Final Scream

by Lisa Jackson

  Right. And even now Derrick could be hunting Brig down, taking aim and—

  Dena’s eyes slitted. “Is som’thin’ wrong?” She clicked open her purse and fumbled for her keys.

  Everything! Cassidy’s palms were slick with sweat. “No—”

  “Then go to bed.” Dena dropped the keys then scooped them up. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Mom, you can’t go now, you’ve had a lot to drink and—”

  “And don’t argue with me.” Dena stiffened her back and tried to look sober.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find your father.”

  “Why don’t you just wait for him?” If Dena would just go upstairs and fall into an alcohol-deep sleep, Cassidy could sneak out of the house and take after Brig.

  Dena’s face was suddenly drawn. “Because I’m tired of waiting,” she said with a sad smile. “I’ve waited for your father to do the right thing by me for a long time. I think it’s time he knew it.” Squaring her shoulders, she reached for the handle of the door. The keys jangled in her fingers. “Don’t wait up, sweetie,” she said. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “Mom, don’t! You can’t drive like this—”

  “Get out of my way, Cassidy. You hurry upstairs and go to bed.” She sidestepped her daughter as Cassidy reached for the keys. In a few seconds she was gone.

  Cassidy didn’t waste any time. She knew what she had to do. No matter what the consequences.

  Angie walked through the open door of the old mill and smiled to herself. She’d seen his car; knew that he was waiting. So maybe the night wasn’t completely lost. So things hadn’t worked out with Brig…there was always her backup plan, though it was certainly not as solid.

  “Helloooo…” she called, walking through the doorway, her voice echoing back at her. God, this place was creepy with its gaping, creaking roof and cobwebs and…and…the mess on the floor that looked like a bunch of feathers and crap from birds that had been nesting in the rafters.

  She should have brought a flashlight. Or something.

  Goose bumps rose on her flesh even though she was sweating; the temperature in this old mill was probably still well over eighty degrees.

  “Hey…it’s me. Are you here?” she said and then she saw him, lounging against the back wall, a dark figure in a dusky, cavernous room. She felt a second’s relief before he moved toward her.

  BAM!!

  An explosion ripped through the old timbers.

  Screaming, Angie flew backward and was thrown facedown on the floor.

  Crack! The back of her head collided with ancient, dusty floorboards. For a second the world spun and went black. She blinked hard, roused herself. She couldn’t pass out. Not in the middle of this…this…Oh, God, what was this? She struggled to her feet when she smelled the smoke and turned to find eager, hungry flames climbing up the walls, already blocking the main door and charring the old tinder-dry rafters.

  “No!” she cried, scrambling backward, away from the black, lung-clogging smoke and wall of fire. She lost a shoe. Didn’t care. She had to get out. Now! There were doors in the back of the building; she was sure of it.

  Then she remembered. She wasn’t alone. He could help. He’d save them. Whimpering, tears of fear streaming down her face, she ran to the spot where she’d seen him and found him lying crumpled on the floor.

  “Come on, we have to get out of here,” she cried, her voice shaking, panic gripping her in a stranglehold. “Hurry!”

  He lay as he had been, not looking up at her.

  “Please…ooohhh…” she whimpered, biting her lip. “You have to be all right. We have to get out of here. There isn’t much time.” She looked over her shoulder and saw the terrifying spectacle. Crackling, cruel flames devouring everything in sight.

  Bending on one knee, smoke curling around her, she reached for him. “Hey!” she cried, but still he didn’t move. She touched his shoulder, rolled him over, and fell backward screaming as she saw his face, a mangled, bloody mess, as if he’d been beaten to a pulp. Blood pooled on the floor, and she saw spatters against the wall where the blast had thrown him. Sightless open eyes stared blankly.

  Gasping, coughing, she knew she had to leave him. She had no choice but to save herself. To save the baby.

  Her lungs were on fire as she made her way toward the back rooms, where the trapped smoke had collected. She ripped off part of her dress, held it over her nose and mouth, remembered prayers she’d thought she’d long forgotten as she eased through the blackness, bumping into poles, her eyes burning, blinded by the smoke.

