“Good!” Dr. Stockton stood up. “Then I’ll take you to where you can find him. Can you come back next weekend?”
“Sure. Absolutely.”
“Fine. He doesn’t really need this place anymore. It’s been good for him. He’s gotten the VIP treatment, as if he were an admiral with a little drinking problem. But in two weeks we’re going to kick him out. Can you come down again then and collect him?”
“With bells on.” Her hands flew up to her head as if she weren’t sure it would stay on by itself. “With bells on,” she repeated, laughing from sheer relief.
“That’s the spirit. Now, come along with me…”
* * *
There was a state park just south of the hospital, and through it ran a sizable creek. The area was wooded and very pretty, just the place for an injured soul.
She found Steve sitting on a wooden bench, watching the water. He was so intent on the sight that she came within fifteen feet of him before he heard her tread on the dry leaves and turned around.
“Hi,” she said. It was an awkward enough beginning.
At first he was merely startled, but then he smiled. Yes, he was glad to see her. He stood up and took a few steps toward her, and then, as if suddenly yielding to an impulse, reached out to her. He seemed not quite to have the courage to touch her.
“Thank you. Thank you for coming. I can’t say—I…”
That was better. Ellen closed the distance between them and Steve put his arms around her. There was a desperate quality in his embrace. He seemed to be afraid she would run away.
Finally they made it to the bench and sat down together. Steve kept touching her—her hands, her face—as if trying to reassure himself that she was real. After a while she leaned her back up against him, took both his hands and put them over her breasts.
“It’s me, and I still love you,” she said.
“I’m a mess,” was his answer, but he didn’t take his hands away.
“You’ll get better.”
“How is Gwendolyn?”
“Sulky and bored. I think she misses you. So do I.” Suddenly she was very serious. “Can we come live with you again?”
“Oh yes. Please.”
At the rustle of passing footsteps, Steve let his hands drop down to her waist—a little admission that this place wasn’t their private Eden.
They sat together on the bench for over an hour. He asked how Sam was doing and was surprised to hear that he planned to retire. Eventually, Steve brought up the case. He wanted to know what had been done with his father’s body.
“It’s still at the morgue.”
“Then, when I get out of here, I’d like to bury him.” He nodded. “I think I need to bury him.”
“Okay. Whenever you’re ready. They’ve long since done with him, and they won’t release him except to you.”
In the ensuing silence, Ellen made a decision.
“I killed him,” she said. “We’re never going to be able to pretend I didn’t.”
“You did what I should have done.” His eyes suddenly welled with tears.
For what felt like a very long time but was probably no more than a minute, he seemed in the grip of the most terrible remorse.
“I couldn’t have done it,” he whispered. “I couldn’t…”
He wept on her shoulder, without restraint, as if surrendering to his sense of shame. And then finally he stopped, forcibly pulling himself together.
“I’m sorry.” He even smiled. “I’m such a coward.”
“You saved me. You went in there and shielded me with your own body. You’re the bravest man I know.”
For a long time they sat there, holding each other wordlessly and then, when they were both in better control, Ellen decided she might as well tell him everything.
“He wasn’t dying,” she said, her eyes studying his face. “At autopsy they found he had acute pancreatitis, which has a lot of the same symptoms as pancreatic cancer. If he’d put himself under a doctor’s care he would have been fine.”
Steve shook his head. The irony, of course, was that if Walter hadn’t thought he was almost dead he would have gotten away.
“And your last name, by the way, is Brewer. You were named after your grandfather.”
“I think I’ll stick with Tregear, if it’s all the same.”
He laughed briefly. Ellen had the sense that he was going to be all right.
“I don’t suppose you could spend the night?” he asked. “We could go to a hotel.”
“Sure. I’ve got tomorrow off—and if I didn’t I’d call in sick. Will they let you out overnight?”
“Oh, absolutely. I can go anywhere I want. Stockton would probably think it’s a great idea.”
In another of those shifts of mood to which, Ellen told herself, she would just have to become accustomed, he looked away. God alone knew the terrible things that lived in his memory.
“He would have killed me if you hadn’t…” He actually flinched, as if he were back in that room, waiting for death.
“He was a monster. And you couldn’t kill him, which means that you’re not.”
She took his head in her hands, almost forcing him to look at her.
“Steve—listen to me—nobody kills because they’re a hero. People kill out of fear. I was never so scared in my life as when I shot him. I killed him because I was afraid of losing you. In the end, if you want my opinion, he needed to kill you because he was afraid of you.”
“I should have turned him in to the police back in Arkansas.”
“If you had, he would have killed you the first chance he got, and then the murders would have just gone on and on.”
He shook his head, as if to deny any possibility of an excuse. He started to say something, but Ellen cut him off.
“Listen to me, Steve. I know how these things work. I know how the police handle runaways, and they’re used to hearing fantastic stories about how Mom and Dad are cooking babies down in the basement. They wouldn’t have believed you, and you would have ended up dead.
“You did the right thing when you were twelve years old. It gave you a chance to grow up and put a stop to all this madness. Nobody else could have done it.”
For an instant she saw in Steve’s eyes the same anguish she had encountered in countless children during her three years with juvie. She saw the same baffled love, the same willingness to assume all blame, the same longing to be forgiven for sins never committed. I have failed you, those eyes said. Everything is my fault. Please love me again.
And then it was gone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nicholas Guild was born in Belmont, California, and attended Occidental College and the University of California, Berkeley. He taught at Clemson and Ohio State before turning full-time to writing fiction. He has published a dozen novels, several of which were international bestsellers, including The Assyrian, The Blood Star, and Angel. Guild now lives in Frederick, Maryland. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
BLOOD TIES
Copyright © 2015 by Nicholas Guild
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Arcangel Images
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-7845-3 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-6160-2 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466861602
First Edition: May 2015
Blood Ties Page 34