by B. J Daniels
The sheriff stirred. Tiffany smiled to herself. He had sensed something wrong. Maybe he even sensed her.
He sat up suddenly, blinking. Even when he saw her standing there, it was as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. She wondered how many times he’d thought he’d seen her here only to realize it was only his worst nightmare.
As he started to get up and reach for something in the bedside table, Tiffany squeezed the trigger. Two charged electrodes at the ends of long conductive wires shot out, launching through the air. The attached wires trailed across the bed as dozens of confetti-sized identification tags filled the air.
The barbs of the electrodes caught on Sheriff Frank Curry’s pajama top, sending current through the fabric to his flesh. In the predawn light coming through the window, she saw his eyes widen as his body began to quiver. He tried to get up, only to fall on the floor on his side of the bed.
She knew she had only one shot and for a moment, she thought it wouldn’t incapacitate him. But once on the floor, he didn’t move.
Nettie had come awake, sitting up and staring for a moment as if seeing a ghost. Tiffany smiled. “Hello, Nettie.”
As the woman scrambled from the bed to get to her husband, Tiffany snapped on the light and drew the gun. “Stop!” she ordered.
Ignoring her, Nettie dropped down beside Frank. Tiffany ground her teeth. She couldn’t wait to kill this woman. But this was not the way she had it planned. What had Frank seen in this woman anyway? Pam was much prettier.
Frank began to twitch on the floor.
“Get away from him,” she ordered, motioning with the gun. “Now!”
Nettie rose slowly. Her original fear and horror had been replaced with anger. Her eyes blazed. “You’re just like your mother.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Don’t. She was a selfish, manipulative—”
“Don’t talk about my mother,” Tiffany snapped, pointing the gun at Nettie’s heart.
That’s my baby girl, her mother said as she materialized beside her. Kill them.
“Not yet.”
I said kill them.
“No, this is my plan.”
“Who are you talking to?” Nettie asked in a whisper. She didn’t look as angry. She looked worried.
“Mother wants me to kill you both.”
“I’m sure she does,” Nettie said.
Frank was getting stronger. She couldn’t wait much longer. But she wanted to be sure he got to see Nettie die. Then he would get to see her kill his precious crow family—every last one of them.
Nettie had sat down on the edge of the bed with Frank still at her feet.
Get on with it. Pam was next to her demanding she finish it. What are you waiting for?
Frank managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, his back against the wall. She thought he might beg her to reconsider. She thought he would at least say something. Instead, he looked resigned as if he’d been waiting for this day, knowing she would come, knowing she would kill them both.
Tiffany realized that she wanted to see panic in their eyes, fear, not the pity she witnessed in Frank’s. Not the resignation and sadness she saw in Nettie’s.
She’d dreamed of this moment. It would be so easy to pull the trigger. Kill Nettie and empty the rest of the shots into Frank.
And then what?
Steal Nettie’s SUV and go anywhere she wanted. She had the money her mother had left her. She had moved the account out of the country in a place where there was no extradition. She could live on that for a long time. If the money ran out, she could get a job. She could make a life for herself.
Her mother laughed. Stop kidding yourself. They will catch you and this time you will never get out of the loony bin. You should save one bullet for yourself and finish this. It is the only peace you will ever get.
Tiffany could feel Frank watching her as if he could see the struggle going on inside her. She shook her head. He’d thought all it would take to cure her was listening to the doctors at the hospital. He didn’t know that her mother would never leave her alone.
Outside one of the crows began to caw again. She had the extra clip in her pocket. Enough firepower to kill the crows and then herself. It was the only way to escape her mother. Hadn’t she always known that was the way it had to end?
Frank was still sitting on the floor. He hadn’t tried to get up. He hadn’t tried to rush her. This wasn’t going the way she’d planned it and that made her angry and worried. She felt off balance. She had envisioned this so many times. Why wasn’t it going like she’d seen it in her head?
Just then, Nettie lunged toward the door—and a shotgun leaning against the wall in the corner.
Her mother screamed a warning. The knife! Use the knife!
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CASSIDY WOKE SICK to her stomach. She rolled to her side, her eyes flying open as she felt an arm come around her. An older nurse dressed in white said, “There, there, sweetie,” as she produced a small container. Cassidy was trying to make sense of her surroundings when the meager contents of her stomach roiled up and out.
She lay back as the nurse wiped Cassidy’s mouth, murmuring soft words. The woman had a kind face and what appeared to be a sweet disposition as she smiled down at her. “Feeling better now?”
All she could do was nod as she took in the room and the nurse beside her bed.
“You’re in a hospital in Houston,” the woman said as she tidied up the area next to Cassidy’s bed.
“What’s wrong with me?” Her voice came out in a whisper.
“Here, have a little drink. You must be parched.” As she took a sip through the straw, she saw that the woman’s name was clipped on her uniform. Susie. No last name. “You’ve had a rough time of it. Some kind of flu bug that knocked you off your feet. It’s something that’s been going around, I’m afraid. You’ve been down for a few days now.”
