One Last Scream

by Kevin O'Brien

  Chapter Seventeen

  Karen took the turnoff at Coles Corner to Lake Wenatchee Highway. The scenery along Stevens Pass had been gorgeous: the mountains and rivers, the trees so vibrant with their fall colors, and even a few small waterfalls. But she’d barely noticed any of it. She couldn’t stop thinking about what George had discovered, that Amelia had a twin sister.

  No wonder Amelia had developed so many neuroses, having been torn apart from her twin at such a young age. With the sudden absence of her sister, Amelia might have taken on her twin’s persona. Perhaps she assumed her sister felt abandoned, angry and bitter, even destructive. And maybe Amelia was adopting those traits during her blackouts while the twin sister part of her took over. That lost time Amelia experienced kept her from knowing about this sister-half and her activities.

  “Or maybe they’re just alcohol-related blackouts,” Karen muttered to herself. “And you’re making way too much of this twin thing.”

  She passed a sign for Lake Wenatchee State Park, and knew she was on the right track, at least as far as her driving was concerned. According to Helene’s directions, she would be at the Faradays’ lake house in another fifteen minutes.

  Amelia’s separation from her twin certainly explained other things: the nightmares and those phantom pains and “faked” illnesses that had plagued her all the way through adolescence. Karen had read accounts of twin telepathy when she was in graduate school. Some were rather dull, dry studies. “Though separated, both twins picked the red ball for the first two experiments, and the green ball for the third, and the red ball again for the fourth. The choice patterns of the separated twins matched in 96 percent of the test cases.”

  Other accounts were a bit more like a Twilight Zone episode. Karen recalled one story about a 55-year-old businessman who woke up in the middle of the night in his Zurich hotel room with severe abdominal pains and a high fever. The doctors in the emergency room at the hospital couldn’t find anything actually wrong with him, and his fever went away by the next morning. He got back to the hotel to find a message from his sister-in-law in Columbus, Ohio. His twin brother had been rushed to the hospital the night before with a ruptured appendix.

  Karen remembered one of her professors dismissing such stories, though apparently dozens of similar cases were on record.

  Had young Amelia, with her unexplained maladies, been feeling the pains and illnesses of her twin sister? Karen remembered some of Amelia’s descriptions. It felt like someone was kicking me…. Like my arm was being twisted off…It felt like someone was putting out a lit cigar on me….

  She wondered about the awful things being done to Annabelle Schlessinger when her estranged twin sister-miles and miles away-had felt those horrible sensations. What kind of violence had that child endured? Amelia had said she’d stopped experiencing the phantom pains and illnesses about three years ago, when she was sixteen. And Annabelle Schlessinger had died at age sixteen.

  Perhaps Amelia’s violent nightmares while growing up had been the result of some kind of telepathy. Maybe she was picking up real incidents as they happened to her twin.

  Karen could almost imagine her professor laughing at her for such far-fetched speculation. It might not hold up with an American Psychological Association review panel, but there were all sorts of phenomena that couldn’t be easily explained. And twin telepathy was one of them.

  Karen kept a lookout for the street signs. Along the forest road, she could see the placid lake peeking through the trees. She finally spotted a sign, with a red and white checkered border:

  DANNY’S DINER

  Breakfast, Lunch, or Dinner

  You’ll Come Up a Winner!

  1 MILE AHEAD

  That was the restaurant both Amelia and Helene had described to her-the one near the gravel road that led to the Faradays’ lake house.

  Karen still didn’t know what she expected to find when she got to the cabin. She might have driven all this way for nothing. If Amelia was hiding out there, Karen would calm her down and talk to her. They certainly couldn’t put off going to the police any longer. Hell, they were both probably persons of interest in Koehler’s disappearance, and about a notch away from fugitive status, if not there already. But Karen was still determined to protect Amelia, and make sure she got the help she needed.

  Up the road a piece, she saw Danny’s Diner, a small chalet-style restaurant with flower boxes in the windows and four picnic tables in front. The parking lot was big enough for a dozen cars, and at the moment, half full. As Karen drove by, she noticed the phone booth by the front door.

