True Bliss

by Cameron, Stella

  Her mother huddled against the door and sniffled.

  The drive to Laurelhurst and the Winters's lakefront home was made in near silence. Once Bliss pulled to a stop in the circular driveway in front of the house, Kitten got out and hurried inside.

  Bliss waited for Sebastian. "Crystal wasn't killed," she said when he joined her.

  He turned his face up to a star-encrusted sky. "Seems that way from what your mother says. Will you understand if we don't make this a long, fond homecoming?"

  "Fond?" She smothered a cynical laugh. "There was never

  any affection here, but if Mother wants to try for peace, I think we should let her. I want to get out of here as much as you do."

  She led him into the house, into the elegantly Asian living room from which she could hear her parents' raised voices.

  Conversation ceased the instant Morris Winters saw Sebastian and Bliss. He showed them his back and concentrated on the mirror-black windows overlooking the lake.

  Kitten wound her fingers together. Her blue cotton sweater bagged at the bottom over a denim skirt with an unraveling hem. Without makeup, she was a tired-looking woman on the wrong side of middle-age. Her darting eyes showed she was also a desperate woman.

  "Dad," Bliss said. "We're here because Mom told us you both wanted to see us."

  After a long pause, Morris said, "Your mother is impulsive. I thought she'd learned the consequences of that. Evidently I was wrong."

  "Okay," Sebastian said, pulling out his keys. "We're out of here, Bliss. Good night to you both."

  "No!" Kitten said. "Morris, listen to me. This can all work out, I tell you. Just do what you said. Make sure they understand. Everything will work out."

  The man spun to face them. He stared from Bliss to Sebastian and back, then prowled the room. "You aren't going to get in my way, do you understand?"

  Bliss's hand went to her throat.

  "Morris—"

  "Shut your Goddamn mouth, woman," Morris said to his wife. "Shut up all of you."

  "Come on," Sebastian said. "Time to go home."

  "I told you to shut up!" Morris's eyes flamed. Nerves beside his eyes twitched. "Shut up!"

  Sebastian moved toward him.

  "Get over there," Morris yelled. He raised his right hand and pointed a gun at Sebastian. "Do as you're told. This is going to go one way—my way. I've fought too hard and put up with too

  much to fail because of this fool." He pointed the weapon at Kitten.

  Bliss swallowed a scream. "Daddy!"

  "Don't call me that," Morris Winters said. He inclined his head toward Kitten. "Ask her why you shouldn't call me that."

  "Shit," Sebastian said under his breath. "Look, Winters. Let's all calm down. And let's not say or do things we're all likely to regret."

  "My wife screwed around on me," Morris said, sneering at Kitten. "The little bastard she had was the result. But we've had an agreement. If she didn't do anything to mess with my career, I wouldn't do anything to mess with her precious reputation."

  Bliss sat on the nearest chair.

  "I said I'd get rid of it, Morris," Kitten said. Her mouth remained slack. "It was you who said I couldn't."

  "Because the Goddamn quack you went to was a friend of my folks and he couldn't wait to congratulate them, or me."

  "That's enough," Sebastian said quietly. "We're no part of any of this."

  It. Her mother had offered to get rid of "it." Bliss closed her eyes.

  "If the Moore girl had been there, this would all be over," Kitten wailed. "How was I to know she wouldn't be there?"

  Bliss heard the words but they no longer made sense.

  "Be quiet," Morris ordered. "Don't come any nearer, Plato."

  "I did it for you," Kitten said. "As soon as Bliss told me where she was going, I knew what I was meant to do."

  Morris laughed horribly. "But you screwed it up, didn't you? Again? Crystal wasn't there at all, and Bliss got out. All you got rid of was the old man, you stupid cow."

  Bliss opened her eyes. Her mother? Her own mother had tried to burn her to death?

  Her father wasn't her father?

  Her mother had murdered a man?

  "Bliss wasn't supposed to die," Kitten said. "Just that man and the girl. With them gone we'd be happy—"

  "You're not taking me down," Morris said, too quietly. He waved the gun. "Get over here, Kitten. Beside me. She's finally going to do something useful." His eyes narrowed in Bliss's direction.

