by J. M. Barlog
“Damn you! Leave me in peace!” she issued with a voice empty of strength and courage.
If only she could cry, scream, do something to vent the pressure building inside.
Her ghost, the torment of her very existence, waited at the top of the stairs, beckoning her to come up.
Jenny began to mewl.
Another set of headlight beams brought Jenny up from the floor. The car stopped in her drive.
Bridget!
Jenny ran to the door and threw it open wide as Bridget bounded up the stairs.
“Jenny, what's the matter?”
Their embrace sent waves of relief through Jenny. She was no longer alone. No longer vulnerable to that thing waiting at the top of the stairs in the darkness. Jenny hurried Bridget into the living room, never once glancing up the stairs into the murky darkness.
Bridget tossed her coat over Warren's chair and helped Jenny to the sofa, rubbing the palms of her hands vigorously across Jenny’s arms and shoulders to warm her.
“Jenny, you’re freezing.”
“The police arrested Warren.”
“What for?”
“Attempted murder. They said Warren tampered with my car. That's why I had the accident. They said he tried to kill me.”
“That's unbelievable. Warren would never do that.”
“I can't believe it, either.”
There was something in the way Jenny spoke that caused Bridget to wonder whether Jenny was telling the truth.
“Why did they...” Jenny started.
“Let me make us some tea,” Bridget countered.
While Bridget went to the kitchen, Jenny sat on the sofa, replaying in her mind all those bits and pieces that had surfaced concerning the two lost weeks. Bridget’s presence fueled her courage, and for now, Jenny tucked away her fear of what lurked unseen up the stairs.
Jenny realized there was more to that night. Had she unwittingly played into Warren’s deception? Did he know the car was set to go out of control? Is that why he stayed behind to purchase cigarettes? Did he need to put distance between himself and her so he wouldn't witness the accident and see his own wife die in a tragic crash? Was it the Saab behind her that night bumping her as she made the turn?
“Here's some hot tea. This should help.”
Jenny accepted the cup in both hands, sipped a little, then set it on the side table.
“Did you call your attorney?”
“Right after I called you. His service said they would get a message to him. I don't know how long it will take before he can get to Warren and sort this thing out.”
Bridget sipped her tea in silence while she browsed the books on the shelves across the room.
Jenny remained on the sofa, staring into her cup. There she saw something rising up out of the black liquid. Something that could shed further light on that fateful night.
“Could you stay with me until Warren can return home?”
“No problem. I'd be happy to, Jenny. So, the police are saying your accident wasn't really an accident after all?”
“They believe Warren did something to my car that caused it to go out of control.”
“That's ridiculous,” Bridget said, returning to the sofa beside Jenny. They were eye to eye now.
“What could he have done?” Bridget asked.
“I don't know.”
“Why would they think Warren would be crazy enough to do something like that?” Bridget persisted.
“Warren was having an affair,” Jenny stated. That's what she saw in the liquid. She had learned that Warren was involved with another woman. The words just popped into Jenny's head. Another lost memory regained.
“What? He was? With who?”
“I don't know...I remember...I thought I was losing him to another woman. This was before the accident. Before I knew I was pregnant.”
“Jenny, you were pregnant?” Bridget asked with surprise.
“Yes.”
Another lost memory played across the front of her mind.
“But you knew that, right? I remember now. I got the call from my doctor at the office. You were there with me at the time.”
“Jenny, I couldn't have been there. I would have remembered that.”
“It was about two weeks before the accident. You came by and we were going to lunch, except I got tied up on the telephone with a client. That new panty hose account, remember?”
“No, Jenny, I don't,” Bridget said.
There was an odd insistence in Bridget's voice.
“My doctor called before we could get out the door. I took the call, and she told me I was pregnant. Remember, you promised not to say anything. I was going to surprise Warren at a special dinner...the dinner at Diamante's.”
Jenny stopped. The dinner at Diamante's.
“I don't remember that, Jenny. It must have been someone else.”
“No, Bridget, I'm sure it was you.”
Bridget left the sofa. She returned to the book case, placing her back to Jenny.
For a moment neither spoke. Jenny stared at her back in disbelief. Everything had returned so clearly now. She saw it as if it had just happened yesterday. Why was Bridget saying these…
“You're right, Jenny. It was me. I was there and you were pregnant.”
Bridget's voice turned cold and distant.
“God, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I remember it so vividly now.”
“I know. You and Warren were going to have a baby. Your life was so perfect.”
As she spoke, Bridget's voice completed its diabolic transformation. A voice now more of conscience than of person. She turned to face her friend with eyes white hot in anger. She dropped her tea cup, the liquid spilling into an inky stain across the Persian rug.
“I was pregnant, too, Jenny. You didn't know that, though. You didn't know I was pregnant.”
“Pregnant? Bridget, what are you saying?”
“I was pregnant, Jenny. But you never knew. You know why you never knew? Because I aborted it in the first trimester. I killed the one thing I wanted most in my life.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't even know you were involved with anyone.”