A few days? Cassidy stared at her in surprise. “I don’t remember coming here.”
“Your friends brought you.”
“My friends?” she repeated.
The nurse frowned. “You were staying with one of them, I believe. You’ve been so sick. You don’t remember? Well, she remembers you. She’s right outside your room and anxious to see you. Feeling up to it? I won’t let her stay long.”
Cassidy nodded, needing to understand how she’d gotten here. “Thank you.” She felt better since she’d thrown up. Mostly, she felt weak and confused. Houston? A friend? Her memory felt blank, like a deep dark hole.
The door opened again shortly and a young familiar-looking woman came into the room. “Hey, we were so worried about you, but you finally have some color. Remember me? Taylor Scott. You’ve been staying with me in my brownstone?”
A piece of memory clunked into place. “You invited me to Houston.”
Taylor smiled and nodded. “Glad to see you’re better than you were when I first brought you in here.”
Chattily, she sat down on the edge of Cassidy’s bed and opened her large purse. “I wasn’t sure how long you were going to have to stay so I brought you some magazines, a hairbrush—though with that hairdo, you shouldn’t have to do much.”
Her hand went to her hair. She pulled it back in surprise to find her long locks gone. “I got it cut?”
“Cut and colored.” Taylor shrugged. “You said you needed a change.” She studied Cassidy openly for a moment. “It looks good on you. You’ve never had it short before?” Not giving her a chance to answer, Taylor chatted on until Cassidy found an opening.
“I don’t remember coming here.”
The young woman stopped and looked at her. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Cassidy tried to recall, but it only made her head ache.
“You were supposed to meet me and Peter for dinner at a restaurant not far from my apartment. Do you remember that?”
She did. Just being able to retrieve that memory made her feel a little better.
“But when you got there, you were complaining that you didn’t feel good. Whatever it was hit you hard. You were so sick.” Taylor mugged a face. “It scared us so we brought you to this hospital. Peter knew someone who worked here and had heard it was the best in Houston.” She shrugged again. “I’m just glad that you’re doing better.”
“Has my family been told?”
Taylor frowned. “I didn’t know how to reach them. You never told me anything about them. There were a few numbers in your purse, but I was hesitant to call them. When we met, I got the feeling that you weren’t close to your family.”
Cassidy nodded as Susie came back into the room.
“Let my girl get some rest now,” the nurse said as she chased Taylor off her bed and began to smooth the sheets. “I bet you’ve talked her arm off and worn her out.”
Taylor laughed. “I’m just glad she’s feeling better. Also, I needed to tell her my news. Peter and I are headed for South Padre now that you’re all right. If you feel up to it, you could join us there...”
“No,” Cassidy said. “I need to go home for a while.”
“You never said where home is.”
“Montana. I’ve been gone too long,” she said, thinking how true that was. She had a deep yearning to go home.
* * *
FRANK FOUGHT HARD not to react as Tiffany grabbed Lynette. It all happened in an instant. Now a crazy woman had a knife to his wife’s throat. He caught the gleam in Tiffany’s eyes. She would delight in slitting Lynette’s throat. He could see that she’d already nicked it. A trickle of blood ran down to the neckline of Lynette’s nightgown, where it formed a dark stain against the white fabric.
Now what? He thought. How long were they to stay like this before Tiffany did what she’d come here to do?
Frank had known this day would come. As he tried to get feeling back into his body, he told himself that he’d been waiting for it. So had Nettie. Neither had believed it wouldn’t come. Tiffany was too smart. Of course, she would escape and of course, she would come here.
But as months had gone by, he’d become lax. He’d apparently left the patrol unlocked. How else had she gotten the Taser and his gun? Had he really thought she wouldn’t have studied up on how to use the weapons he kept there? He’d underestimated her, a huge mistake.
But he hadn’t been a complete fool. He’d prepared. There were weapons hidden all over the house. Nettie didn’t even know all the places he’d put them for this very occasion.
He stalled, waiting for his body to stop trembling. He would need to be steady because he would get only one chance.
It hadn’t been a coincidence that when he’d been able to move after the Taser shot that he’d propped himself up on this wall with the bedside table off to his left, his boots to his right.
He would have to move fast, something he wasn’t sure he could do just yet.
Tiffany was arguing with the empty space next to her as if her mother was standing there. He could well imagine what Pam was saying to her. It appeared that Tiffany was trying to ignore her—just as she probably had her whole life. But it wasn’t working. The Pam in her head was clearly making her nervous and anxious. Earlier he’d seen confusion in the girl’s face. She had been having doubts about what she planned to do.
Not now, though. She wanted to get it over. He could see resignation in her expression. She thought she had no choice. Dead or alive, Pam had never given her a choice.
He had to do it, even if he wasn’t sure his motor skills had completely returned. Otherwise, Lynette was about to die. If that happened, he didn’t care what Tiffany did to him. But he also had to end this here tonight. He couldn’t let her loose on society. Not with her dead treacherous mother in her head.
