Touch Me in the Dark

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “You sure you’re all right?” Romero fixed him with a searching gaze.

  “Just worn out,” Pete said. “And I’ve got a killer headache.”

  The second cop left. Romero stood rooted in the street. “Tell me something.” He indicated the jack lying on the seat. “What’s that for?”

  The pain in Pete’s head made thinking almost impossible. “It’s late. I’m not as young as I used to be. I figured I could use a little protection.”

  The policeman considered for a moment. “You know, there’s something been bothering me since last night.”

  “Yeah?” said Pete.

  “You were involved in this occult stuff with your wife,” the man said. “Right?”

  “I went along with her interest.” Pete rubbed his temple. Useless.

  “Sometimes the person who breaks down, they’re just the obvious sign of something being wrong.” Romero planted his hands on his hips. “Sometimes the whole family is affected. We took a teen-ager into custody one night for beating up his sister, and two hours later his father murdered his mother. The kid was the safety valve for everybody else.”

  “Look, my head’s splitting in two,” Pete snapped. “Can I go?”

  “Sounds like you should see a doctor.”

  “Yeah. I’ll do that.” Would the guy never leave? There was no more room for his questions in Pete’s brain, only twisting, stabbing pain.

  Go now!

  He had to get relief. He had to obey.

  Without any conscious intent, Pete yanked the car into gear, twisted the wheel and stepped on the gas.

  Chapter Nineteen

  No one responded to Sharon’s shrieks. Along the street, the houses stayed dark. On a cool winter night, windows were shut and everyone was probably sound asleep.

  Ian’s body blocked the doorway. Feeling the balcony shudder, Sharon edged away from him, toward the railing. He wouldn’t dare come out here, knowing the extra pressure would send them both plunging to the street three stories below. At least, not unless he’d gone mad.

  “Sharon! For God’s sake, you’ll fall!” Ian sounded like his normal self, but she knew better than to trust him.

  “Go away!”

  “All right! Just come in from there!”

  She shook her head. What kind of idiot did he think she was?

  She knew the answer, of course. An idiot who had fallen in love with him. An idiot who had refused to believe he was part of any wrongdoing even after she’d seen his transition during the séance. Damn it, she still couldn’t believe he wanted to kill her. She didn’t know what to believe.

  “Take this!” He tossed something that slithered by Sharon, stopping near her foot. The knife. “I’m not going to hurt you. Will you come back here now?”

  Clutching the rail to keep her balance, she picked it up. The haft felt firm and reassuring in her grip.

  Why had he disarmed himself? Maybe he was hiding another weapon. Yet if she didn’t go soon, the balcony would cave in.

  “Jody said she heard an intruder in the attic,” Ian called. “She handed me the knife and I came running up here. I couldn’t find my damn flashlight and I couldn’t see who I was chasing. Sharon, I would never hurt you.”

  His explanation made sense. But everything about Ian had made sense to her, until tonight.

  “Go downstairs!” she called. “When I see you down on the sidewalk, I’ll come in.”

  He spread his hands placatingly. “Fine. No, wait. I saw a clothesline in the attic. I need to rig something for you to hold onto in case this whole mess gives way.”

  “All right. But hurry.” At a slight movement, the balcony groaned. Every breath Sharon took seemed to disturb the rotting wood. When Ian’s frame vanished from the doorway, she almost called him back.

  But why should she believe his story? Jody wouldn’t have claimed she heard an intruder when she knew Sharon was in the attic.

  Ian must have planned this whole scenario from the beginning. He’d brought her upstairs and shown her the balcony that first night, and he’d certainly pursued her tonight.

  Thank goodness Greg wasn’t here. If only she could be sure her son were safe, Sharon wouldn’t worry so much for herself.

  Long moments later, Ian returned. He leaned out and tied one end of the clothesline to the flagpole jutting from the house. He seemed to take forever working on the knot, leaning and testing its strength.

