One Last Scream

by Kevin O'Brien

  Haley rolled her eyes and laughed.

  “Just don’t ruin your own life to hurt him,” Karen whispered. “Promise me you won’t.”

  “I promise.” Haley fiddled with a strand of her hair.

  “And stop tugging at your hair.”

  Obediently, she smiled and glanced down at her plate. She played with her fork instead. “Karen, you’re not going to forget me, are you?”

  Karen reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “How could I? Every morning I have my coffee out of that tacky ‘Karen is a Cool Cat’ mug you gave me. I couldn’t start my day without it.”

  They hugged good-bye alongside Haley’s father’s Toyota. Haley offered her a ride, but Karen decided to walk home. It was only a few blocks. She’d been keeping up a brave, everything-will-be-swell front with Haley, and needed time alone to have herself a good cry.

  When she got home, she found her dad asleep in front of the TV. Jessie had fixed him fried chicken. Karen washed his dinner dishes, then woke him and got him into his bed. She was about to take a shower when the phone rang. She snatched up the receiver on the second ring, hoping her dad hadn’t awoken. “Hello?”

  “This is the Seattle Police calling for Karen Carlisle,” said the man on the other end of the line.

  “Yes, this is Karen.” Her grip tightened on the receiver.

  “Your name and phone number are listed in Haley Lombard’s wallet as her emergency contact.”

  Karen had no idea. For a moment, she almost couldn’t breathe.

  “I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” he said.

  “Where? Is Haley hurt?”

  “She went off the freeway overpass at Lakeview and Belmont.”

  Karen knew that overpass. It curved above Interstate 5, and had a low guardrail along the edge. At one point, the drop was several stories down to the freeway.

  “Is she-is she going to be all right?”

  “They’re taking her body to Harborview Medical Center,” he answered grimly. “I’m sorry. Were you her parent or legal guardian?”

  Karen closed her eyes. “No,” she heard herself answer. “No, I was her friend.”

  The rest of the night was a blur. She couldn’t get hold of Kurt, and there was no answer at Haley’s mother’s house, not even a machine. Karen didn’t want to leave her dad alone; he’d woken up in the middle of the night before, and not known where he was. But she had no choice. All she could do was quietly hurry out the door, and pray he’d sleep until morning.

  In the car, she was so frazzled she passed Twelfth Avenue, probably the quickest way to the hospital. The next possible route, Broadway, was gridlocked. Flustered, she headed downhill to Belmont and the overpass where Haley had had her accident. That overpass eventually led to the highway on-ramp, and once on the interstate she could be at the hospital within two minutes.

  But her thinking was muddled. Of course, they were rerouting traffic at the accident site. Cars lined up bumper to bumper as she approached the overpass. A detour sign had been placed at the last turn before the overpass, and a cop waved at her to make a left, where traffic seemed to move at a crawl. Ahead, Karen could see cones lined up, emergency flares sizzling on the concrete, and swirling red strobes from police cars parked at the start of the overpass. She saw something else, too: Kurt’s Toyota.

  “My God, they made a mistake,” she whispered to herself. The cop had told her on the phone that Haley had gone off the overpass, yet there was Kurt’s car, all in one piece. The front door was open, and someone shined a flashlight around inside the car. All she could think was Maybe Haley’s okay after all, maybe they got it wrong….

  “Keep moving!” yelled the cop in front of the detour sign. He waved at her impatiently.

  Karen rolled down her window. “The police called me fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “They told me to go to Harborview. I’m a friend of Haley Lombard. But I think they made a mistake-”

  “Okay, you can go ahead,” he grumbled, motioning her forward.

  Karen slowly continued down the hill, where the police kept onlookers at bay. She caught another look at Kurt’s Toyota. The man inside with the flashlight was inspecting the glove compartment.

  “You need to turn your car back around!” another cop screamed at her.

  She shook her head and called out the window to him, repeating what she’d told the first patrolman. “I think there was some kind of mistake about the victim’s identity.” She nodded toward the Toyota. “That’s Haley Lombard’s father’s car over there.”

  The cop had her pull over to a small lot by a chain-link fence overlooking the freeway. “Lemme get someone to clear this up with you,” he grunted.

