by Sharon Potts
“You’re hurt,” she said. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“I’m okay.” He locked the door behind them. “Bud said he was coming here. I left a message for Detective Lieber.”
“I know. She called me. She’s out there. The house is surrounded by cops.”
“Good,” he said. “Good.” He’d gotten to Lieber in time. He collapsed on the white sofa, then glanced down at the blood and dirt on his clothes and started to get up.
“Stay. I can always wash the covers.”
She balanced on her crutches and came back a minute later with a liter bottle of water.
He drank it all down. Never in his life had he been so thirsty.
“Tell me what happened.” She was barefoot in white velour sweatpants, one pants leg pulled up to the top of her cast. She’d almost persuaded Bud to take her out to St. Mary’s with him. Then what would have happened to her?
“Irv and Enrique Castillo are dead.”
“No.” She flinched as though struck. “How?”
“They killed each other. Bud’s little game. He lied to each of them, making them believe the other had murdered my mom. They went after each other like a couple of animals. I think they were both in love with her.”
The muscles in Robbie’s face relaxed, as though she’d just solved a puzzle. “So Bud’s definitely behind everything.”
“He has every move planned out, like a major chess game. And he doesn’t make mistakes.”
“How did you figure out he was coming here?”
“In the middle of the fighting, he said, ‘I’ll give Robbie your regards.’ Then he sneaked away. I didn’t realize he was gone until I saw his plane take off.”
Robbie was turning her ring around her finger. “I wonder why he hasn’t come.”
Jeremy looked at the splattered red wax on the coffee table, reminded of the dried blood on Marina’s face. “I don’t know.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
Then suddenly, he did.
“What?” Robbie touched his hand. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The room was spinning. It was a trick. Another trick. He was up, pacing erratically, not knowing where to go, what to do.
“Jeremy.” Robbie was alarmed, her face pale. “Talk to me. What is it?”
He threw open the front door. “Lieber,” he shouted. “Lieber, are you out there? It was a trick. Lieber, come out.”
Judy Lieber appeared from out of the darkness. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“He set me up.” Could she understand what he was saying? He was breathing so hard. “Bud set me up. He never planned to come here.” He put his hand over his eyes. “I let him trick me. I let him.”
“Where’s he going, Jeremy?”
“To Elise. He’s going to kill my sister.”
Lieber spoke into a walkie-talkie, giving instructions, directions to his grandfather’s house.
Robbie squeezed Jeremy’s arm, a gesture to comfort him. But he had no time to be comforted. He’d let Bud trick him.
Take care of your sister.
He had failed them. Failed his parents in the worst possible way.
Cars were pulling out all around them, like a family of cockroaches suddenly awakened.
“I need your car,” Jeremy said.
“Sure.”
“Call Elise and my grandfather. Warn them.”
His grandfather lived only a couple of miles away, on the other side of Coconut Grove, but the cul-de-sacs and the town’s barriers made him feel as though he was navigating blindly through a maze.
Don’t let me be too late.
Lieber would get there first. She and the rest of her posse. He wished he’d taken Robbie’s phone so he could call his sister himself. He couldn’t stand the not knowing.
He turned onto 27th Avenue, but was caught at the light. Just another few blocks. The light changed. He floored the accelerator. And then, he hit the brakes, coming to a screeching stop. The car behind him braked and honked.
A sick sensation spread over him. This morning Elise had said she wanted to stay at the house. That she needed to be there to help her remember. And Jeremy had only been half listening. He had wanted her out of there so he could find his father’s gun. And he’d told her to come back later.
Had she done that? Had she gone back to Lotus Island? And if she had, would Bud know to find her there?
Jeremy made a sharp U-turn and sped down the street toward Miami Beach. The Grand Master was still one move ahead of him.