  “Here.” He tossed the end of the line toward her. Not daring to loosen her grip on the railing, Sharon held on with one hand while she seized hold. But she couldn’t pull herself in, not with Ian standing there.

  “I’m going now,” he said. “Wrap the cord around your waist. Sharon, the damn thing won’t hold much longer—“

  The words ended in a cough, as if something had rammed into him. Ian staggered and tried to catch hold of the door, but another blow from behind sent him plunging onto the balcony. Wood cracked and the platform raked sharply.

  Sharon began screaming again, but the wind snatched away the sound.

  Pete couldn’t clear the car in front of him, so he screeched into reverse. He seesawed frantically, trying to get out, not caring that he was banging into the bumpers of two patrol vehicles.

  “Hold it!” Romero drew his gun. From the edge of his vision, Pete saw other officers turning to look.

  Finally, his bumper cleared the vehicle ahead. He was about to hit the gas when, dead ahead, he spotted a crouching officer with his gun aimed at the windshield.

  Stop her or there will be no future.

  Gritting his teeth, Pete stomped the gas. The car jumped forward. At the last moment, the man rolled aside and the windshield shattered. Cracks spiderwebbed from a bullet-sized hole.

  Pete floored the gas and shot down the street. Behind him, policemen scrambled for their cars.

  He was going to arrive at the head of a parade. The only thing that mattered was that they didn’t stop him before he reached the Fanning house.

  With a screech, he turned the corner, two blocks from home.

  Ian’s weight was almost more than the balcony could bear, even with his grip tight on the flagpole. He must be insane to have lunged out here.

  Another tall figure replaced him in the doorway. After one shocked moment, Sharon’s spirits leaped. Jody! Surely she would see that Ian’s madness threatened both their lives.

  “Help us!” Sharon shouted.

  From where he hung onto the flagpole, Ian was shaking his head. “Don’t you understand? She sent me up here hoping I’d mistake you for an intruder and kill you. Now she’s going to do the job herself.”

  “Jody?” she repeated numbly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Think about it!” he said. “Don’t trust her, Sharon. She’s been using us all along.”

  “But why?”

  “She wants your son.” Ian shivered as he spoke.

  “That doesn’t make sense!”

  “Just like she wanted my father,” he said. “And me.”

  Greg had spent almost every waking moment all week with Jody. She’d made him her heir if anything happened to Ian. And she’d obtained a signed document appointing her as his godmother. It would appear that Sharon had wanted her to have custody if she died.

  None of this explained the weird goings-on at the séance or with the paintings. Yet Sharon couldn’t deny the gleam of triumph she saw on the old woman’s face.

  “Where’s Greg?” she cried. “What have you done with my son?”

  Jody’s lip curled. “He’s not your son,” she announced. “Not any more.” Her foot stamped onto the balcony, sending shock waves.

  “You wouldn’t!” she cried. “You wouldn’t kill innocent people!”

  “Yes, she would,” Ian said. “She’s done it before, Sharon. She’s done it twice.”

  The memory had come back an instant before his great-aunt shoved him out the door. Ian heard her labored breathing behind him and smelled her perspiration, and in a flas
h, he remembered.

  He was five years old. Mommy and Daddy had gone upstairs, all laughter and hugs, not quarreling any more. They’d told him they needed some private time and he was to stay with Aunt Jody. He could even spend the night downstairs with her later when they went out, they’d said. He should enjoy his time with his grandmother because the three of them were going to be moving out soon and he wouldn’t get to see her as often.

  Ian couldn’t find Aunt Jody in the house. She was in the garage working on Daddy’s car, grease smearing her smock. She looked up when he came in, breathing hard, startled to see him. Then she smiled and said she was tuning up Daddy’s car as a surprise and he was to keep the secret.

  Afterwards, she took him out for ice cream.

  Ian remembered awakening that night, hearing a policeman at the door speaking with Jody. He’d known at once that something was wrong because the hour was so late and Mommy and Daddy hadn’t come home.