  Karen parked her car and climbed out. For a moment, her legs were unsteady. She kept looking for a mangled section of the overpass’s guardrail, some indication that another vehicle had plowed through it and careened down to the freeway. But she didn’t see any damage at all. She wandered toward the railing edge and peered over it. About five stories below, on the interstate, a line of emergency flares cordoned off two lanes, and traffic was at a near standstill. Several squad cars, their flashers going, surrounded a smashed-up SUV. A tow truck was backing up toward it. From the skid marks on the pavement, it looked as if the SUV had swerved to avoid hitting something, and then crashed into the concrete divider. The tire markings on the pavement veered in front of a pool of blood. It almost looked black in the night.

  Confused, Karen glanced to her right and tapped a young policewoman on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I’m a friend of Haley Lombard’s, and they called me. They said she went off the overpass. But her father’s car is right there, and I don’t see where anyone could have driven off-”

  “Haley Lombard, yes,” the policewoman said, nodding. She seemed distracted by a voice crackling over the walkie-talkie on her belt. “Hell of a mess down there. An SUV almost hit the body. Thank God no one in the vehicle was seriously injured. Your friend didn’t drive off the overpass. She jumped. It looks like she was drinking. They found a bottle of bourbon in her car. She was DOA at Harborview ten minutes ago. You need to talk to somebody there.” She turned away and started barking a bunch of police code numbers on her radio.

  Karen couldn’t hear what she was saying. She just stood there by the overpass’s guardrail, with the wind whipping at her. She was thinking that it all made sense now. She should have seen the signs. Some people about to commit suicide can appear very calm. After a period of torment, they can suddenly seem at peace, because they have come up with a solution for their problems. That had been Haley only two hours ago. She’d taken control of her situation and made up her mind about what to do.

  “Karen, you’re not going to forget me, are you?”

  A loud beep, beep, beep from below made her turn toward the guardrail again and gaze down at the freeway. A cleanup truck had backed up toward the dark puddle. Its hoses went on and started to wash the blood away. Pink swirls formed in the water that rippled across the pavement to the highway’s shoulder.

  Kurt and his ex-wife both blamed Karen. Haley had lied to them about where she’d been going that night. Kurt pointed out that he’d asked Karen to stop seeing Haley, but she’d met with her anyway, and just look what had happened. She must have said something to Haley during their secret dinner that helped push their girl over the edge.

  Karen didn’t have it in her to fight with Haley’s grieving parents. She didn’t go to the funeral. She knew she wasn’t welcome.

  Just three weeks after the burial, Karen had her first meeting with Amelia Faraday. For a while, Amelia reminded her so much of Haley, it hurt. But since then, she’d gotten to know Amelia, and really couldn’t compare her to anyone.

  The telephone rang, and Karen jumped up from the breakfast table. She figured it was Amelia again, and grabbed the phone before Jessie even had a chance to wipe off her hands. “Hello?” she said into the phone.

  “Is Karen Carlisle there, please?” The man sou
nded as if he had asthma or something. His breathing wasn’t right.

  “This is Karen,” she said.

  “Um, my name’s George McMillan. My niece is one of your patients, Amelia Faraday….”

  “Is Amelia all right?”

  “She isn’t with you?” he asked. “I just spoke with her five minutes ago, and she said she was at your house.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. McMillan, but she isn’t,” she replied. “Amelia called me, too. She indicated there was some kind of emergency. Is everything okay?”

  “No, it’s not.” He cleared his throat, but it still sounded like something was wrong with his breathing. “She-she had this premonition. She phoned saying she thought her parents and my wife-that’s her aunt-”

  “Yes, Amelia has mentioned her.”

  “Well, see, they went away for the weekend at the family cabin on Lake Wenatchee, and Amelia was convinced they’d all been killed last night.” His voice cracked, and Karen realized he was crying. That was why his breathing sounded so strange. “And she-she was right. I talked to someone who lives near the Lake Wenatchee house, and this neighbor, she found the bodies.”

  “Oh, my God,” Karen whispered. She sank down in one of the chairs at the breakfast table. “I’m so sorry….”