“I was. I was in love, really in love, for the first time in my life. I was in love with someone who just wanted me.”
“Bridget, I'm sorry. Why didn't you tell me?”
“I couldn't. I couldn't tell anyone.”
“You could have told me. I would have helped you through it.”
“Would you? Would you have helped me through it when I told you it was Warren's baby? Would you have helped me through it when I told you Warren loved me and wanted to divorce you? Would you have helped me through it, Jenny?” Bridget was screaming now.
“Oh God,” Jenny moaned, clutching her chest.
“Yes Jenny, I'm the one Warren was fucking on the side. I'm the one who made him feel like a king. Not you!”
“What?”
“That's right, Jenny. But don't worry about your precious little hubby now. You know what the sentence is for attempted murder? He'll do ten to twenty in a federal prison. You know how I know that, Jenny?”
Jenny abandoned the sofa and started backing slowly toward the front door. Get out, her mind screamed to her body. But her body had difficulty comprehending.
Bridget sprang like a leopard, slipping quickly past her to block the way out of the house.
“You know how I know that, Jenny?” Bridget persisted, growing more venomous.
“No.”
“Because Warren didn't try to kill you. He doesn't have the balls for something like that. But I do, Jenny. Why should you have Warren's baby when he made me kill mine? Tell me why, Jenny?”
Jenny bolted for the stairs, pounding up as fast as she could. Her stomach felt like it was being ripped in two. Up there was the darkness and the...
Bridget lunged from behind her, but missed Jenny's foot by a scant inch. Her face smacked the stair causing blood to trickle from
her nose as she climbed, using hands and feet to regain her footing.
Jenny reached the second floor a stride ahead of Bridget. She dashed into the bedroom and slammed the door just before Bridget could reach her. Against Bridget’s pounding and pushing, Jenny held the door in place long enough to turn the lock.
Bridget pounded the wood with both fists. Then silence, horrifying silence.
“Actually, I didn't want to kill you, Jenny,” Bridget whispered sinisterly through the door. “I just wanted to kill Warren's baby. I wanted to make sure your baby died the same way mine did.”
Granite silence returned for a long moment.
Jenny feared stepping away from the door even though she had locked it. Could Bridget break it down? Then Jenny saw the telephone by her bed.
She snatched up the receiver. A dead line.
“It's off the hook in the den,” Bridget said into the phone, “No one can help you now.”
“Bridget, please don't do this. Please let me go.”
There was no answer.
****
Dwight jumped into his van, cranking it and pumping the accelerator until it droned like a dying lion. He had to get to the Garrett house. Damn that mechanic. He said the van was fixed.
The worst possible situation for Jenny now was to be left alone in that house with her spirit. Dwight held no doubts that the ghost intended to kill her—needed to kill her—in order to free itself from the torment of being caught between worlds. He had no inkling of what he might be able to do to prevent that death from happening; he only knew he had to get to her and do everything in his power to save her life.
Dwight realized it would take at least thirty minutes to get to Jenny's after he got his van to start. The busy telephone line he got when he tried to call only heightened his fear. Maybe Jenny was on the telephone. Or maybe something else had happened causing the phone to come off the cradle.
Finally, the engine caught and Dwight roared out of his friend's driveway, fish-tailing down the street in the dark.
****
Jenny flinched when something heavy bashed her door. Bridget had gone for one of Warren’s hammers from the basement. The interior surface of the six-paneled door began to splinter with each successive blow.
“Please, Bridget, please don't do this.”
“You could have lived if you would have let Warren divorce you. I wouldn't have tried to kill you if you hadn't gotten pregnant. Now I have to finish the job. Then they'll let Warren go. You see, Jenny, I'm going to have him after all.”
“No you won't. The police will figure out you're the one who tried to kill me.”
Bridget’s hideous laugh seeped through the wood.
“Don't worry, I took care of everything. You remember Reggie Dickerson? Poor Reggie, the gopher you fired a year ago for screwing up at the agency. Dumb Reggie got himself so strung out on heroin that he'd do anything for a fix. He's the one who rigged your car. But don't be fooled, it was my idea. Something I learned from a racetrack mechanic. Reggie helped make sure my plan would work.”
“Then he'll...”
“Don't worry about Reggie. I paid him in heroin. Paid him so well, the shit died four days after your accident. You're the only one who knows the truth, and you're not going to be able to tell anyone.” Bridget was screaming through the door, pounding incessantly with maddening blows.
Jenny opened her window. If only she had engaged the alarm. She gazed down the twenty feet to the shrubbery below. No way to get down from here. In her mind's eye, she saw Mr. Chips lying dead in the grass.
31
The interrogation room was deathly quiet; Warren sat completely alone. He knew they were watching him through a mirror on the wall. Still, he lit another cigarette as soon as he finished the one between his lips. His hands had to be occupied, doing something, anything. The cigarette helped. The nicotine had yellowed his index finger.
