Colony 04 - Wicked Ways

by Lisa Jackson

  She was right, of course.

  He peeled her fingers from his arms. “I don’t know what you want to hear.”

  “This is our day and you’re going to be with me. That’s what I want to hear!”

  “I am with you. It’s just that I have things I want to do, too.”

  “Joel . . .” she whispered.

  He took a couple steps backward, away from her. “Come on, Pamela.”

  “Come on, Pamela?” she repeated, not liking the sound of that. “So now, this is my fault? That I just want to spend time with you?”

  Rex could feel his temper escalating and he tamped it down. “I don’t think this is working,” he said in a cool voice.

  “I know it’s not working. And I know why it’s not working.”

  “I mean the whole thing, Pamela. You and me. We’re not working.”

  Her eyes widened, a shaft of pain visible.

  “And I think it’s time for me to go.”

  “What? Go? Because I asked for one day?”

  He could hear tears forming in her voice. His jaw tightened. “You know what I mean.”

  “If it means that much to you, go ahead.” She waved an arm dramatically. “Get on your cell phone. Leave. Do what you have to do. Work.”

  “I’m going home.” He turned toward the door.

  She flew at him in a panic, grabbing his arm again, tightly. “No . . . Don’t leave. Joel . . . Rex . . . please. I didn’t mean it. I said you could use your phone, so . . . just use it.”

  “I don’t want to feel like I have to ask permission.” He gently pulled her hand from his arm. “I think you might be looking for someone else.”

  “No, no. I want you,” she argued, visibly upset, tears glistening on her lashes as the weight of what he was saying sank in. “You know I want you.”

  “I’m not that guy.” He turned away from her again. He didn’t want to make her feel bad, but the breakup had been coming a long time and he knew that if he didn’t stick to his guns, this conversation would be repeated at some future date.

  “You’re really just going to walk out that door?”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  “Don’t do me any favors. You don’t want to, so don’t.”

  “Good-bye.” He walked through the door and closed it behind him, bracing himself for the sound of something thrown against it, a shoe, a vase, or something, but it was eerily quiet inside her apartment.

  He hoped to hell that was the end of it, and though he felt bad for letting things go on as long as they had, he was relieved that at least one problem in his life was resolved.

  Chapter 14

  Elizabeth texted Barbara back as she was showing Buddy and Marg yet another wildly extravagant and expensive, though outdated home. It was an over-customized nightmare. Every modern convenience available circa 1962 and nothing updated or even still working, since. While the couple was poking around upstairs, Elizabeth thanked Barbara for helping out and said she was glad she’d made it home safely. Of course she made it home safely.

  “You can’t wish someone dead,” she muttered under her breath at herself.

  Marg came bustling down to the living room where Elizabeth was waiting, just tucking her phone into her purse. Buddy came lumbering after his wife.

  “What do you think of this one?” Marg asked Elizabeth, then didn’t wait for an answer as she added, “It really needs to be updated. You think they’ll come down some?”

  “They’d have to come down about five million,” Buddy grumbled as he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and jingled his keys.

  “It’s not that bad,” Marg snapped.

  “Pretty bad,” he argued.

  Elizabeth said, “These sellers don’t seem that eager to bargain. They already had an offer that fell through. I don’t know all the details, but I do know they weren’t budging on price.”

  “Termites,” Buddy said. “Betcha it was termites and it came out in the home inspection.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marg declared, her lips compressing.

  “I know I ain’t buying this termite-riddled piece of garbage,” he retorted and started making his way to the front door.

  And so it went. By the time Elizabeth got them back to the office and into their vehicle, Marg and Buddy weren’t speaking to each other at all.

  Par for the course, Elizabeth thought as she hurried to University Park, a neighborhood of about two hundred homes in an Irvine Company development just off the 405 freeway where her open house was scheduled. The area had a newly reconstructed community center, pool, park, playground, and tennis courts within easy walking distance of the house she was holding open for another of Mazie’s clients.