He watched her. He knew better than to try to reason with her. He’d tried that for years now. It only made her madder and more hateful.
“Stop it,” Tiffany snapped, turning her head to look at the spot next to her. “I’ll do it. Just let me do this in my own way.”
Pam was encouraging her to kill—just as she had done most of the poor girl’s life.
He met Lynette’s gaze, saw her eyes widen in alarm as she, too, realized it was time. It was only a matter of time before Tiffany did as her mother ordered.
Minutes ticked off. He could feel his strength coming back, though slowly. Part of it was his age, he knew. The Taser had left him weak and shaking. He watched Tiffany’s face. Apparently, Pam was doing all the talking. Tiffany was shaking her head as she listened to the one-sided conversation.
Pam, even dead, was still tormenting her daughter. He wondered if crazy was hereditary. Maybe all the doctors in the world couldn’t have helped Tiffany. Maybe she had always been a lost cause and only fools like him had thought he could save her.
If he failed to end it here in this bedroom... He hated to think what would happen. After this, Tiffany would never get out of the criminally insane ward. Once they caught her. If they caught her. But like her mother, she might be elusive for years. What damage could she do in all that time? He hated to think and knew he couldn’t let that happen.
But he feared if he made a move, Tiffany would cut Nettie’s throat before he could stop her.
Right now it was a stalemate. He didn’t dare move. He could hardly breathe.
* * *
NETTIE FELT NUMB. It surprised her. She’d gone through such a mix of emotions in a nanosecond. Surprise, fear, anger, resignation and now a numbness. This was how it was supposed to end, she thought. At least she and Frank had found their way back to each other and had this time together. She was grateful for that.
She’d never thought about life after death, but a warm feeling now moved through her that wherever she and Frank were headed, they would be together.
She felt the knife blade prick her skin again and closed her eyes, telling herself it would be over soon.
* * *
JACK WOKE WITH the worst headache he’d ever had. He tried to sit up, but everything spun.
“Take it slow,” said an unfamiliar female voice next to his bed.
A wave of nausea hit him when he turned his head to look at her. The nurse had apparently been sitting there, waiting for him to awaken.
Now she rose and came to him, taking his wrist in her cool fingers as she apparently checked his pulse.
“Where am I?” His voice came out a croak.
“You’re in a private hospital in Houston.”
“Houston,” he repeated under his breath as if the word was alien to him.
“Do you remember what happened to you?” she asked as she removed some apparatus from his arm and then moved to turn off a monitor next to his bed.
He searched his mind. The last thing he recalled was visiting his mother’s grave. “No.”
“I can only tell you what I was told. Apparently, you stepped off the curb and were nearly run down by a utility truck.”
He lifted the sheet to look down at his legs, worried how badly he might have been injured.
She noticed and shook her head, “Your only injury was from the fall. You struck your head.”
His hand went to his head and felt the rough cotton of a bandage.
“You have a concussion so your memory might be a little fuzzy.”
A little fuzzy? He didn’t recall any of this. “Was anyone else hurt?”
She looked a little surprised at the question. “No, you were alone.”
He lay back on the pillow, not sure why he had asked the question. He’d been alone at the cemetery.
“Try to
get some rest,” the nurse said.
“Has my father been called?”
“He’s the one who had you sent here to our private hospital. I’m sure he will be stopping by to see you soon. He’s been here since it happened. I sent him home this morning. He was looking worse than you.”
“How long have I been here?” he asked.
She seemed reluctant to answer for a moment. “A few days. Don’t concern yourself about that.”
A few days? He wanted to ask her more questions, but she left, closing the door behind him. A deep lethargy seemed to descend over him. He closed his eyes.
The dream came almost at once. Mountains, a stream, a beautiful young woman smiling up at him from deep green grass. A woman he’d never seen before.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE GUN WAS in Frank’s boot where he put it each night. He finally spoke as he tried to get up. “Tiffany—”
She reacted just as he feared she would. She jerked Lynette back against her and dug the knife into her flesh. Another bead of bright red appeared on her throat and began to run down, this one larger than the last.
He reached for his boots as if trying to steady himself and fell back, landing with a groan as he pulled one boot to him. He closed his eyes, his head against the wall. She wouldn’t kill Lynette unless he was watching. He knew her that well. He hadn’t suffered enough.
“Do that again and I will cut her throat from ear to ear,” Tiffany said from between gritted teeth.
“You’re going to do that anyway,” he said, not opening his eyes. His hand slipped into the boot, his fingers closing around the stock of the pistol. “So what is stopping you?”
“You ruined my mother’s life,” Tiffany cried. “I want to ruin yours.”
“Haven’t you already done that?” he asked still without opening his eyes. “For years now I have lived in fear of this night.”
He heard her make a satisfied sound. She wanted to hear about his anguish, she fed on it. And so did her insane mother.