  Karen heard him trying to stifle the sobs. He explained how he’d spoken to this neighbor-and then the police in Wenatchee. It appeared as if Amelia’s father had shot his wife and sister-in-law with a hunting rifle, and then he’d turned the gun on himself.

  “My God, Mr. McMillan-George-I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “Poor Amelia. You-you said she had a premonition about this?”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t know yet that it’s true. I called and tried to persuade her to come over here. But she said she needed to see you. I–I couldn’t tell her over the phone what happened…”

  Karen’s front doorbell rang. Rufus started barking and scurried toward the front of the house.

  “I think that’s her at my door right now,” she said into the phone. She turned to the housekeeper. “Jessie? Could you? If that’s Amelia, could you please have her wait in my office?”

  Jessie nodded, wiped off her hands and started out of the kitchen. “Rufus, knock it off!”

  “Mr. McMillan, are you still there?” Karen said into the phone.

  “Yes. Would you-would you mind driving Amelia over here? We live in West Seattle. I don’t want her to be alone. And it might help my kids if their cousin was here.” His voice cracked again. “They’re playing outside. They still don’t know. My son’s eleven, and my daughter-she’s only five years old. God, how am I going to tell them their mother’s dead?”

  Karen’s heart ached for him. “I can drive Amelia over,” she said finally. “It’s no problem, Mr. McMillan. But if I insist on taking her to your house, she’s bound to figure out something’s wrong. Would you like me to tell her what happened?”

  She could hear him sigh on the other end of the line. “Yes. Thank you, Karen. Thank you very much.”

  When she clicked off the phone, Karen could hear Jessie talking to Amelia: “You sit tight, hon. She’ll be with you in a jiff. Rufus, get down!”

  Pulling the dog by his collar, Jessie lumbered back into the kitchen and gave her a wary look. “Whew,” she whispered. “That poor girl has the fidgets something fierce. She’s practically bouncing off the walls in there. I think she’s been crying, too.”

  Karen took hold of her arm. “Jess, do we still have some of Dad’s sedatives?”

  “You mean those light blue pills that made him a little dopey?”

  Karen nodded. “Yes, the diazepam, for anxiety.” It was times like this Karen wished she were a psychiatrist rather than just a therapist. Then she could have the proper medications on hand, instead of making do with some secondhand sedatives that were probably beyond their expiration date. “Amelia’s going to need something to calm her down. Do we still have those pills?”

  Jessie nodded. “On the crap shelf in the linen closet. I’ve been bugging you to let me clean that out. Good thing you never listen to a word I say. I’ll get them.” Jessie headed up the back stairs.

  Karen went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water for Amelia. She gave Rufus a stern look. “Stay,” she said. Then she took a deep breath and started toward her office at the front of the house.

  The room used to be her father’s study, and had always been one of Karen’s favorite spots in the house. It was very comfy, with a fireplace and built-in bookshelves. But Amelia didn’t appear at all comfortable. Dressed in jeans, a black top, and a bulky cardigan, she nervously paced in front of the sofa. Her wavy black hair was a windblown mess. Jessie was right. It looked as if she’d been crying.

  She rushed to Karen and threw her arms around her. Karen wasn’t in the habit of hugging her patients. But she held onto Amelia and gently patted her on the back.

  “Where were you?” Karen asked, finally pulling away a little. “I thought you were going to wait for me here.”

  Tugging at a strand of hair, Amelia looked down at the floor and shrugged. “Well, I waited for Jessie, like you said to. But after about ten minutes, I got kind of anxious. So I just drove around for a while.”

  Karen bit her lip. “You, um, you didn’t by any chance track me down at the Sandpoint View Convalescent Home? I thought I saw you there about twenty-five minutes ago.”

  “I have no idea where that even is,” Amelia replied, wide-eyed. “What are you talking about?”

  Karen shook her head. “Never mind. It’s my mistake. Here, I got you some water. Sit down, try to relax.”

  “I can’t sit down,” Amelia said, pacing again. “I have a feeling something’s happened to my parents.”

  “I understand,” Karen said. “I just got off the phone with your uncle. He called. He was worried about you. He told me that…” She hesitated.