  After placing directional signs at the entrance to the development and on the corner of the street that led to the open house, she parked across the street and down two houses to keep spaces available in front of the home. Another sign indicating the house was open was placed near the driveway. Once inside, she added a stack of her business cards next to the flyers listing the home’s specifications and amenities, then opened the blinds and turned on lights. If she’d had time, she would have purchased small bottles of water to set out for the “lookie-loos” who might cruise through, but she’d been too distracted all week to remember. Luckily, being January, the weather wasn’t beastly hot and for the moment, the rain was still being held within the gray cloud cover overhead.

  A good day for an open house.

  Suddenly, Elizabeth felt tired to the bone and the thoughts she’d kept at bay came crashing back. One moment she was hustling around plumping decorative pillows, the next she was completely done in. She’d been trying to outrun her own thoughts with limited success. She sank into one of the leather chairs that faced the television in the room off the kitchen and tried to rev up some energy and dissuade herself from her uneasiness.

  Officer Unfriendly and Mazie and Court . . .

  She literally shook her head, trying to dislodge those thoughts, then her brain switched to Jade stopping by the office and that reminded her of Little Nate and how she’d seen him falling even though he hadn’t been in her line of sight. She’d tried to deny the truth at the time of the accident, but Jade had known, had told her that she couldn’t have seen him even while Elizabeth insisted she had—which had been a bald-faced lie. Though Elizabeth had pretended that Jade was the one who had been mistaken, she’d known the truth. And seeing Little Nate’s near-accident hadn’t been the first time she’d experienced precognition.

  The bridge is falling!

  In her mind, she heard the childish voice, her own voice, screaming to be heard. Then she saw her father’s face, the awe replaced by a veil of opportunistic greed. She hadn’t known then exactly what he was thinking, but she’d gotten the emotional hit and she’d shut down, willing herself to stop receiving such messages.

  Over the years, she’d been fairly successful at doing just that. She’d even half-convinced herself none of it had really happened. She had no extra ability, no psychic gift. She’d just been weirdly lucky in her predictions.

  But Little Nate, and then these recent deaths . . .

  She closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and took a deep breath. Despite denying to herself that anything was wrong, she’d spent some time at the local library, looking up articles on all kinds of inexplicable behaviors. She’d also combed the Internet and purchased books online about incidences of precognition. Nothing she found positively identified her experience. Many people claimed to foretell disasters, but when she’d delved deeper into their stories, something was always off. She’d come to the conclusion that most of them were either charlatans, trying to use their so-called abilities to extort money from gullible believers, or people who suffered from some kind of mental illness that made them see reality incorrectly and believe they possessed special powers.

  Nowhere did she find the kind of hard evidence she was looking for.

 
; Or maybe I’m just crazy.

  The thought cut through her mind. Even if she were certifiable, she hadn’t been the person on the freeway, playing a dangerous game of tag or road rage or whatever it was with her husband and Whitney Bellhard. Nor had she been to Tres Brisas in Rosarito Beach. And she didn’t kill her husband . . . or Mazie . . . or Officer Unfriendly. None of that was her doing.

  “Of course not,” she said aloud just as she heard a knock on the door. It swung inward before she could scramble to her feet.

  A male voice called, “Hello?”

  Elizabeth quickly jumped up to meet the man who was just stepping inside. “Hi,” she managed and swept a hand toward the basket of blue paper booties on the floor. “The owners just redid the hardwood floors and would like you to cover your shoes,” she said quickly. “Or you can walk around in your socks, if you prefer.”

  He didn’t immediately do either. He simply stared at Elizabeth as if he were assessing her.

  Warning bells clanged in Elizabeth’s mind.

  He managed a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes as he closed the door behind him. “You’re Court Ellis’s wife.”

