Vision

by Lisa Amowitz

  Bobby wandered through the vast house, finding his way by touch and the shimmering flickers of the past.

  Then he heard it. Faint piano scales reverberating through the musty rooms.

  Treading across a smooth-floored foyer, he reached a grand staircase, its former glory visible in his splintered vision. He climbed the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath the decayed carpeting. At the top, Bobby picked up the laser-bright trail of Gabe’s anguish. It led him down a long hallway, until he found himself standing outside a pair of embossed double doors, once gilded with gold leaf, now dry and cracked to the touch.

  Galloway’s gruff voice raked through the delicacy of Gabe’s piano. “Keep playing, bitch! You might want to start praying that Romeo doesn’t get here too soon. The longer he takes, the longer you live.”

  “Promise you won’t hurt the boy, Carl.”

  Stepping back, Bobby sucked in a sharp breath. It was Mr. Cooper. Galloway had him here, too.

  “Shut it, Kenny. Just shut up for once! You never let me think!”

  The two of them argued as Gabe continued to play valiantly. His own pain forgotten, Bobby’s heart broke for her terror. He felt it climbing into his nostrils, pressing against his skin, pale and sour, heavy with sorrow. She was so tired. Giving up hope. Preparing to die.

  “I’m trying to make you think. To make you understand that you’re sick. That you need help. This has to stop! The boy has done nothing to you.”

  “He’s your little pet, isn’t he? That’s reason enough to tear him to pieces.”

  “Don’t hurt them, Carl. Let the kids go. Please,” Mr. Cooper pleaded.

  “Shut up!” Galloway yelped like an injured dog. “Go! Get out of here.”

  “You know I can’t, Carl, unless you let me.”

  “I can’t do that, idiot. You know I can’t do that.”

  Inside the room, one set of footsteps paced to and fro. Galloway must have had Mr. Cooper tied up in there, too, Bobby realized. Under the constant pacing, he thought he heard Gabe’s piano playing falter.

  “Say another word and…” snarled Galloway.

  “And what?” Mr. Cooper’s tone bit. Bobby had to respect his coolness under pressure. “You’ll what? You’ll kill me?” Mr. Cooper laughed. Not in his usual easy manner, but with a hint of lunacy. “You know that’s not possible, Carl. You know the rules.”

  “Fuck you and your damn rules!” Carl roared. Heavy footsteps headed for the door. Bobby had to hide. Quickly. Piecing together his surroundings from the tattered ghosts of the past, Bobby searched along the wall, found the handle to a broom closet, and slipped inside.

  When he was certain Galloway was gone, he left the closet and slowly pushed open the double doors to the room where Gabe was being held.

  The large space echoed with her halting piano playing. Her distress mingled with the room’s past, stitched to the void of his blindness in a grisly overlay. The visions smashed against him in waves of vivid clarity, anguish and pain splattering every surface. Bobby reeled from the weight of the evil that had transpired in this room.

  And Gabe kept playing.

  In haunted smears of light he saw her, achingly beautiful at the piano, her image alternating between flashes of the long-dead Olivia, back erect in an elegant silk gown, at the same piano. Flash. And the chair. Flash. A boy tied to the brocade chair, blindfolded. Crying. Flash. The chair empty.

  Waiting for him.

  And Bobby understood. This room of horror had produced a tormented boy who’d grown up to become a monster.

  “Mr. Cooper?” Bobby whispered. He’d heard only one set of footsteps leave. Kenny Cooper had to be in here. “Mr. Cooper? It’s Bobby.”

  No answer. Just Gabe’s piano. He was afraid to stop her. Afraid Galloway would come back at any moment. But where was Mr. Cooper? He’d heard him in here, loud and clear. Of that he was certain.

  Had Galloway killed him already? Maybe Mr. Cooper lay dying in a pool of his own blood. But I’d know that, wouldn’t I?

  Bobby’s head swam with strange sights and visions that were not his own, as if he’d been swept up into a tornado of fractured light. Flash. The room sprawled before him in slivers of detail. Heavy drapes, a fire burning in a grand marble hearth. The gleaming baby grand piano at the center of the room, where Olivia sat straight-backed, white-necked, playing sonata after sonata. The boy sat sobbing in the chair by the window until the woman came in, lashed him with a belt and sealed his mouth shut with electrical tape. He could hear his weak cousin, Kenny, crying silently, watching, as he took the blows for both of them.