  Kitten walked toward him like a woman asleep. "I did it for you," she said. "I did it for you, Morris. For us. And I've done what you wanted tonight. I've brought them here. Tell him. Tell Plato he's got to get out of Washington."

  "Not good enough." Morris's face convulsed. "I'm going to kill them."

  Bliss couldn't move. Sebastian stood quite still, but he stared at her, shook his head slightly.

  She didn't know what he was trying to tell her.

  "Him first," Morris said. "Then her. She'll have committed suicide. She was always unbalanced. She's always done things to hurt us. Tonight she came to laugh at me. This was celebration time because she'd publicly declared she was fucking the enemy. But she's going to crack up and kill him when he tries to stop her from killing herself."

  "Morris!" Kitten fell to her knees and covered her head. "Please, Morris. They'll say we did it."

  "Bitch," Morris said, shaking with rage. "She's going to kill you, too. And wound me."

  "No, she's not." Kitten turned her ashen, sweat-slick face up to his. "How would she do that?"

  Morris laughed. He tipped back his head and laughed. "No she's not," he mimicked. "Stupid cow! Of course she's not. But that's how it'll look. And the people will love me for my bravery in the face of family agony. My wife and child dead at my child's hands. The wound I suffer at my child's hands."

  "Gunshots hurt," Sebastian said.

  Silence fell.

  "Tough to shoot yourself, Morris. What if you lose your nerve? How will you explain a pile of corpses in your living room then?"

  Kitten surged upward. She surged upward, and screamed— and grabbed for the gun.

  The shot jolted Bliss's spine all the way to her heels. She stood up and made fists in the air.

  A second shot rang out.

  One of Kitten's hands struck Morris's face, smeared blood from hairline to chin. She fell against him. Blood spattered his yellow polo shirt, and, as Kitten slid toward the floor, more blood soaked her husband's clothes. Streaks of blood running down his body, down his legs.

  Bliss retched, and moaned.

  "Keep still," Sebastian said in a harsh whisper. "Be quiet."

  "Mom?" Bliss moaned. "Mom?"

  Kitten slumped over Morris's feet. He stepped back, kicked free of her. Distaste curled his lips. "I caught my own wife when her daughter shot her," he said.

  "Mad," Sebastian muttered. He took a step toward Morris but stopped when the gun barrel leveled in his direction. He said, "This isn't going to work. Why not quit while there's some hope you can come up with a story to explain why you'd kill your wife?"

  "Never," Morris said. "I'm going to be President of the United States and no snot-nosed little bastard is getting in my way. I'm using you, Plato."

  Footsteps in the foyer froze the scene. "Don't come in here," Bliss yelled, and shrank back when Morris's gun shifted in her direction. "Call the police! He's got a gun!"

  Morris's face turned dull red. He backed toward the wall behind the door.

  Maryan Plato appeared.

  "Get out, Sis," Sebastian said. "He's behind the door and he's armed. Get the hell out while you can!"

  She came into the room with dragging steps. Mascara trailed her thin cheeks. "Morris?" She peered around until she saw him. Swaying on sandaled feet, she gave the man a wobbling smile and waved. "Here we are again!"

  "Welcome, Maryan. We're going to make things nice and tidy." Morris's voice was monotone. "Bliss Winters killed Plato's sister beca
use she found out they had this sick thing. He was rucking his own sister."

  Bliss flinched. They were going to die and Morris would tell disgusting lies about all of them.

  Morris's attention was on Maryan. He approached her, shoved the gun down the front of her wrinkled dress—between her breasts. "She's going to take you out next. She already killed her mother."

  Sebastian, stepping between Bliss and Morris, cut off her view. "Get down, Bliss! Now. On the floor. He can't shoot us all at once."

  "Fuck you!" Morris yelled. "Next one to move dies first."

  "Do it," Sebastian said.

  Rather than follow his orders, she got up and flung her arms around his waist.

  "Bliss," he ground out. "For God's sake."

  "If you shoot him, you probably shoot me," Bliss told Morris. "Same bullet. Same trajectory. Explain that to the police."