Chapter 54
Bud parked his black SUV behind a construction Dumpster on a vacant lot on North Bay Road and unloaded his bicycle. The sky was overcast, the moon hidden behind thick clouds. A lot like that other night, when he had readied their house by unscrewing the bulbs in the sconces on the portico.
He looked out toward the bay. Still and dark. It had been the perfect burial place for the shotgun, his night goggles, gloves, and the Stroebs’ laptops along with any inconvenient information they might have contained.
He straddled the bike and took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest. He’d changed into a black shirt and black slacks on the plane, but he was already perspiring. The outer layer of his skin felt tingly, painful, as though all of his nerve endings were exposed. He couldn’t understand it; everything was going so well. Every move a classic, straight out of Kasparov.
He guided the bike onto Lotus Island, careful to steer wide, outside the security camera’s range. Then he glided over to the park, where he dropped the bike in the bushes, just as he had that other night.
Fools. Most of his opponents were fools. And that took much of the challenge out of the game. Of course, Rachel had never been a fool. And neither had her son.
In the shadow of one of the towering banyan trees, he composed himself. Thinking through his strategy one more time. That’s what his mama had taught him. “Be certain of your next move, Bud. Don’t let anyone rush you.”
He was shaking. The air was thick and steamy, so why was he shaking? It was crazy; there was no reason to be nervous. He had everything under control. The key he’d taken from Rachel’s brother-in-law was in his pocket. Did that moron even realize it was missing?
And he’d brought a special weapon. Not a sawed-off shotgun. Not a knife. This time it was more personal. This time her children would understand the pain he’d suffered. He’d make them understand why he couldn’t let Rachel, or any of them, fuck up his life. Why he couldn’t go back.
He shivered with the memory of the satisfaction he’d felt that night when their daughter had come home unexpectedly. He could have killed her, but it never would have been as gratifying as hearing her screams. A good lesson for that privileged little bitch, but this time he’d really make it stick.
He opened the buckle of his daddy’s strap and slid it out of his pants. He held it close to his nose. Sometimes he imagined he could smell his own blood on it.
No, Daddy, no, Daddy. Little Bud huddled behind a chair, but the strap found him, cutting into his back, lashing across his shoulders, his bare buttocks. Snap, woosh, thwump.
You worthless piece of shit, Daddy said. Whap, woosh, thwump.
The sting, the pain. Little Bud screamed. No, Daddy. No, Daddy.
And when the whipping stopped, Bud heard only the sound of his broken sobs.
His mama, cooing as she rubbed ice on his wounds, kissed his tears, helped him into bed. Her hair was gray; a button missing from her blouse.
He could only lie on his stomach. He couldn’t stop crying. He was just a little tyke. Five or six. And his mama brought out the tattered chessboard, the worn wooden pieces. This is how the pawns move. She showed him. The rooks, the knights, the bishops.
No, he cried. He didn’t want to learn. He hurt too much.
She showed him again. There were scars on her cheeks and her nose leaned to the side where it had been broken. Use your brains and get out of here. Then never come
back, no matter what.
The lashings continued.
You’re a fake, his daddy said. You might could build up your body and get yourself to a fancy school, but you’ll never be more than a stinkin’ piece of shit.
And when Bud got word that his mama died while he was away at college, he didn’t go back for her funeral.
Never come back, she had said.
She knew, he knew, if he went back, he’d kill his daddy, and that wasn’t what she’d intended for him.
He threaded the strap back through the belt loops. The street was deserted. A couple of streetlights were out. But he stayed close to the hedges, just in case.
He’d risen to the top of one of the most successful firms in the country. He was quoted in business articles and had been featured on the cover of a national magazine.
And he knew his daddy had seen the success Bud Martin McNally had become.
You’ll never be more than a stinkin’ piece of shit.
No. No one would ever send him back.
He stood in the shadows of the tall hedges across from the Stroeb house, just as he had that other night.
The light in her daughter’s bedroom was on.