  There had to be another way out of here. Had to! Oh, God, why had she agreed to meet him here? Why? It was foolish.

  Think, Angie, think…you don’t have time for this.

  Frantically she rushed to the back room and tried to ignore the heat that radiated as if from a blast furnace. Coughing, gasping, stumbling, she moved deeper into the building, through smaller rooms that had once been offices…Where were the damned windows!

  She saw none and she was panting now, terrified beyond belief. Surely she would get out. She had to. For herself. For the baby.

  She smelled a new odor…burning flesh…and she threw up as she flashed back to the crumpled man on the floor. Sweet Jesus, the flames had reached him. He was being cremated in this burning hell.

  Where was the damned door!

  Then she saw it. Through the smoke…a change in the wall. Thank God! She threw herself at the old panels, found the knob. Her fingers burned as she turned the brass fixture and she yanked with all her might.

  Nothing happened.

  She tried again, threw all her weight into pulling the damned thing open.

  It didn’t budge.

  Oh, no!

  “Help!” she cried, coughing, banging on the door, hearing the first sounds of sirens in the air. “Help me! Now!” Her voice was pitiful against the roar of the flames, a scratchy, raw whimper.

  She was coughing now, hacking and fighting to drag in air. She couldn’t be dying. Not now. She was so young. Crying, screaming, pounding on the door, she prayed that someone would hear her…someone would save her…

  Her knees buckled.

  She had no air.

  The heat was so intense she had to fight to keep from blacking out…she lifted a fist. Pounded again and noticed the flames, licking across the floor, creeping around her, circling that little spot where she stood.

  “No!” she screamed, clutching her abdomen as she struggled for a last, searing breath and realized with horrifying certainty that she was going to die.

  Seventeen

  I pulled my gloves off with my teeth, rammed the truck into gear and tromped on the accelerator. The tires chirped and I eased off.

  Don’t speed. Whatever you do, you can’t risk a ticket, can’t be caught anywhere near the old gristmill.

  I checked my watch and swallowed hard. Any second now, I thought, adrenaline shooting through my veins. I wanted to drive by the mill, to check and see if Angie had arrived or if only her lover would die tonight.

  Don’t do it. You’ll ruin everything you’ve worked for!

  I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror and saw the flush of excitement on my features. What a rush!

  My hands sweated over the wheel and my heartbeat thundered in my head. I eased into the traffic heading out of town and checked my mirrors for any signs of the police or people I knew…so far nothing. All I had to do was drive to an out-of-the-way spot by the river, change my clothes and…

  Boom!

  An explosion shook the ground.

  I glanced in the mirror again, saw nothing for a second and then a spray of fire that lit up the night sky like a torch.

  Yes!

  A thrill swept through me…the man who’d shown up at the mill deserved to die. What a fool! And Angie, if she didn’t get it tonight…it would only be a matter of time.

  I heard the sound of a siren…and then another…all h
eading away from me.

  Just as I’d planned.

  Blinking against the rain, Rex laid a single white rose on Lucretia’s grave. Tears stung his eyes and he realized belatedly that he’d had too much to drink. He’d have to be careful. There were always problems when he drank too much.

  Staring at the headstone, he bit his trembling lower lip. I love you, he thought, though he didn’t say the words. I’ve always loved you. But he hadn’t been faithful to her; not even when she was still alive, and he knew deep in the darkest recesses of his heart that she killed herself because of his infidelities. Lucretia had a code of honor, and though she hadn’t wanted him in her bed, she had hated it when he’d turned to other women, most of whom didn’t mean anything to him.

  Except one.

  And now this…this torment of seeing Angie every day, watching her blossom into a woman so like her mother physically that it was uncanny. Sometimes when she walked into the room, his breath got lost in his throat and he was certain he was seeing his wife, or the ghost of his dead wife in their daughter. It was those painful times when the years rolled backward and he forgot that she was his own flesh-and-blood, when truth and fantasy blurred, and he wanted—damn it he wanted—her to be his beloved wife.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered, as he always did when he laid the rose on Lucretia’s grave. “I did you a great dishonor and I swear I’ll never let it happen again.”