  Bobby felt his way across the room to where Gabe sat at the piano in Olivia’s place. He whispered in her ear. “It’s me, Gabe. Don’t stop. I’m going get you out of here.”

  His fingers grazing slippery silk, he felt her sharp intake of air. He pulled back as if burned. Like his other victims, Galloway had forced Gabe into an elegant gown.

  His own pain thrumming like a hot brand on his chest, Bobby wanted to fold her in his arms and hold her against him, but there wasn’t enough time. He was fading, his hands going numb, his head buzzing with unnatural colors and the stream of impressions from the room’s horrifying past. The abuse against Galloway as a boy. Kenny Cooper’s complacence, Galloway’s bloody spree. No wonder there was such venom between them.

  Bobby felt for Gabe’s wrists. Galloway had bound them with some kind of plastic cording and left just enough give for her hands to stroke the piano keys. It wouldn’t be easy to cut through with a stick for a knife. He’d have to find something else.

  Scanning the broken bits of the past that orbited around him, Bobby forged a fragmented portrait of the present-day room. Across from them was a mantle, a roaring fire long since gone cold. A collection of pictures on the marble shelf, fireplace tools.

  Bobby walked toward the ragged bits of visions and found what he was looking for. On the shelf above the fireplace, he found a framed photo. Smashing the glass with his boot, he felt for the old fireplace tools and took the pointed spear that still hung exactly where he’d seen it.

  “It’s okay, Gabe,” he soothed. “I’m going to cut the ropes, now. We’re going to get out of here, I promise.”

  Sweat stung his eyes. He struggled to suck in air that had gone syrupy and warm, sticking in his lungs like hot honey. Slowly, he worked the glass through the tough fibers, every second a fight to keep aware, to listen for Galloway’s return or for some sign of stirring from Mr. Cooper.

  “Gabe, when I free your hands, you’re going to have to keep the tape on your eyes and mouth. You’re going to have to make it look like you’re still bound. Can you do that? I’m so sorry.”

  Through it all, she continued to play as he explained his plan.

  Once he’d finally worked the cord loose, he crawled behind the heavy drapes that hung in tatters, sank heavily to the floor and tried to fight off the oblivion that threatened to devour him.

  It seemed like hours until the scrape of boots startled Bobby alert. He must have dozed off, curled in a tight ball behind the drapes, his lips cracked and swollen, his body stiff with agony. The pain in his chest had migrated, every nerve now on fire.

  Gabe still played, haltingly, sloppily. Fury over her plight jolted him with renewed energy.

  “Keep playing!” roared Galloway.

  The keys surged with vibrant notes. Bobby gritted his teeth against his rage.

  “Where, oh, where, is your little blind knight?” Galloway taunted in his sing-song voice. “Maybe he had better things to do than come hurtling to your rescue? Or maybe he just died out there. I carved him up pretty good.”

  There was a muted wail as Galloway slammed Gabe with a vicious kick. Seething, Bobby wondered if he could gather enough strength to attack from behind with his iron fork. He was weak, lightheaded, holding on by a thread. Plus, he’d already tried that when he’d had the strength, and failed even then.

  This time, Bobby had no doubt Galloway wouldn’t hesita
te to skewer him like a shish kebab, and laugh as he died, twitching on the floor.

  He couldn’t risk it.

  “That is not necessary, Carl.”

  Bobby reeled with shock. Mr. Cooper, appearing again like a phantom. What was going on? He wished desperately that he could see to make sense of things.

  He wondered if Gabe would follow through with their plan now. If she would trust Mr. Cooper enough to help her after she stabbed Carl Galloway in the neck.

  All he could do was wait and listen.

  Galloway responded with surprising patience. “You’re wrong, Kenny. It’s all necessary. Everything I do, I do to serve you.”

  “I know,” Mr. Cooper said, his voice breaking. “But you’ve gone too far. I want you to stop. I’m begging you to stop. If I find the boy and bring him here, after you take care of her, will you let him go? He can’t see, but he’ll hear her screams. He’ll feel her pain. It will tear him apart. Won’t that be enough for you?”

