Anne made a move to open her door. “I’m going with you.”
Sam stopped her. “No, this is something I need to do by myself.”
Reluctantly, Sam climbed out of the car and walked into the care facility. Alice had given them Blanche’s assumed name—Cassandra Collins—and her room number. Alice didn’t explain how she’d managed to establish a fake identity for Blanche and Sam and Anne didn’t ask. In the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered to Sam was that her dreams were validated. And she knew that seeing Blanche in the flesh would do just that.
With a smile and a nod to the aide behind the desk, Sam headed down the long hallway toward Blanche’s room. The smell of disinfectant tickled her nose, while her heartbeat kicked up a notch. Would there be a shadow of the woman Sam had drawn in the sketch left in the Blanche of today? Or would she find a battered husk? With sweaty palms, Sam grabbed the door handle to Blanche’s room and pushed. The door swung wide and she stepped inside.
The blinds had been lowered against the afternoon sun, making the room dim, but Sam could see a still form lying in the center of the bed. She slowly crossed to it and looked down.
The sheets were pulled up to Blanche’s chin, but Sam saw the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her hands lay at her side. Next to the bed sat a nightstand, and on it was a bouquet of Love Lies Bleeding. Alice’s offering to her dying friend.
Finally, Sam allowed her eyes to travel to the woman’s face. She gripped the bed railing and leaned in close. Yes, she could see a bit of Blanche in the woman’s face, but not much. The vibrancy, the sexuality that had been so much a part of Blanche, was gone. Her red hair had even lost its shimmer. Shot with gray, it hung in straggles around her face, a face that sagged on one side, twisting her mouth downward.
A sense of sadness filled Sam. This woman had been so beautiful, but her beauty hadn’t brought her joy. It had been a tool in her hands. Something she used to achieve her goals. From all accounts, Blanche hadn’t been stupid. Why hadn’t she used her brains instead of her beauty? She could’ve gotten what she wanted on her own instead of looking to someone else to provide it for her. Sam gripped the railing tighter and sank into a chair, still holding on to the railing. So tired, she thought, resting her head between her hands.
Suddenly she felt a clawlike hand shoot out and grab her wrist. Two green eyes, gleaming with malevolence, stared over at her from the face lying on the pillow. No, this had to be a hallucination, she thought as she tried to pull away from the hand holding her.
The fingers tightened, and Sam swore she felt a foreign energy slither up her arm. Her eyes clamped shut while images flitted through her mind.
Kneeling on a dock in the dark . . . the rough boards cutting into her knees . . . a woman begging for mercy . . . a man’s angry voice, somehow familiar, screaming obscenities into the night . . . shattering pain as blows rained down on her . . . darkness followed by a damp coldness settling into her bones . . . finally . . . nothing. A big well of nothingness.
She felt herself sinking deeper into the hole. As a sense of panic overwhelmed her, she knew that if she didn’t fight back, it was a place from which there’d be no return. Sam struggled to open her eyes, to tear her wrist away from the grip that had turned viselike. Her energy was fading and she felt her hands loosen on the railing. She was sliding forward, sliding into oblivion.
Her eyes flew open when her knees hit the hard tile floor. Taking a deep breath, she focused on regulating her breathing. My God, what a dream! She knelt on the floor for a minute, shaking. Finally, she gripped the railing again and slowly pulled herself to her feet. To her dazed eyes, the room hadn’t changed. She was still in Blanche’s room. Then her focus settled on the bouquet of Love Lies Bleeding.
The once-vibrant crimson flowers now appeared faded, while the green leaves draped lifelessly over the side of the vase. In the space of minutes, the whole arrangement seemed to have wilted.
Her eyes flew to what had once been Blanche, lying in the bed.
She hadn’t moved. The covers were still up to her chin and her hands were neatly at her sides. But the chest was no longer rising and falling.
Hesitating, Sam finally allowed her gaze to travel to the head of the bed.