  Clearing his throat, he headed back to his car. He’d left Dena at the party, though she thought he’d only gone out to walk and to smoke one of his cigars. No doubt she’d lose track of time. He checked his watch, climbed into the Lincoln and eased through the open gates of the cemetery.

  Bang!

  An explosion rocked the earth. Sunny felt it beneath her bare feet and fear caused her insides to congeal. Rain pooled in the driveway, stirring the dust when she saw the first sparks. In the dark cloud-covered sky over Prosperity, embers shot like missiles into the night, bright fingers of light clawing ever upward, reaching to the heavens.

  Rain and flames. Fire and water. She collapsed against the side of the trailer. Brig. Chase. Buddy. They were all going to die…she knew it. Her heart pounded and she began to shake. Oh, God, no! Quivering, she knew without a doubt that the horrifying visions that had disturbed her sleep for the past few months had arrived. The end of her world was upon her.

  She didn’t bother with slippers or a coat, just ran through the rain to her car and climbed inside. Maybe it wasn’t too late! Maybe she could save at least one of her boys.

  “Help me,” she prayed, slamming the old Cadillac into reverse. “Help me, God.”

  But she knew he wouldn’t hear. He’d turned a deaf ear to her pleas all her life. As she backed the car from its lean-to the beams of her headlights cut through a curtain of rain and washed the old trailer in stark illumination. She saw the sign over the door swinging in the wind, mocking her with its faded letters: PALM READING. TAROT CARDS. FORTUNE TELLING. Deep in her mind, she heard laughter and screams and wished that she could give up her own life to save her boys.

  “Take me,” she prayed desperately as she turned the ancient Caddy around. “Take me or someone else, but please, God, spare my sons!”

  Boom!

  Cassidy was on her way to the stable when she heard the distant explosion, loud enough to cause her heart to kick, but she couldn’t worry about it now; not when she had to find Brig. She’d given Dena a twenty-minutes head start and was almost to the stable when she heard the first distant wail of emergency vehicles. Far away, the sirens screamed mournfully, alarms shrieking and bleating through the night.

  Cassidy’s heart stood still.

  Brig!

  Derrick had caught up with him!

  Even now, Brig could be lying, bleeding, dying because of her brother. Because she hadn’t made him listen to her, because she hadn’t saved him. “Please, God, no,” she whispered, yanking on Remmington’s bridle and leading him from his stall. The sirens were still shrieking when she entered the paddock, and the colt, already pulling on the reins, sidestepped.

  “I don’t have time for this,” she warned, running to the fence where she could climb onto his bare back. Rain ran down her face as she yanked on the reins and threw herself astride his broad back. He bucked, tossing her off as easily as a limp rag. The bare earth rushed up at her. She shoved out her arms to break her fall. Snap! Pain exploded up her arm. Her head and shoulder slammed against the hard ground.

  With a groan, she tried to move, to clear her head, but the fire in her wrist made her immobile for a second. Sucking in her breath, she forced herself to a sitting position.

  Remmington galloped to the far end of the paddock, snorting and kicking and whinnying nervously. That’s when she smelled it, just a little hint at first, but a scent so strong and deadly it caused her to panic. The acrid odor of smoke tinged the fresh scent of rain. She closed her eyes for a second. No one was smoking, it was the middle of the night and—

  Fire!

  Head throbbing, she wrenched her neck to stare at the house, but no one was home, no one would have started a fire in the grate in these last hot days of summer. But the smoke lingered in the air, like mirthless laughter. Staggering to her feet, she checked each of the outbuildings, searching for any hint of sparks or smoke or flames. None.

  Pain shot up the back of her hand as she leaned against the fence. Her breath whistled through her teeth and the taste of charred wood touched her tongue.