  “Why this attachment, Kenny? He’s just trailer trash. And a promise is a promise. I told him I’d kill him first. Quickly. And save the fun for myself.”

  “Please,” Mr. Cooper wailed pitifully, “don’t kill him. Don’t you understand how I need the music? He makes such beautiful music. It helps me, Carl. And if I can keep it together, we can keep up our little arrangement.”

  Their arrangement? Bobby’s heart pounded. What was Mr. Cooper talking about? All this time, had he been covering for his depraved cousin—or was he just trying to calm him down to save his own neck? It was hard to tell.

  But now Bobby understood what he had to do. Slowly, he dragged himself forward, each step an effort.

  “It’s me, Mr. Cooper.”

  In that minute, he hoped Gabe would seize the opportunity and make a lunge for Galloway. It was farfetched, but it was all they had.

  He heard her shuffled movement, then a wail and a deep growl. A tearing sound and a scream as she ripped the tape from her eyes and mouth.

  “Bobby,” Gabe panted, “I got him in the eye.”

  “Go! Run! Get out of here!” Bobby shouted. “I can take care of him from here. Mr. Cooper can help me. Mr. Cooper? Are you there?”

  There was a moan and a sigh.

  “Oh, God,” said Gabe.

  “What is it?” Bobby’s heart was shattering through his ribcage, adrenaline keeping him afloat. Once it ebbed, he knew he was done for.

  “We have to get out of here,” Gabe said flatly.

  “I’m hurt, Gabe. I can barely stand. You go. Mr. Cooper will help me.”

  There was the sound of someone rising to their feet.

  “Oh, God,” said Mr. Cooper. “God, I’m so sorry. Go, Gabriella. Get out while you can. Run. I’m too weak to hold him back.”

  His legs turning to water, Bobby edged toward Mr. Cooper’s voice. “It’s okay, Mr. Cooper. Gabe got him. You’re safe now.”

  “Bobby!” Gabe shrieked. “Stay away from him! You don’t understand!”

  “Exactly,” growled Carl Galloway’s gruff voice. “He can’t stop me. No one can stop me.”

  Bobby felt the iron grip tighten around his throat, the air not getting through.

  “Bobby, it’s him! He’s insane!” Gabe screamed. “Mr. Cooper is Carl Galloway!”

  CHAPTER

  27

  In the dimness of Bobby’s fading mind, memories from someone else’s life sifted through.

  Kenny was a young prodigy, but his parents were poor. They’d pumped everything they had into lessons for him, until the accident that took them away. Orphaned at six, talented little Kenny Cooper was sent to live with his wealthy Aunt Regina and lovely cousin Olivia, whom he’d always idolized. Three years older, Olivia was delicate and a stunning pianist in her own right.

  But the fairytale life of privilege was soon marred by abuse. His aunt drove him to play with obsessive zeal and endless punishments. But Kenny knew. He was better than Olivia. Out of senseless, black envy, Aunt Regina was trying to ruin him, destroy him.

  Kenny Cooper seethed with hate until he could take no more—his young mind fractured in two, and the evil waited, lurking in the shadows for the right moment.

  He named him Carl.

  Carl said the best way to hurt Aunt Regina was by destroying what she loved most. Olivia.

  Olivia hated the water. Never learned to swim. But sweetly, now a reedy boy of twelve, Kenny coaxed Olivia onto a boat at Scratch Lake, promising he’d save her if she fell in the water. Then, with the sharp point of the fireplace pitchfork, Carl took over and speared her in the neck, laughing as the blood boiled from the wound. As she gurgled her last breath, he pushed her into the dark waters of Scratch Lake.

  It was ruled an accident. Distraught Aunt Regina withdrew into a world of madness, leaving Kenny to his own devices.

  While Kenny Cooper pushed away his terrible past, immersing himself in music and a neatly ordered life, Carl Galloway, the crazed killer, lived on, siphoning off his rage in acts of unspeakable depravity.

  “I’m so sorry, Bobby,” Mr. Cooper said, his hands like a vise around Bobby’s throat. “I tried to protect you, but you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t back down. I wanted to make something of you.” He started to cry.

