Help!’ she cried.

A moment later Kate saw a woman walk into the room carrying a gun by her side. She looked vaguely familiar. Was she a cop?

‘Here. Help me. Cover me, will you?’

But nothing happened. The woman holding the gun just kept on looking down at them as if they were some kind of strange act in a sideshow.

‘I said, help me, goddamnit.’

Gleason smiled, suddenly realising that she wasn’t a cop. But his face froze when the woman slowly raised her gun and pointed it at him.

‘What the fuck?’ he said.

‘You don’t know who I am, do you Mr Gleason?’

There was no response.

‘I said do you?’

Slowly, he shook his head.

‘I’m the mother of the little girl you killed.’

Of course, it was Sara-Jane’s mother.

‘Susan,’ Kate said quickly, remembering her name. ‘Look, you know what he’s capable of. You need to help me here.’

‘Not so fast,’ she said, moving her gun so it was trained on Kate.

She walked over to Kate and gently removed the gun from her hands. Oh my God, thought Kate, she was deranged. Losing her daughter had driven her insane.

‘Susan,’ she said, softly. ‘You know I did everything in my power to save your daughter.’

‘But not enough!’ shouted Susan, her eyes stretching wide with fury. ‘Not enough.’

She pointed the two guns at them. ‘Both of you – get up,’ she said. ‘Get the fuck up!’

Gleason released Kate’s legs from his grip and started to stand up.

‘Slowly!’ shouted Susan. ‘I’ll fuckin’ blast your brains out if you try to come anywhere near me.’

As Gleason moved off her, Kate took hold of the side of the trestle table and eased herself upwards. With each movement upwards the pain in her arm intensified. But she had no choice but to do what Susan said; in her condition there was no telling what she might do.

As she reached the top of the table she pushed herself upwards. She cried out in pain.

‘Come on,’ said Susan. ‘You don’t know what pain is. You won’t know until you lose a child.’

Kate saw her looking down at her distended stomach. Automatically, her hand reached down and covered her abdomen. Surely, she didn’t mean that. She couldn’t be that insane, could she?

‘It was here, wasn’t it?’ said Susan. ‘Show me. I want to see.’

‘To see? To see what?’

‘Where you found her,’ she said to Kate. ‘Where she died.’

‘Susan – she was dead before –‘

‘Shut the fuck up! Just show me. Move!’

She trained the guns on them as Ryan and Kate trailed out of the room. Kate watched Gleason’s back as he walked, a stain of blood spreading through the fabric of his shirt.

‘If you make a sudden movement I’ll shoot, you know I will,’ said Susan. ‘Don’t so much as fuckin’ sneeze.’

As she walked, Kate felt the curve of cheese wire move in her pocket. It was out of the question. She would never get close enough to use it.

‘It was on the beach, right?’ said Susan.

Kate nodded.

‘Okay. Lead the way.’

70

He stepped back quickly as soon as he saw them. Was he too late? He caught his breath and then, as he heard footsteps, slowly strained his head around the corner. Gleason led the way, head bowed, his shirt spotted with blood. Then Kate Cramer, her face contorted by pain. She looked like she was holding her right arm in a strange way, almost as if it could be broken. Then behind them there was Susan Gable, her eyes bright with fury. In each of her hands she was holding a gun.

‘Move, you fuckers,’ she said, pointing the guns at them. ‘Down to the beach.’

She looked deranged, insane. What kind of monster had he created?

He waited around the side of the house until they had passed out of sight. He listened to the clatter of their feet as they descended the wooden steps to the beach below. His hand moved down towards the gun in his holster. He had been in situations like this countless times before. He knew what to do. He knew who was in the right and who was in the wrong. But he just hoped that it was in his power to do the right thing. Surely, his lord wouldn’t forsake him now. He envisioned the scenario as some kind of judgement day. The holy ones would be saved. But if the all knowing, in his righteousness, chose to take them away who was he to argue? God did work in mysterious ways, after all.

But was that not akin to doing nothing? Was it not the same thing as absolving responsibility? He had brought about this ghastly situation and he had a duty to see it through.

He moved down the side of the house and came to a standstill by the enormous jacaranda tree, which hid him from sight. Slowly, quietly, he took out his gun and, through the branches, established a line of fire. He trained his gun first on Susan Gable and then on Ryan Gleason. He knew that he had to be prepared. Anything could happen.

He watched as Susan waved one of her guns and forced Gleason to kneel before her. She said something to him, something he couldn’t quite catch, then Gleason slowly stumbled to his feet. He reached out a hand, stretching it towards Susan, almost in a spirit reconciliation.

‘If you try anything I’ll kill you, you know that, don’t you?’ she said.

He nodded, smiled. Then she passed him one of her guns.