  Somewhere—somewhere nearby—something was burning. Fear began to coil in her gut. She couldn’t climb on Remmington without first binding her wrist, so she made her way out of the paddock and, holding the pained arm carefully, trudged up the hill. The house had never seemed so far from the stable. But she couldn’t give up. Somewhere Brig was out there and he had to be warned…

  At the porch she stopped, turning back to survey the vast acres owned by her father. From her vantage point on the hill, she looked over the tops of fir trees to the orange glow of the town. Her heart kicked as she saw flames, a great wall of flames spewing sparks high into the air.

  Brig! No. Oh, please, God, no!

  Though her mind screamed to deny it, she knew that he was in danger—more danger than she’d first imagined. Maybe hurt. There could have been an accident near a gas station, or a blast from Derrick’s shotgun might have hit something flammable—like Brig’s motorcycle or a parked car or…oh God, oh God, oh God!

  Without realizing what she was doing, she ran back to the paddock. The pain in her arm seemed to disappear as fear—horrible, gut-jelling fear—numbed her mind and body. Racing to the stable, she tried to erase all images of Brig from her mind. She wouldn’t think of him lying injured, unconscious, flames crackling near his face…oh, Lord. She sent up prayer after prayer as she dashed, stumbling, crying, always moving toward the stable.

  Run! Run! Run!

  Inside, horses snorted and stamped nervously. She scooped up a handful of oats with her good hand and ran outside, blinking against the rain, forcing the gate open and shutting it with her rump. “I don’t have time for any of your crap,” she said, stalking the colt who seemed determined to escape her.

  “Not now,” she warned him. “For God’s sake, Remmington, not now!” She held out her treat—oats slipping through her fingers washed by the rain. “Come on, Remmington. For God’s sake, just calm down. I won’t hurt you. I need you!” The wayward horse, after a worried flick of his ears, stepped timidly forward. Cassidy was ready. The colt reached for the oats, his soft lips brushing her palm, and she didn’t wait. As fast as lightning striking, she grabbed the reins, kicked open the gate, climbed onto his rain-slickened back and wound her fingers in his mane.

  “Let’s go!” she shouted, giving him his head. He tore off down the lane, slinging mud, splashing through puddles and racing as if the very devil himself were on his tail.

  “Stand back! Jesus Christ, what do you think you’re doing here? People, stand the he
ll back!”

  The fire chief was way beyond irritated. He yelled loudly, over the crackle of hideous flames, over the rush of gallons of water being pumped through huge hoses to arc over the blackened shell of the old gristmill. Black smoke rose in huge, billowing clouds and heat seared through the crowd.

  Cassidy stared at the terrible conflagration in disbelief. She prayed no one was inside because no one would survive.

  People coughed, men yelled, news reporters pushed closer and the fire raged despite efforts of the volunteer fire department. Choking smoke clogged the air, and flames rose hellishly from the charred beams and crumpled tin roof. Like the mouth of hell, the fire grew before the wind finally turned. Only then did the wall of water being pumped from huge hoses overcome the flaming beast that roared and crackled.

  Standing next to people she didn’t know, Cassidy watched in impotent horror as the firemen relentlessly sent the fire into its hissing death throes.

  Brig! Please do not let Brig be trapped inside!

  She’d tied Remmington to a post that supported the upper balcony of an apartment building owned by her father, then had run through the throng of people pushing toward the terrifying inferno. Her heart thumped wildly, fear constricting her chest. But it was only the old gristmill—it wasn’t Brig’s motorcycle or her mother’s car, or Derrick’s gun or anyone she knew. Just an empty shell of an old mill. Yes, her father owned the historic building that had been scheduled for renovation, yet Cassidy was relieved that it was a vacant structure that had burned. She stood in a crowd of onlookers—townspeople who, in hastily donned jeans or bathrobes, had come from their houses to help or just watch the incredible inferno.

  Reporters and television crews shouldered their way to the front of the barricade, braving the downpour while blue, red and white lights of emergency vehicles strobed in the night.