  Eyes on the road, she reached over for her cell phone, and tried to dial her home number. A mechanical voice told her, “We’re sorry. Your call cannot be completed. Please hang up and try again.”

  Helene was right, cell phones didn’t work around here. That would make things extremely difficult if she ran into trouble at the cabin. She had to prepare herself for the possibility that Amelia was indeed at the cabin, but not at all herself right now. She might even have Blade with her.

  Karen noticed the turn off to Holden Trail, a gravel road that sloped down and wound through the forest. The tiny stones made a hail-like racket under her rental car, and the occasional divot gave her a jolt. Karen had an awful foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach, along with nerves and hunger, too. She hadn’t eaten all day.

  She spotted a turnaround on her left. Helene had told her to ignore that one. The inlet the Faradays used was up ahead. Karen slowed down. She could see a little plateau off the bay with enough room for two small cars. As she inched into the spot, Karen could see other tire marks in the gravel and dirt.

  After the two-and-a-half-hour drive, Karen’s legs cramped a bit as she climbed out of the rental. Grabbing her purse, she took another look at the gun inside. Along with the tire tracks, she noticed a cigarette butt and footprints, too. It looked like more than one person.

  So Amelia hadn’t come here alone this morning. She must have been with Blade.

  Karen saw the footprints again as she made her way down the trail, which was mostly dirt, but some patches were covered in gravel. There were a few stone steps, too, and an old wooden railing at a few precarious spots. She caught a glimpse of the lake between the trees. Finally, the terrain started to flatten out. Karen could see a clearing and the Faradays’ house ahead.

  A crude flagstone path led to the front stoop of the weathered, two-story Cape Cod home. Karen tried to peek inside the windows as she passed. But it was dark in the house, and she couldn’t see anything beyond her own timid reflection.

  Strips of yellow police tape with CRIME SCENE-DO NOT CROSS written on them had been taped across the front door. But someone had torn past them, and the loose tape strips now fluttered in the wind. There was also a notice taped to the front door-a green sheet of paper with a police shield logo and CITY OF WENATCHEE POLICE DEPARTMENT along the top. Karen glanced at it. There were two paragraphs of legal jargon, but the last words were in bold print: NO TRESPASSING-VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECTUED.

  Obviously, someone else had already ignored those warnings. Karen was about to knock on the front door, but hesitated. If Blade and Amelia were in there, did she really want to announce her arrival?

  Biting her lip, Karen tried the doorknob. To her amazement, the door wasn’t locked. Slowly, she opened it. Reaching into her purse, she took out her father’s revolver, and then stepped over the threshold. All the blinds were half drawn, and the windows closed. It was dark and stuffy inside the house. Nearly every stick of furniture had been dusted for fingerprints. A dirt trail covered the carpet and floors, obviously from all the police traipsing in and out of the crime scene. By the fireplace, Karen noticed the rocking chair where Amelia’s father was found. Behind it, she saw the large splotch on the wall, now a rust color. There were bloodstains on the beige carpet, too, beneath the rocker, and also a few feet away, where George’s wife must have been shot. Everything was just as Amelia-and Koehler-had
described it.

  Karen followed the investigators’ trail toward the kitchen, but abruptly stopped at the sound of something creaking. It seemed to have come from upstairs, but she wasn’t sure. With the gun in her trembling hand, Karen listened and waited for the next little noise. She counted to ten, and didn’t hear anything. She told herself it was just the house settling. She crept into the kitchen. It had gingerbread trim on the shelves and a yellow, fifties-style dinette set. Through the window in the kitchen door, she noticed the yellow police tape again, only this time, it was intact and crisscrossed over the entry.

  There was another door in the kitchen, open about two inches. Beyond that, all Karen could see was darkness. She moved the door, and it creaked on the hinges. She froze. Was that the same sound she’d heard earlier?