  Bobby took his chance and kicked out hard. He heard Mr. Cooper fall back and stumble.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Bobby. You don’t understand. My control is limited.”

  “Run, Gabe! Get out of here!” Bobby shouted.

  “I am not leaving you here with him,” she said firmly.

  “What good is it if we both die?”

  Bobby took a sharp kick to his stomach. He reeled backward, bright sparks of light superimposed over the darkness. “Go, please,” he moaned. He was too weak to fight any more.

  Another punch, this time to his face. He spit out the blood that gathered in his mouth. Mr. Cooper was injured, too, but, fading as Bobby was, he didn’t know how long he could fend him off.

  “He’ll bury us here with the others,” Bobby shouted, his throat raw. “They’ll think we died in the fire and he’ll keep on killing. Run!”

  Something hard hit him over the head. Ears ringing, his legs crumpling, he thought he heard a thump as another body thudded to the floor.

  Bobby groaned, every ounce of him screaming in protest. Was he dead? No—it couldn’t possibly hurt this much to be dead.

  “Bobby, wake up. I hit him over the head. I wanted to kill him, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t do it. I bound him up with some old drapes. That should hold him.”

  Bobby staggered to his feet, the dark world rocking like the deck of a listing ship.

  “We’re getting out of here,” Gabe said, “and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  Somehow, as he wove in and out of consciousness, Gabe managed to help Bobby through the halls of the festering mansion, down the steps and out the front entrance. Weak gray light filtered through his lashes. It was daylight. He could still see light and shadow.

  “Leave me here. Get help,” he murmured, crumpling to the floor of what his shifting visions told him was a massive wraparound porch. “I’ll just slow you down.”

  “I’m not leaving you, even if I have to drag you by the hair.”

  She hauled Bobby to his feet. Leaning heavily on Gabe, he managed to put one foot in front of the other, his world reduced to a blur of blood-curdling cries, blood, and the stuttering rhythm of his own heart pumping frantically in a battle to keep him alive.

  So much death. So much horror.

  And all this time, it had been Mr. Cooper.

  They made slow progress through the woods, but it was getting harder and harder for Bobby to get his body to move. It seemed like the commands from his brain were not reaching his feet, while at the same time, the thread that connected him to Kenny/Carl pinged like electricity through a wire.

  He’d gotten free.

  He was coming.

  “Gabe, leave me. Please,” he begged.


  “No,” she said bluntly. “And that’s my final answer,

  Bobby Robert. If I have to carry you, I’m not leaving you alone for that madman to finish off.”

  His thoughts were clouded with the residue of so much death, his skull throbbing with a low buzz like a fluorescent bulb about to blink out. Wild colors flashed across dim gray. He moved his mouth to speak, but the words came out garbled and slurred. Walking had become an effort, like wading into a strong current. He was a puppet whose strings were too slack.

  Then he heard it—a whirring, grinding noise in the distance, eating up the forest floor. Coming straight for them.

  He tried to shout a warning, tried to get his mouth to move, but it was as if his jaws were sewn together with stiff elastic.

  The ATV roared over their heads, crash-landing with a snarling fury a few feet away. He couldn’t find the words, but from some reservoir of stubborn will, Bobby summoned his last bit of energy to shove Gabe out of the vehicle’s path and roll out of the way himself.

  But he kept rolling, his body limp and unable to check his fall. He slammed, flesh and bone against rock and dead trees, like a rag doll. In the distance, from somewhere above him, he could hear Gabe’s vague screams.

  He hadn’t been able to save her. He hadn’t been able to save himself.

  As his fall finally came to a halt, the sounds, the worries, all sensation dropped away like falling feathers.

  CHAPTER

  28

  Bobby floated somewhere, in warm liquid, suspended in darkness, feeling nothing. Seeing nothing.

  Echoes of the all-terrain vehicle as it chewed the dirt beneath its wheels. His own screams.

  Where am I?

  Crying. So many years, he’d denied the monster within. Pretended it wasn’t there. Pretended the terror of his childhood was behind him. He was a good citizen. He cared about people, felt things. And the music. The music was what kept him anchored to his last shred of humanity. He clung to it like a shipwreck victim, hoping one day to be washed onto the shores of a safe haven. A place where he couldn’t reach him.