  Amelia stopped pacing, and turned to stare at her.

  Jessie came to the door with the diazepam and handed the bottle to Karen.

  “Thanks, Jessie,” Karen said. “Could you close the door, please?”

  Jessie slid shut the big, bulky pocket door that came out of the wall. Karen shook two pills into her hand. “Amelia, I want you to take these. They’re like Valium. They’ll chill you out a little.”

  But Amelia didn’t move. She just kept staring at Karen. Tears welled in her eyes. “You want me to take a sedative? What did Uncle George tell you?”

  “Take the pills, Amelia.”

  “Oh, my God,” she said, wincing. A shaky hand went over her mouth. She sank down on the sofa. “Then it’s true. Aunt Ina…my Mom and Dad…they’re all dead, aren’t they?”

  Karen swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m so sorry….”

  Chapter Six

  No one said anything in the car while Karen drove across the West Seattle Bridge toward Amelia’s uncle’s house. Amelia sat on the passenger side, pensively gazing out her window. Jessie was in back with a grocery bag full of food from Karen’s fridge. She’d insisted on fixing dinner for Amelia’s uncle and his family.

  A bit taken aback by the idea, Karen had wondered out loud if they’d be intruding on the family’s grief.

  “Nonsense, they gotta eat, don’t they?” Jessie had replied while loading up the grocery bag. “You have all the fixings here for chicken tetrazzini-chicken, noodles, Parmesan cheese, sour cream. I’ll whip up the casserole, stick it in the oven, and then you and I can beat a path out of there if it looks like we’re wearing out our welcome.”

  Amelia had been inconsolable, sobbing hysterically for twenty minutes until the diazepam had kicked in. She finally slumped back on Karen’s sofa. “I should go see Uncle George,” she murmured, wiping her eyes. “Poor Jody and Steph…”

  Sitting beside her on the couch, Karen handed her another Kleenex. “Your uncle asked me to drive you over. I said I’d be glad to.”

  Amelia nodded. “Thanks.”

  Biting her lip, Ka
ren studied her for a moment. “You-you still haven’t asked how it happened.”

  Silent, Amelia stared down at the wadded-up Kleenex in her hand.

  “Your Uncle George said you had some kind of premonition.”

  Amelia shrugged helplessly. “It was just a feeling-an awful, awful feeling that something was wrong.”

  Karen’s heart was breaking for her. “Honey, there’s no easy way to tell you this. They haven’t confirmed it. But it’s possible your dad shot your mom and your aunt, and then he killed himself. They don’t know for sure yet.”

  Amelia said nothing. She merely gave out an exhausted sigh, and closed her eyes.

  Karen stroked her arm. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  While they’d gotten ready to leave, Amelia had just sat quietly on the sofa. Her voice hadn’t even cracked when she’d left Shane a phone message, explaining she was spending the night at her uncle’s house. She’d told him he could pick up his car at Karen’s. She’d said nothing about her parents’ deaths. “I’ll call you later tonight,” she’d finished up listlessly.

  Once they’d climbed inside Karen’s Jetta, Amelia had suggested they take Highway 99 to the West Seattle Bridge. But after that, she hadn’t said anything else.

  Karen took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at her now. She was still staring out at the Seattle waterfront and skyline. There was a tiny, sad smile on her face.

  “How are you doing, Amelia?” she asked.

  She kept gazing out the window at the view from the bridge. “I was thinking about all the trips we took here to Aunt Ina and Uncle George’s house-the Christmases, Thanks-givings, and birthdays. It’s a long drive down from Bellingham, almost two hours.” She traced a horizontal line on the window with her finger. “This bridge was always the landmark, the sign we were almost there. I remember when we were kids, Collin and I used to get so excited crossing this bridge. We loved going to Ina and George’s.” She let out a little laugh. “Last Thanksgiving on our way here, I noticed Collin had way too much product in his hair. He had his window open, but his hair didn’t budge an inch. I could have broken off a piece of it. I remember teasing him, and Mom and Dad were laughing. Collin’s face got red and he started cracking up too. He had the funniest laugh. You should have heard it….”