  She gazed at the wood-plank stairs leading down to the pitch-black basement. Turning to look for a light switch by the door, she saw something dart past the kitchen window. Karen gasped. For a moment, she was paralyzed. She didn’t know what to do. It had looked like a person, but she’d only caught a glimpse of her-or him. Whoever it was, they must have been outside, peeking in at her. And they’d moved away from that window so quickly, all Karen had seen was a human-shaped blur.

  Clutching the revolver, Karen made her way toward the front door again. She kept checking the windows for whoever was outside the house, but didn’t see anybody. “Amelia?” she called. Karen edged toward the door, which she’d left open. She still had the gun poised. “Amelia, is that you? It’s Karen. Amelia?”

  A dog started barking. “Who’s in there?” someone called from outside.

  Karen looked out, and saw an older woman with close-cropped gray hair, glasses, and a bulky gray sweater. She had a collie on a leash. “Hush, Abby,” she whispered.

  Karen quickly stashed the gun in her purse. “Are you Helene?”

  Scowling at her, the old woman nodded. “Are you the one I talked to on the phone earlier?”

  “Yes,” she said, catching her breath. “I’m Karen Carlisle, Amelia’s therapist.”

  “Well, Amelia must have skedaddled,” Helene said. “No one’s in there. I checked a little while ago.”

  Karen closed the door behind her. “You went in there after I warned you not to?”

  Helene shrugged. “Why should I listen to you? I don’t even know you. Anyway, the place is empty.” She bent down and scratched her dog behind the ears. “I have no idea when she left. Like I told you on the phone, I saw only Amelia earlier, though it sure sounded like two people were here.”

  Karen nodded. She was thinking about the double footprints on the dirt trail that led to the house. “Ms. Sumner, before today, when was the last time you noticed Amelia here?”

  “Well, she and that boyfriend of hers were carrying on out by the lake a week ago Monday,” Helene answered, still hovering over her dog.

  “The Monday before the shootings?” Karen asked. She was almost certain she’d had a therapy session with Amelia that Monday. “The fifteenth?”

  Helene nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  Helene nodded again emphatically. “Monday is my shopping day. When you get to be my age, and you live alone, different rituals become like your companion….”

  Karen nodded. She knew exactly what the old woman meant, and it scared her a little that she was already becoming so set in her ways.

  “So Monday afternoon, before I headed out to the store, I took Abby for a walk, and I saw Amelia and that creepy young man by the lake. The way they were carrying on, I think they might have been doing drugs.”

  “What time was this?” Karen asked.

  “Smack dab in the middle of the day, around one o’clock.”

  Karen shook her head. It didn’t make sense. If she remembered correctly, her appointment with Amelia that Monday had been in the early afternoon. “Are you sure of the time?” she pressed. “Are you sure it was Amelia?”

  Frowning, Helene stopped petting her dog and straightened up. “Miss, I may be old. But I’m not senile-not yet, at least.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m almost positive I was with Amelia, in Seattle, around that exact same time.”

  Helene scowled at her. “Well, if you were with Amelia on that Monday afternoon, then who was that girl I saw by the lake?”

  “Jessie, could you do me a huge favor?” Karen asked. She was in the phone booth by the entrance to Danny’s Diner. “Could you drive over to my place and check something out for me?”

  “Now?”

  “I know my timing stinks with rush hour about to start, but this is important.”

  “Oh, I guess it’s no problem,” Jessie said. “Jody just got home from school. I’m supposed to pick up Steffie from daycare at four anyway. We’ll just keep driving. The kids can meet Rufus. So what do you want me to do over there?”

  “I need you to take a look at my appointment book on my desk, and find out if I had a session with Amelia on Monday afternoon, October fifteenth.”

  “That’s all? I don’t get to snoop through anything else of yours?”

  “Sorry. I just need to confirm that I saw Amelia on that particular day.”

  “Monday, the fifteenth,” Jessie repeated. “I’ll check it out, and give you a ring on your cell in about a half hour.”

  “Um, cell phones don’t work around here for some reason. I’m in a phone booth. I’ll call you back.”