Chapter 55
Elise pulled the towel off her head, then opened her bathroom door a few inches to let the steam out. Her damp hair hung against her bare shoulders and back. The speakers of her iPod were blaring a song from Rent. She wondered if Jeremy had come home yet. It was already after ten, and she hadn’t seen or spoken with him since early this morning when she’d come by here with her grandfather. Jeremy had seemed annoyed with her, but maybe he was just preoccupied. She knew Jeremy had been involved with the girl who’d been murdered. That he must have cared about her.
“Marina.” She said the name aloud. She’d always liked the sound of it. But now she was dead.
Elise shivered. Maybe it had been a stupid idea coming here. She’d double-checked all the doors and windows to make certain everything was locked, but she still felt jumpy. The house was too strange without Geezer. She wished Jeremy would come home soon.
She ran a wide-tooth comb through her hair, and water dripped from the ends onto the bath mat. She felt badly about lying to her grandfather. She had called him from school to tell him not to pick her up. She’d be staying on Lotus Island tonight, she’d told him. Carlos was giving her a ride. “Please don’t worry about me, Grandpa. Jeremy’s home.”
But he was still worried. He’d argued with her, insisted that it wasn’t safe. But Jeremy’s here, she’d lied. He’ll take care of me.
She couldn’t have told her grandfather the truth. He never would have understood. How could he? It hardly made sense to her. For the last few weeks, she’d existed in a state of terror whenever she was alone in the house. But now that her memory had started coming back, she knew she needed to be here to remember. It frightened her, but it was the only way to make the nightmares stop.
Her mother would have understood.
She tightened the bath towel around her and stepped into her bedroom. One of her favorite songs was on— “Another Day.”
She was almost there. Another day.
She dug through a drawer and pulled out her mother’s tee shirt. Flora had washed it, but the outline of her mother’s splattered blood was still visible. She kissed the three teardrops. Then she let the towel drop to the floor, slipped on a pair of panties, and pulled the tee shirt over her head.
A noise. Coming from downstairs. She froze, waiting. If it was Jeremy, he’d call up to her. He’d know she was home because he’d see the lights on.
She left the volume on her iPod turned up, but went to stand at her bedroom door. She opened it a crack and listened. The house was perfectly quiet.
It was her imagination. If someone had come in, she couldn’t have heard anything with the music blasting and her door closed. She was overreacting because Dwight had spooked her. Then why was her heart racing?
She stepped barefoot into the hallway, moving along the wall. At the banister, she stopped, her back against the far wall so she couldn’t be seen from downstairs. And then she heard it. The softest clink of metal, like a belt buckle. And then she felt it. A presence that sucked up the air around her. She became chilled and sweaty and light-headed. Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.
She ducked as she darted past the landing and ran into her parents’ room, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could.
The murderer was back. Just as she’d always known he would be. What to do? Where to hide? Had he heard her come in here?
Someone was climbing the stairs— slow, heavy. She was breathing too loudly. Could he hear her through the door? She covered her mouth.
The footsteps stopped. Please, please go away.
It seemed like forever. She was shaking so hard, she had to clench her jaws to keep her teeth from chattering.
Then she heard movement. He was going away, down the hall, toward her bedroom.
Her parents’ bedroom was almost pitch-black. She darted under the oversized skirted chair in the corner, curled up in a little ball, and squeezed her eyes shut. If she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her.
Her nest smelled dusty, stale, a bit like Geezer. But she could smell something else.
A paralyzing fear crept over her. She was remembering.
The foyer, it was dark. So dark. And it smelled metallic, smoky.
Carlos was shouting at her. “Come on, Elise. Let’s go. I’m leaving.”
A shadow moved. A shadow without a face— no nose, no mouth, no hair, just bulging eyes. Bug eyes. Staring at her. But she couldn’t move.
Your mama’s calling you.
And now she remembered running up the stairs shouting.
Mommy, Daddy. Mommy, Daddy.
Their bedroom door was open. The footsteps were closer.