Blanche’s eyes were closed and her face was smooth. Her mouth was no longer twisted. Instead, her lips stretched across her dead face in a smile.
Chapter Thirty-one
It’s done, I think as the weariness overcomes me. There is no way out. The past repeats itself and the theme of my life continues. As it has been many times before, success was almost within my reach, the sweet taste of it lingering in my mouth. I felt it just outside of my grasp, but once again, cruel fate has snatched it away at the last moment. And my life crashes around me in a thousand slivers. But this time, I don’t have the strength to pick up the pieces and go on.
I see my reflection and am shocked. Haunted eyes; disheveled hair. With a harsh laugh, I pour another drink.
Did I say fate destroys my dreams? I shake my head and down the glass. Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I pour another. No, not fate—her, always her.
Crossing to the stereo, I turn it on and crank it up until music fills the room, but not even music can bring solace to my soul. I make it softer. Feeling imprisoned, I roam the room aimlessly, looking for escape. There is none.
I return to the window and look beyond my reflection and see the truth.
I killed once . . . I can kill again.
Chapter Thirty-two
Sam sat on the deck with a cup of coffee in her hand and Roxy curled up at her feet. A veil of mist was rising dreamily above the smooth surface of the lake, and above it, gray skies masked the rising sun. A stillness seemed to surround Sam as if the entire world were holding its breath. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t escape the prickling sense of anticipation. It had to be an effect of the last twenty-four hours. She’d managed to convince her father to return to the Cities and take Jackson with him. It had taken the threat of a nasty court battle spread across of the front page of The Minneapolis Star, but finally he’d backed off. At least for now.
All she wanted to do today was to look to the future. A plan was forming in her mind. After what had happened between her, Jackson, and her family, there was no way she was moving back to the Cities. She’d extend her lease on the cabin and stay here, at least for now. If it worked out, maybe she’d eventually open a small art gallery. She’d display her work and that of other artists. Sam frowned. One problem. Running a gallery wouldn’t leave her much time for painting. She’d need someone she trusted to handle the day-to-day management.
Her frown fell away. Anne. She loved managing. Handling hesitant customers wouldn’t be much different from managing unwilling patients.
Pleased at her new idea, she smiled down at Roxy. “See—everything is going to be fine.”
At the sound of her voice, Sam felt the dog lift her head, and looking down, she saw her staring up, as if asking a question.
“We should be happy, right?” she said aloud. “The past is finished.” Returning her attention to the lake, she realized that what she’d said was true. When she’d described her experience in Blanche’s room to Anne and Greg, she’d felt a sense of completion. It was over. Whatever connection she’d had to Blanche had ended with her death. She could move forward with confidence, haunted by no one. All she had to do was ditch the antsy feeling crawling up her arms and all would be well.
Sam glanced over her shoulder at the half-finished painting, visible through the French doors. If she wanted to move forward, she should go finish that painting. Tilting her head back, she studied the sky. Not in this light. If she was serious about painting, she needed to make a few alterations to her work area, and lighting was at the top of the list.
That’s what she’d do, she thought, standing, make a list. Then she’d call the art supply store in the Cities and have new supplies shipped to her. It would be another step forward. Entering
the cabin, she grabbed a pencil and piece of paper and, sitting at the kitchen table, began to consider what supplies she’d order. She drew a blank.
Tapping the pencil, she stared at the empty page. A soft whimper drew her attention to the door.
“I get it. You want to go for a walk,” Sam told the dog, rising to her feet. “Maybe you’re right. Some fresh air would do us both good.”
Sam slipped on her tennis shoes and, after fastening Roxy’s leash, was out the door. She’d made it to the last step when she glanced over at what she’d forever think of as “Blanche’s bush.” Her steps faltered. The bush was dead.
Not wanting to contemplate the significance of this, she tugged on the leash and set off down the road. She tried not to think about Blanche as she walked, but couldn’t avoid it. Something that happened yesterday was hovering on the edge of her mind, but she couldn’t quite bring it into focus. She took a deep breath and let it go. Keep walking and don’t think about it, she told herself. It will come to you.