He checked his watch for the fourth time in ten minutes. His hands had to be occupied, doing something, anything. Twenty minutes had elapsed since they had placed him in the interrogation room. Part of the game, Warren figured. He just had no idea how long this part of their game lasted. He hoped Jenny had gotten someone to stay with her; someone to safeguard her until he could get back. As much as he hated Mackenzie, he hoped he had arrived to watch over his wife.
Warren fought down the urge to stand up, walk over to the mirror, and stick his middle finger right in their faces. But he knew better. Instead, he sat complacently tapping the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, waiting.
These shits, I’ll play their game and beat them at it, he thought as he waited. He started to hum a tune, an eighties ballad he dug up from deep in his memory. Inspiration was what he needed most right now. It was the song Jenny and he shared on their honeymoon. It offered him strength.
Finally, Rick Walker entered the room. He entered alone.
Warren fell silent.
“What? I don't deserve two of you shits? Don't you need a partner to play your good cop, bad cop game on me? You must think I’m a fucking moron.”
Rick said nothing. He took up the chair beside Warren and opened the folder he carried in with him.
“You know you're going to get ten years for attempted murder, don't you?”
“Thank you, Sgt. Friday. This is so fucking ridiculous. You know I didn't try to kill Jenny. This is the most insane bullshit charge I've ever heard of.”
“Let's start with the basics. We know your commodities trading business is in serious trouble. Man, you're drowning out there, and you're all alone. You're facing bankruptcy.”
“I'm down for the year. I've lost more in a day than you make in a year. I've lost ten times your fucking salary and came back. You think I'd kill Jenny for money?”
“You stood to gain a cool million if she had died in that accident.” Rick emphasized the last word.
Warren's eyes fixed themselves on Rick's. They were squaring off, one against the other.
“That's ridiculous. Jenny was a partner in an ad agency and we needed to keep her adequately insured. Who knows what problems I'd have to face if she died. Christ, I've got a million dollar policy on myself.”
“But no one tried to kill you. And Jenny had Partners’ Insurance with the agency. That would have taken care of any business-related financial difficulties resulting from her death.”
“Yeah, and Kate would have collected on that if Jenny died. You pull her in for questioning, too? Maybe she tried to kill Jenny for the money.”
“We've cleared Kate. She didn't have opportunity.”
Rick's immediate response surprised Warren, so much so, that he stumbled for his next words. They had suspected Kate of attempted murder.
“Opportunity. Opportunity to do what? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You figured the crash would destroy any evidence, didn't you? You figured no one would ever connect Jenny's accident to premeditated murder?”
Rick edged closer, making certain Warren could feel his breath against his face. Then Rick slowly reached into his pocket and removed two bolts in a sealed plastic bag. Very carefully, Rick set the bolts on the table in front of Warren.
“You know what's different between these two bolts?” Rick asked, his eyes never looking up at Warren's.
“No. They're both broken.”
“Very good. But if you look real close at this one here,” Rick pointed, “you'll see cut marks on the end where the locking nut used to be. Cut marks that come from a hack saw blade.”
“Good work, Sherlock!”
“The other bolt head busted by sheer force. You notice how smooth the surface is where the break occurred?”
Warren fumbled for another cigarette, never looking at the bolts now in Rick's hand.
“Yeah, scumbag. You figured the crash would destroy the evidence. You figured you could kill Jenny, collect the money and keep right on screwing your girlfriend.”
“You're out of your fucking mind.�
�
“This bolt here came off the right front stabilizer strut support of your wife's car. When the locking nut was snapped off, the strut was free to come loose from the mounting, and Jenny lost control of the car. But you knew that. You planned that to happen. You just needed to get Jenny on a winding road, so you could make sure she'd lose control.”
Sweat worked its way down Warren's neck. He crushed out the cigarette he had just lit and reached for another.
“How did you do it? Tell me exactly the steps you took. Start at the beginning...”
“I didn't do a fucking thing!”
“Yeah right. You made the reservation at Diamante's knowing you needed to get Jenny on a winding road. And you were late. While Jenny was inside waiting, you were out in the parking lot. It was dark, and even if someone questioned you, you'd just have said it was your car.”
Rick paused long enough for his words to sink into Warren’s brain.
“You went up to the car, popped the hood and whacked the bolt with a hammer. That made the nut snap off. But you stupid shit, you forgot to take the locking nut with you. We found it in the parking lot of the restaurant and matched the cut marks to the bolt from Jenny's car. You left just enough evidence behind to allow us to throw your stinking ass in prison for twenty years.”
If this kept up, he’d have the sentence for attempted murder trumped up to fifty years by the time Warren confessed. Rick reached into his pocket, pulled out a hexagonal nut with threads intact and encased in plastic.
“The saw marks here match those on the bolt. They're an exact fit. You see, we know the strut was rigged. I found it where you left it.”
Warren refused to even acknowledge the nut sitting before him on the table.
“What did it feel like?” Rick asked with a perverse tone to his voice.
“What did what feel like?”
“Sitting across from Jenny during dinner, laughing, talking, even holding hands—all the while knowing you were going to send her to her death? What did you think about during those two hours in the restaurant?”