  "You were going to make sure everything was okay," Maryan said. "You promised, Morris. I tried to do what you wanted, and you promised. It almost worked, but Seb came back to the pool."

  Bliss felt Sebastian grow even stiffer. "What the hell does that mean?"

  Another gunshot exploded against Bliss's eardrums.

  "Maryan," Sebastian said softly. "You shit, Winters. If you wanted me you could have had me. You didn't have to do that to her."

  He lunged, and threw himself forward at the same time.

  Bliss lost her hold on him, fell, rolled away. Her head hit a brass table. Blood had spattered the open, white-painted door— Maryan Plato's blood. Clutching her shoulder, she'd slumped against the wall.

  Morris held the gun two-handed, his elbows locked, the barrel

  pointed at Sebastian's face. "I want you over there." He twitched the gun. "My ex-wife's bastard makes a good point. Trajectory's important. Face her. I like that. She's going to shoot you in the face, lover-boy."

  "Don't move," Bliss told Sebastian. "Stay where you are."

  She saw Maryan slip onto her side and inch toward Morris. Blood oozed between her fingers.

  "Turn around, Plato," Morris said. Veins stood out at his temples. His color had turned a mottled purple. "Turn around, you little shit!"

  Grimacing, crying out with pain, Maryan rolled into the backs of Morris's legs.

  He flailed.

  Another bullet sang, and buried itself in the ceiling. And Morris overbalanced across Maryan's back.

  Sebastian threw himself on top of the other man, clamped one hand around his neck and reached for the gun.

  The phone rang.

  "Fuck!" Morris screamed. "I'm going to kill you. All of you."

  Another ring, and another, and another.

  The two men struggled, twisted. Maryan, wriggling from beneath Morris, tried to grab the gun just as Sebastian's fingers began to close.

  Morris laughed. "Justice! She sold you out before. She'll kill you now."

  Holding her head, feeling warm wetness in her hair, Bliss got to her feet.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  She crept toward the writhing mass.

  Again, the gun went off, and again. Panels on the door splintered.

  Sebastian grabbed Maryan's arm and pushed her aside. Her agonized moans tore at Bliss.

  She went to her hands and knees.

  Morris and Sebastian turned. The gun, their hands, pointed

  toward Bliss. She scurried and made it to the phone, dialed 911, let the receiver trail from its cord.

  More shots. Great sheets of window glass splintered, disintegrated.

  "Seb," Maryan moaned. "Help me, Seb."

  Bliss hesitated, but approached the two men from the opposite side. They revolved again. On top of Morris, astride his hips, Sebastian found the other man's throat once more and beat the clenched weapon hand against the rim of a low table.

  Morris's lips stretched in a wide grimace.

  His hand, bleeding now, jerked until the gun once more pointed at Sebastian. In slow motion, the trigger depressed.

  A scarlet gash opened across Sebastian's left arm—and Bliss flung herself on top of Morris's face. She curled over his head, filled her hands with his hair, yanked. Her own sobs filled her ears, her own, and Morris's enraged cries of pain. His free hand found her ear and he twisted.

  She felt blows land on his body.

  Then she hit the floor again, face down.

  And there was silence but for Maryan's wrenching gasps and the labored breathing of the two men—and her own pounding heart.

  "You okay, Bliss?"

  She raised her head to look at Sebastian through blood that had run from her scalp. "Yes." He had the gun. "I dialed the police."

  "Good."

  "They'll never believe you didn't do all this, Plato," Morris said. His eyes were swelling shut. "Maryan will help me. We'll tell them how it went. I'm going to be President Winters. I'll need you, Maryan."

  She lay on her side, curled into a ball.

  "They attacked us, Maryan," Morris said. "They killed Kitten and they tried to kill you."

  "Fuck off," Maryan whispered.

  "I'll take care of you," Morris said. "I'll—"

  Bliss followed the direction of his gaze to a red-haired woman in the doorway. A red-haired woman with a gun of her own. Dressed in jeans and a grimy white sweatshirt, and tennis shoes, she came into the room. Slowly, she made a circuit of the gory scene. With one shoe, she turned Kitten onto her back.