  He heard the officer say their car had hit a wall. There was a possibility the brakes had failed but because of the fire the authorities might never know for sure.

  Ian had pretended to be asleep. Terrified, he’d wondered if the tragedy could be his fault. Maybe when he’d interrupted his great-aunt while she was fixing the car, he’d made her mess something up. Maybe he’d caused this awful accident. What if Jody got mad and put him up for adoption?

  He’d shoved the whole thing to the back of his mind as too terrible to contemplate. All these years it had festered there, hidden from conscious thought. That must be why, at some level, his own accident had struck him as a judgment, although he’d never understood the feeling.

  Now a shock had brought the whole mess back. Now, as an adult, he finally understood what he’d seen in the garage.

  If only he’d realized that his great-aunt was fixating on Greg. Another boy, another son. And another anniversary of the night that she’d killed her sister, or manipulated Bradley into killing her. Ian didn’t know the details, but he felt certain Jody was responsible. For some sick reason, she’d coveted that baby and she’d made sure she got him.

  He assessed his chances of knocking her aside and getting into the attic. The struggle would almost certainly send the balcony smashing to the sidewalk, and even though Sharon had wrapped the clothesline around her waist, it might not hold.

  On one side of the balcony lay an outthrust section of roof one floor below, where the skylight topped his studio. He might be able to jump that far, but there would be no way to break inside and summon help. He might save himself, but not Sharon.

  On the other side, one story down and half a dozen feet away lay a heavy flowerbox that protruded from the Gaskells’ window. Ian wouldn’t have taken very good odds on its ability to hold him, but he knew Bella usually left the window ajar. At least he was in decent physical shape.

  He had to try.

  Blotting everything from his mind except the task ahead, he released his hold on the flagpole. Sharon watched, wordless. He wished he could reassure her or at least tell her how much he’d come to love her, but any minute this damn widow’s walk was going to snap loose.

  Angling across the dangerously sloping balcony, he climbed onto the railing and made a mental gauge of the distance. Then he launched himself into space.

  Bradley had escaped. Furious, Jody watched him cling to the window box, his body dangling over the street, and then pull himself to safety. He would come back. But by then, she would have disposed of Susan.

  Susan had always been the pretty one, the popular one, the flirt, but that hadn’t been enough for her. She’d stolen everything from Jody. As for Bradley, there were no words vile enough to describe the traitor who had taken Jody’s virginity and then abandoned her.

  The first time she’d seen him, she knew he was meant to be hers. Everyone thought she, like Susan, had met him for the first time at church, but that wasn’t true.

  Bradley had been working as a foreman at the orange packing plant by the railroad tracks. Jody had seen him from the train one day as she returned from visiting a girlfriend in Pasadena. The sweat stood out on his muscular back, and when he turned she felt a chill go through her at his powerful features and intelligent eyes.

  She had done something no decent woman would do. From the station, she’d taken a cab to the packing plant instead of going home on the bus. Arriving by good luck right at quitting time, she’d boldly asked him out to dinner.

  She could still remember the bemused look on the man’s face when he accepted. After he washed up, they’d dined nearby at a little cafe, and then gone up to Bradley’s room and made love.

  Jody had never thought clearly about what she expected from Bradley. She’d only known that he awoke sensations that had changed her forever. In her sheltered world, the obvious next step was for the man to ask her to marry him. But he didn’t. He walked her to the bus stop and said good-bye.

  That’s when she told him where she went to church. She knew enough about men, or thought she did, to expect that after a while he would want more of what he’d enjoyed and would come looking for her.

  He showed up, all right. He favored her with a half-smile when he entered the sanctuary, and then he blinked as if not quite believing what he saw. His eyes got bright and he came over and asked her to introduce him to Susan. She’d believed he was coming to see her. Her heart had leaped with joy, and he’d made a fool of her.