  “Well, yes,” she admitted a little reluctantly. That was the problem with open houses; oftentimes she was alone with a stranger. She glanced out the window, hoping to see someone else parking at the curb or heading up the walk to the front door. “Uh . . . I’m his widow.”

  “Thought so.” The man slipped out of his shoes and walked in his socks toward her. As he approached, he held out his hand. “Sorry to drop in on you this way, but I thought we should meet. I’m Peter. Peter Bellhard. Whitney’s husband.”

  Ravinia picked up her disposable phone for about the fiftieth time, intent on calling Rex, then tossed it down again. He’d said he would call her and she didn’t want to be a complete pest, so she’d forced herself to wait all morning. But the waiting was making her want to tear her hair out. Another day, she would be taking a bus back to his office and stomping up to his door, but it was Sunday and she knew he didn’t plan to be there.

  Even if she knew his home address, which she planned to learn as soon as she could, she had no means to get there fast. She could hitchhike, maybe. Or, take a bus? But he probably wouldn’t be there, anyway. He’d said something about taking the day off from work and she’d gotten the impression there was someone in his life he planned to share it with.

  Why are you relying on him? Do it yourself. You’ve managed on your own so far. Keep it up.

  The trouble was, she didn’t have access to all the information Rex Kingston did. It would take her three times as long to get to the same place he could with a few well-placed inquiries. Unfortunately, she needed help from someone who made it their business to find people and she’d zeroed in on Rex. She’d looked into his heart and learned that he was a decent enough guy. Actually, she knew that within the first fifteen minutes of meeting him, but she’d examined him with her gift as well, searching the darkest reaches of his soul. It really isn’t much of a gift at all, she thought with a sniff. Common sense worked just as well.

  It was after noon when she peered out the window. The sun shone bright as it peeked through the clouds and illuminated the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. A few cars were still positioned, nose in, to the long cement porch that skirted the building and at the far end, a maid pushing a cart of cleaning supplies was unlocking a door.

  Ravinia knew it was past check-out time, but she didn’t plan on turning in the key to her room until someone insisted. Still, she needed something to eat so she stepped outside right into the teeth of a brisk wind that caused her to shiver. “Brrr,” she muttered, hiking up her backpack on her right shoulder as the door shut, locking behind her. Maybe she would still be able to get into the room when she returned, but maybe not. In any case, she liked keeping her backpack close.

  When Rex had driven her to the Sea Breeze, Ravinia had noticed a convenience store about four blocks away, so she hiked the short distance in search of food. Inside, she saw some limp-looking pastries behind a plastic case. Against a wall stood a tired-looking Slurpee machine amid a wall of snacks and chips, none of which appealed, so she settled on plucking several pepperoni sticks from a tall jar sitting on the counter near the cash register, and paid for them with some change she found in her pockets.

  “Nice day, huh,” the middle-aged guy behind the counter said, smiling, showing a gold-capped tooth.

  Ravinia grunted a noncommittal response, then pushed through the door and trudged back to the motel, letting herself inside her room, which was just as she’d left it. Dropping the backpack with a thunk on the industrial carpet, she fell onto the bed and stared up at a crack in the ceiling as she munched through first one pepperoni stick and then another.

  She couldn’t just hang out in the room. Sooner or later the maid, the motel manager, or someone else would show up and kick her out. Besides, she had way too much to do to be stuck inside just . . . waiting. She felt tense and impatient and annoyed.

  When haven’t you?

  She almost smiled. She’d pretty much been the same her whole life. Ask anyone who knew her. She’d never felt comfortable at Siren Song. Had always known something else was out in the real world waiting for her. She just hadn’t had the means to strike out on her own, and she’d been too young, too sheltered, and well, too afraid to completely leave everything and everyone she’d known. She’d battled Aunt Catherine daily and it was only when Justice had threatened their lives that she’d finally felt a sense of community with her own family. Solidarity. Yes, she missed her family. And yes, sometimes she ached for the safety she’d once felt at the compound, but that security hadn’t existed for some time and she knew she’d never be content to live out her life behind the gates her aunt had erected.