  Bliss saw her mother's staring eyes, her shattered neck, and turned away.

  "It wasn't you, was it?" the woman said. "Bliss?"

  Bliss looked at her and frowned.

  "You didn't try to kill me in Dad's trailer?"

  Crystal. "No," Bliss said, shaking her head. "No. I was inside when the fire started. I went because you asked me to."

  "She did it, didn't she?" Crystal indicated Maryan. "She needed me, but she hated me. So she wanted to get rid of me."

  Maryan remained on her side.

  "My mother did it," Bliss said. She should be able to cry. "I told her I was going to meet you and she went up there to get rid of you. She said she didn't intend for me to die."

  Crystal laughed. She laughed, but her violet eyes were sad when she looked at Sebastian. "Figures. She didn't want to risk you finding out the truth. Any of you. I tried to talk to you at the Wilmans', Sebastian. I wanted you to let me help you, but you just wanted to get rid of me."

  "Shoot the bitch," Morris muttered through battered lips.

  Crystal positioned herself with a clear view of the scene. "Get away from him, Sebastian."

  He didn't move.

  "Please," Crystal said.

  "Killing him won't help anything," Sebastian told her. "The police will deal with him."

  "It was all his fault," Crystal said, turning her face toward Bliss now. "Your dear daddy had quite a taste for young girls, you know."

  Bliss held her stomach.

  "He would come to his precious new ball field and watch the games. Actually, he watched the girls, the cheerleaders. He

  paid for my uniform. That was after he brought me to his little nest out there"—she inclined her head toward the building that housed Morris's study—"He brought me there and made me have sex with him. After the first time, it wasn't so bad. He bought me things. Promised me things. Until I got pregnant."

  "Shoot her," Morris said. He jackknifed beneath Sebastian, but a blow to his jaw slammed him down again. "Shut her up," he whined.

  A car engine sounded outside. There were no sirens, but a blue light cut the darkness beyond the windows.

  "Let the police have him," Sebastian said.

  "She sold you out," Crystal said. "Maryan. When she found out you were leaving with Bliss, she went to Morris. He pulled all the strings. He knew you'd been with me at a party. And the timing was about right. He said he'd make sure none of us ever wanted for anything as long as I said the baby was yours."

  "Crystal," Sebastian said, with amazing gentleness. "That's all past now, all ov
er. We've paid for it. Don't do anything that'll make us pay anymore."

  Bliss blinked stinging eyes. All that, and the baby had died. All this.

  Maryan squirmed until she could see them. Her mouth stretched in a grimacing smile. "And you weren't pregnant," she said, a croaking sound coming from her throat. "A phantom pregnancy. A fucking phantom pregnancy! But it worked. Kill him, Crystal. Kill Morris. He did it all."

  "Please," Bliss said. "Please. No more."

  "Give me the gun, Crystal," Sebastian said.

  "He couldn't have done any of it without your help," Crystal said, approaching Maryan. "And all because you were in love with your brother."

  "He's not my brother," Maryan said, holding a hand toward Crystal. "He's not."

  "Don't," Sebastian said, getting to his feet. "Let's stop this. There's been too much suffering."

  "Maryan wanted you, Sebastian. She ruined my life, and Bliss's—and yours—because she wanted you."

  Behind Sebastian, Morris rose awkwardly to sit, then to reach for the gun.

  Crystal rotated gradually, aimed, and shot Morris between the eyes.

  Bliss was still screaming when a second shot found its mark. She screamed while Maryan's last breath left her body, and she screamed as Crystal turned the gun on herself.

  "Oh, love," Sebastian said, holding out his arms. "Oh, my dear love."

  Bliss flung herself at him, hugged him.

  "Police," a voice called from the foyer. "Police! We're coming in."

  Vaguely, Bliss felt another presence enter the room.

  "Police!" the same voice announced. "Freeze. And drop your weapons."

  Sebastian let the gun fall to the floor. "Be my guest," he said, turning to look at the law. "Welcome, Officer Ballard."

  Followed by two more policemen, Beater slunk around the uniformed officers already in the room. He ambled to Sebastian and Bliss, sat down, and dropped his orange rubber spider at their feet.