  Later, when Jody threatened to tell her sister the truth, he’d retorted that if she did, he would tell the world she was a whore. Even so, she’d hinted to Susan that she’d met the man first, to which the mocking reply had been, “Love isn’t a game of finders keepers, you know.”

  At first, she thought he’d soon tire of Susan and throw her aside. Weeks later, when Jody discovered she was pregnant, she’d known with a rock-solid certainty that Bradley would finally do the decent thing and marry her.

  If she lived another eighty years, she would never forget the expression of revulsion on his face when she told him. “It isn’t mine,” he’d said. “God knows how many men you’ve been with.”

  No matter how often she bathed, Jody would never wash away the grime from that abortionist’s apartment. She could still smell the slime and muck on the tarp-covered table after the woman did her work.

  The next days had gone by in a haze of pain. Jody couldn’t let her parents see that she was ill. She had to hide the cramping and pretend the blood was a normal period. Certainly she would never have revealed to her sister the depth of her shame. She couldn’t bear to hear Susan mock that.

  Rage filled the void inside her. Everything about Susan and Bradley stirred her fury—their loving glances, the way they held hands, their surreptitious kisses. And that little sneer that played around Bradley’s mouth whenever he glanced at Jody.

  When he got drafted into the Army, she knew that was God’s will. When she learned of Susan’s pregnancy, she’d vowed that her sister should share her grief.

  Jody made sure no letters were posted or received. And Bradley did write, even without knowing of Susan’s condition. Jody burned each letter as soon as it came. Pretending to carry her sister’s outgoing mail for her, she burned that as well. She also spread rumors about her sister and invented gossip for her parents’ ears, hardening their hearts against Susan.

  But one of Susan’s letters had gone out, heaven knows how, and Bradley must have found a way to respond. Fortunately, still believing Jody to be her ally, Susan confided in her. She begged Jody to get the family out of the house one night so she and Bradley could elope and take the baby with them.

  Jody got there first. She hadn’t known what she was going to do until she saw the knife in her hand and her sister’s body crumpled on the floor.

  She barely had time to hide herself when she heard Bradley running up the stairs. As he stood in shock, staring at Susan, Jody pulled off her stocking and strangled him from behind. She didn’t know where the strength came from. Surely from God.


  Then she found a rope in the garden and, with the strength of her pent-up rage, hung Bradley from a beam so his death would appear to be suicide.

  In those days, there were no crime laboratories to show that he’d died from the wrong kind of strangulation, and no nosy police investigators to question the spatter of blood on her dress. Nowadays a person had to be a lot more careful.

  At first, Jody had intended to kill the baby too. But when she gazed into his sweet little eyes, she’d known he was meant to replace the child she’d lost. Things had been made right at last.

  No one would ever take him away from her. Not then, not thirty-five years later, and not now.

  Susan never learned.

  There was still time, before Bradley got here, to knock the balcony loose and kill her sister. If he tried to turn Jody in, she would tell the police that he was the one who’d killed Susan. They would believe her. She was just an old woman, and he was a big strong man.

  Now he would see how wrong he’d been. Now he would suffer the way he’d made her suffer.

  First Jody had to get rid of the clothesline, while staying beyond the range of the blade in Susan’s hand. From her pocket, she retrieved a folding knife small enough to hide in her hand but very sharp. Sharp enough to cut a thin nylon line.

  A voice stopped Jody. Faint, it came from far below.

  “Mommy?”

  She’d left Greg asleep in her apartment after fetching him from his room earlier. What was he doing outside?

  “He’s under the widow’s walk!” Panic filled Susan’s voice. “It’ll fall right on top of him!”

  “Jump,” said Jody. “Jump away from him. Then I won’t have to knock it down.”

  Seeing the torment in Susan’s eyes, Jody almost felt sorry for her. But not for long. “Don’t worry,” she added. “I’ll take good care of him.”

  Pete didn’t understand how he and Bella could have been so blind all these years. No wonder Bradley’s spirit walked the house, unable to rest, while his murderer lived on in peace and comfort.