The self-talk failed and the sense of apprehension increased. She felt a moment of fear. She wasn’t going to have another panic attack, was she?
“No,” she whispered firmly. “You’re just nervous about beginning a new life,” she finished, pleased that she could find a place for her emotions.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her until Roxy darted away from her, barking loudly. Sam spun to find Jackson blocking the path between her and her way back home.
Holding up both hands, he took a step back. “I just want to talk to you. Could you get your damn dog to shut up for a minute?”
At Sam’s light tug on the leash, Roxy quieted, but wouldn’t move from her position between Sam and Jackson. He took another step back.
Good Lord, he looks terrible, Sam thought. His clothes appeared as if he’d slept in them and his normally groomed hair was tousled.
“Jackson, leave me alone, or I’m getting a restraining order,” she said in a firm voice
He eased a bit forward. “You can’t do it.”
“Why? Afraid it will hurt your practice? I will if you keep harassing me.”
He stared at her blankly and shook his head. “You can’t walk away from me. You have to marry me, Sam.”
Sam spun on her heel. “We’ve been through this,” she called angrily over her shoulder. “I’m not going over it again.”
“Wait!” he cried out. “I’m no good without you, Sam.”
She hesitated and turned to face him. “Jackson, I’m sorry, but we’re not right for each other. We do not want the same things anymore.”
Did you ever? asked a little voice in her head.
“Yes, we do,” he said petulantly. “I’ll want whatever you want.”
“I wouldn’t expect that of you.”
He came forward. “But I’d do it, I would,” he said with an intense light burning in his eyes.
He was beginning to scare her. Glancing around, she tried to get her bearings. If she wasn’t mistaken, Fritz’s cabin was around the next bend, but she knew that she couldn’t outrun Jackson.
She began to inch backward, her eyes never leaving Jackson. At her side, Roxy tensed. “I don’t want—”
“Me!” he exclaimed. “You don’t want me. You’re just like her,” he said in disgust.
“Who?” Sam asked, still slowly backing away.
“Mother,” he blurted. “I wasn’t good enough for her either.”
Sam stared at him in shock. “Your mother’s been gone a long time. I’m sorry. I know you still feel—”
“Why does the past keep repeating itself?” he asked, his chin lowering.
From his expression, Sam had a feeling that his question wasn’t addressed to her. She moved a little faster, increasing the distance between them.
Jackson lifted his head. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?” His eyes raked her up and down. “You’ve been cheating on me with that guy living down the road.”
“Greg is a friend.”
He waved a hand in the air dismissively. “I’ll forgive you, but only if you come back to the Cities with me.”
Sam forgot her fear as her anger flashed. Grasping Roxy’s leash, she looped it around her hand tightly while she prepared to try to make it to Fritz’s. “Get away from me,” she cried, spinning, and hurried off toward her neighbor’s cabin.
Her unsteady gait made it hard to run fast and she fought the urge to peek over her shoulder. She feared that she’d see Jackson only a few steps behind her. Concentrating on keeping her balance, she rounded the bend. Almost there, she thought with relief. She stumbled up the steps and pounded on the door. Hurry, hurry, she prayed, ignoring the music drifting through the open window. Finally the door opened, and she almost fell inside.
“Oh, thank God you’re home,” she panted. “Jackson is following me. I need to use your phone.”
“Phone?” Fritz asked in a slurred voice.
It was then that Sam noticed the confused look on his face, the rumpled clothing. He wasn’t in much better shape than Jackson.
Crossing to him, she placed a hand on his arm. “Fritz, what’s wrong?” She got a whiff of booze. “Are you ill?”
“Not ill,” he replied, moving away from her. “Edward—don’t you know about Edward?”
Sam wasn’t following what he was trying to tell her. Anne had told her about Edward’s accident, but she hadn’t expected Fritz to take it this hard.
“Yes,” she answered in a calm voice. “I know he’s in the hospital, but I thought he was stable. Has his condition worsened?”