Now? Then? It was all mixed up in her head.
Don’t turn on the light. Don’t turn on the light.
But suddenly brightness flooded the room. Elise screamed.
Mommy, Daddy.
Where were they? Why was everything splattered with red paint? Red paint and strewn garbage. All over the bed, on the walls, the floor. Everything such a mess. Their pretty, neat bedroom such a mess.
Mommy, Daddy?
Her mother’s hand. Her mother’s hand was reaching for her.
I promise I’ll never leave you.
“Mommmeeeee,” she screamed.
Someone was pulling her. Pulling her out of her nest.
She stared at their bed. The mess was gone. The blood was gone. Her mother’s hand was gone.
The light went out. Someone gripped her, wrapping his arms around her, whispering in her ear, his breath foul. “Your mama’s not calling you anymore.”
Chapter 56
Jeremy saw the light on in Elise’s bedroom. He jumped out of Robbie’s car before it had come to a full stop and raced to the front door. Unlocked. He pushed it open, hesitating for a split second before running up the stairs, his father’s gun in his hand.
“Elise,” he shouted.
In the distance, he could hear music— the soundtrack from Rent.
The door to his parents’ bedroom was open, the room dark. Jeremy braked, realizing he was backlighted to the murderer. He ducked down, pulling the door shut behind him, closing himself and his parents’ murderer into a tomb of darkness.
Please, Ellie. Be safe.
His heart was pounding wildly in his chest.
A movement gave away Bud’s location; near the window by the head of the bed. What had he done with Elise? What was he planning?
Jeremy could hear two sets of breathing, one rough and labored, the other rapid, light. Elise. She was alive.
Jeremy crept along the edge of the room and felt the wall just above the baseboard. His hand touched the emergency flashlight that his father kept in each of the bedrooms. He pulled it out of its outlet, pointing it toward a vague shadow, the gun in his other hand.
He flicked on the switch. A beam of light fell across his parents’ bed. Across his sister.
She was lying on her stomach wearing only panties and a tee shirt. Her feet and hands were tied, a gag in her mouth. Her eyes were terrified.
Bud stood over her, a gun pressed against her head, a worn leather strap in his other hand.
“Jeremy, my boy. Glad you were able to make it.” Bud flicked the strap in the air, causing the gun to press harder against Elise.
Jeremy felt an uncontrollable rage toward this monster. This monster who had killed his parents, Marina, and now, what had he done to his sister?
Jeremy aimed the gun, still holding the flashlight in his other hand. He had a clean shot, but if he fired, Bud would pull the trigger of his own gun and kill Elise.
The monster was grinning. “Game ain’t much fun without the queen, is it, boy?” Perspiration was running down Bud’s cheeks, into his eyes, but he didn’t wipe it away. He cracked the belt in the air like a whip. Whap, woosh, clank. The buckle swung at the free end.
“I don’t reckon you kids ever felt the sting of a strap on your sweet, tender, rich little asses? No, not you. Not in your world. You have no idea what it’s like growing up in shit. Comin’ from nothin’. Just your daddy’s beatings to get you going. You and your sister and your mama— y’all think the world’s a tough place when your cable TV’s broke or you can’t get an Internet connection.” Bud’s eye was twitching, his accent growing thicker. “Y’all don’t know, don’t understand. When ya pull yourself up out of a shit pile and make somethin’ of your life, you ain’t gonna let nobody take it ’way from you. Ya hear me? Ya hear what I’m saying?” He snapped the strap; it came down across Elise’s butt with a thwump and she let out a muffled cry.
“Damn you, Bud,” Jeremy shouted, stepping closer. “You want to hit someone, hit me. Or do you feel powerful like your daddy when he whipped you? Come on, Bud. Hit me. What kind of chess game is it— all queens against all pawns?”
Bud threw his head back and laughed. His movement changed the angle of his gun so it pointed away from Elise.