  “Try me at your place in about a half hour. We ought to be there by then.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Jessie. You’re the best.”

  Karen hung up the phone for only a moment before picking up the receiver again. She punched in her American Express account, and then George’s cell phone number.

  She caught him waiting for Annabelle Schlessinger’s high school teacher, who was busy coaching the cheerleading squad. Her name was Caroline Cadwell, and apparently she’d known the Schlessingers better than anyone else in Salem. “I was going to call you after I talked with her,” George told Karen. “So, where are you?”

  Through the phone booth’s glass wall, Karen glanced at some patrons leaving the diner. “Oh, I’m out and about, running some errands.”

  “In Central Washington?” he asked pointedly. “Karen, the area code on my caller ID shows 509. Are you anywhere near Lake Wenatchee?”

  “I’m in the phone booth at Danny’s Diner,” Karen admitted. “And before you start in, I’ve already been to the lake house. Helene Sumner spotted Amelia there this morning. But the place is empty now. The important thing is-”

  “I can’t believe you went there when you knew I didn’t want you to,” he interrupted. “Damn it, Karen. You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” she murmured. The fact that he actually cared touched her. “Anyway, I’m sorry, George.”

  “Did you even call the police, like we discussed?” he asked. “And please, don’t lie again, because I can check.”

  “Yes, I spoke to them. They still want to talk with Amelia about Koehler’s disappearance. I avoided the subject, but told them about her taking my car and the money. I also gave them a description of the car, the plate number, the whole shebang. So, Amelia is officially a fugitive, which scares the hell out of me.” She sighed. “Then again, I’m not doing so hot either. That’s one more reason I decided to get the hell out of town and come here. The police want to talk to me and advised I have my lawyer present. Anyway, next time you see me, it may be through a Plexiglas window on visiting day.”

  “I’m not going to let that happen,” George said soberly.

  Karen let out a grateful little laugh. “You know something? I believe you. Thank you, George.” She glanced down at the mud on her shoes from climbing up and down the trail to the lake house. “So, have you found out anything more about Annabelle Schlessinger? How she died?”

  “Funny you should ask,” George replied. He filled her in on what he’d learned from the newspaper account of the fire, and from Erin
Gottlieb.

  Karen listened intently. “So Annabelle supposedly died in a fire,” she said, almost to herself.

  “What do you mean supposedly?” George asked.

  “I’m just wondering. If Annabelle isn’t really dead, it would explain a lot.”

  “I still don’t understand,” he said.

  “George, do me a favor. Find out as much as you can from Annabelle’s teacher about this fire, and how they identified the bodies. Find out if there’s any chance Annabelle could still be alive.”

  George figured he must have looked suspect, a 38-year-old man sitting all alone on the bleachers. His hands in the pockets of his sports jacket, he tried not to stare at the high school cheerleaders on the field. They worked on their routines while a boom box blasted music with an incessant drumbeat. George had noticed a few of the girls looking at him, whispering among themselves, and giggling. He’d also gotten a few strange glances from the guys on the football team as they’d hurtled past him, running their laps around the track.

  He didn’t feel vindicated until Caroline Cadwell backed away from the cheerleading squad and sat beside him on the bleachers. “Who’s the hunk, Ms. C?” one of the girls called. “Your boyfriend?” Another cheerleader let out a wolf whistle.

  “Okay, girls, you want to impress this guy?” she shot back. “Let’s see a routine in sync for a change! Rachel Porter, you can kick higher than that!”

  Caroline Cadwell was a skinny, forty-something woman with short tawny hair and big hazel eyes. Though pretty, she also had a certain gangly quality that reminded George of an ostrich.

  When he’d approached Caroline after her last class had let out at 3:00, George had explained he was a relative of Joy Savitt Schlessinger. He’d used the same family tree thesis cover story he’d given Erin Gottlieb’s mother. Caroline had seemed a bit dubious at first, but said she could talk with him later while she monitored cheerleading practice. After waiting on the bleachers for the last twenty minutes, George hoped this Schlessinger family friend would open up to him.