Fritz’s face took on a shrewd expression. “You don’t understand, do you?”
“No, Fritz, I’m sorry. I don’t.” Wrapping Roxy’s leash around the table leg, Sam moved to the window to see if she could spot Jackson. It looked like he’d disappeared. Was it safe to walk back home? No, he could be waiting for her. She’d call either Greg or Anne and ask them to pick her up. But first she needed to help Fritz.
“Fritz, why don’t you explain to me about Edward? I know he was a former student, but I didn’t realize you were such close friends.”
“Friends? Pupil?” Fritz said, swatting the air with his hand. “We were more than that.” He leaned forward and peered at her with bloodshot eyes. “Do you hear that?”
“Yes, that’s the piece you were playing when I stopped by a few days ago.”
He snorted and weaved his way over to the stereo. “That’s Edward playing,” he exclaimed. “Brilliant, brilliant. How a woman like Esther ever produced a boy with Edward’s talent, I’ll never know.” He squinted one eye and tapped himself on the chest. “But I—me—it took me to awaken that talent.”
“I’m sure you were a very good teacher,” Sam murmured.
“Good? No—no—more than that,” he said, his head wobbling back and forth. “Edward needed me. He needed me to survive as a concert pianist. Without me, he would’ve been nothing. Just another country boy who could play the piano.” His eyes filled with tears. “We had such plans. I was to be his impresario, his agent. Together we would’ve played the capitals of the world.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said with feeling.
Fritz sank down on the couch, hanging his head. “I would have been vindicated—those who turned their backs on me would’ve been forced to acknowledge my gifts.” He lifted his face, the tears flowing freely now. “I would’ve finally, finally received the recognition that I deserve,” he cried, his voice rising.
Sam watched him crying on the couch. She didn’t know how to respond. She’d never seen anyone behave so irrationally. She couldn’t understand it. It had been twenty-five years since Edward’s career had been ruined. Had this bitterness been boiling inside of Fritz all these years? She’d better call Anne.
She moved to the phone, picked up the handset, and began to dial Anne. Fritz was beside her in an instant, tearing the phone out of her hand and slamming it down.
�
��No.”
Sam stepped away. “I think it would be best if I came back when you’re feeling better.”
“Samantha, Samantha,” he said in a stronger voice. “I think you should stay.”
Something in his tone told her that she shouldn’t argue with him. “Okay, but let’s invite Anne over, too, shall we?”
“We shall not. She was rude to me.”
“I know, and I want to apologize for that,” she said, trying to placate him. “It was so nice of you to make those CDs for me.”
“Have you listened to them?”
“Well, no . . . I haven’t had the chance yet, but I will.”
“And will you use your connections to help me?”
Sam was taken aback. “Help you? How? I don’t have any connections.”
“Sure you do,” he replied. “You can pull some strings with the symphony. Your mother’s on the board—I checked. They’ll play my work if you recommend me.” He frowned. “I would’ve liked something more prestigious, but it will be a start.”
“Fritz, I don’t think my mother has any influence over the symphony’s selections.”
“You mean you won’t help me?” His face flushed.
“I don’t see how I can.”
He came toward her with his eyes narrowed. “You’re refusing me. You’re ruining my plans just like she did.”
“Fritz,” Sam cried, “I’d help you if I could, but—”
“You’re lying!” he exclaimed.
Backing away from him, Sam held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not.”
“Yes—you can’t fool me.” He pointed a shaking finger at her. “You’re just like Blanche. She ruined my life and now you’re doing the same thing.”
“Fritz,” she said, hoping to reach through his alcoholic haze, “Blanche is dead.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t expect the news to get out this soon.”
Fear flashed across his face as her words seemed to bring him up short.
He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “What?”
“Blanche—she never ran off. Ted Brighton beat her half to death, causing irreparable brain damage. She’s spent the last twenty-five years in the care facility in Hankton.”
Love Lies Bleeding Page 27