  The truth was, the gates weren’t strong enough to keep her in, nor solid enough to keep danger out.

  Despite Aunt Catherine’s best efforts, the evil had invaded.

  First had been Justice, a cousin of sorts and a twisted psychotic. More recently was Declan Jr., her brother, who was no better and maybe even worse in ways. Half brother, she reminded herself.

  Lying upon the bed, Ravinia closed her eyes and remembered those last few days in Oregon before she’d taken off in search of Elizabeth.

  Aunt Catherine was wrought with worry and deigned to take Ravinia into her confidence. With Justice, they’d had their hands full protecting themselves at the lodge, but with Declan Jr. . . . there was just no telling what his plan was or where he would strike next.

  Fear made Aunt Catherine confide in Ravinia about Elizabeth, fear for her only child. Ravinia’s own mother Mary had dropped babies as indiscriminately as a cat, with about as much interest in them, although at least a mother feline spent a few weeks tending to her young. Not so Mary, from all reports. She had lived for sex and drama and danger, and her behavior had led Aunt Catherine to exile her to Echo Island, the outcropping of rock just outside Deception Bay that was less than a mile across from end to end and whose shores were treacherous enough to discourage would-be afternoon boaters from trying to go ashore.

  Catherine was far different from her indiscriminate sister. Catherine’s affair had been a love match.

  Ravinia gleaned that, though far be it for Aunt Catherine to admit as much.

  Mary’s revolving door of lovers had eclipsed Catherine’s relationship with Elizabeth’s father, apparently, and since Catherine had, for the most part, pretended the affair had never existed, it was a well-kept secret . . . until Declan Jr. targeted the women of Siren Song and couldn’t be stopped completely. Aunt Catherine feared he would go after her only child.

  Elizabeth.

  Though Ravinia and most of the rest of the world relied on conventional means to locate someone, Declan Jr. had other ways. Evil ways, some said, though Ravinia suspected it was all part and parcel of the same brand of “gifts” the daughters and sons of her ancestors all possessed. Declan Jr. just chose to us
e his malignantly. Or maybe it wasn’t even a choice....

  Ravinia shivered a bit at that thought. Maybe neither Justice nor Declan Jr. could really help themselves. And maybe there were more of them out there, too. Tortured souls unable to keep themselves from their murdering proclivities. Whatever the case, Justice was gone, and Declan Jr. was still missing after wreaking havoc upon a number of people around Deception Bay, including Aunt Catherine and those at Siren Song. He’d been less focused than Justice in his deadly mission to rid himself of the others like him, but he was equally vicious, destructive, and determined.

  She thought about the other player, her half brother Silas, whom she now considered a friend and who seemed to be working with Aunt Catherine and against Declan Jr.

  Ravinia first ran across Silas when she was walking along the ice-crusted highway outside Siren Song and something about him drew her in. He knew who she was, which unsettled her. He gave her a sheaf of papers to take to Catherine.

  Her aunt clued her in. “What did he look like?” Aunt Catherine asked after Ravinia handed over the papers—adoption records it turned out.

  “I don’t know. Dark hair. Blue eyes . . . I guess. Handsome,” Ravinia replied reluctantly.

  “His hair was dark? Not any shade of blond?”

  Ravinia knew what she was asking as all her sisters were blondes, a strong genetic trait running through the family. “He’s not one of us, is he?”

  Her aunt didn’t answer directly, but Ravinia later learned he was her half brother. Meanwhile, a number of strange incidents had happened that she had been involved with, at least peripherally—all of which culminated in a fire on Echo Island that they witnessed from the lodge—and Aunt Catherine said it was Silas who had set the blaze. He was burning the bones of Declan Jr.’s father, who by all accounts was about as bad as bad can be.

  Ravinia stirred. Bad to the bone, she thought without humor.