Crimson Rain

by Meg O'Brien

  “I can’t believe you did this for me,” Paul said, nearly overcome with emotion.

  “Well, I know how much they meant to you,” Gina said. “This seemed a fitting way to bring them all back. You like it, then?”

  “I love it,” Paul said in a hushed voice. He wanted to add, “I love you.” It was too soon, however. The word “love” had taken on new meanings for him in the past year, some of which were just as soon forgotten. He would have to find a new meaning, a new way of expressing what he felt for his wife.

  “This is incredibly beautiful in its own way,” he said, walking around it and studying it from all sides. “Not the same, of course—but truly magnificent.”

  “I thought that, too,” Gina said, following him. “It seems almost a metaphor for life. Dreams, relationships…they’re all so fragile, and so easily broken. But in the hands of someone skilled—”

  “Or someone who cares—” Paul added.

  Gina met his eyes. “The damage may not be irredeemable?”

  He touched her fingers, and she didn’t draw away. Emboldened, he took her hand.

  “Would you like to have lunch with me?” he asked, holding his breath for her answer.

  After a moment she said, “Sure. I think that would be all right.”

  He almost suggested the Four Seasons, but caught himself. That would be the old them, the them that had never really worked.

  “I know a great hole-in-the-wall for hot dogs,” he said. “How does that sound?”

  “Hot dogs sound wonderful,” she said, looping her arm through his. “Lead the way.”

  It’s going to be all right, Paul thought. Thank God! It’s going to be all right.

  Two weeks later

  Rachel stood in the side yard of Trowbridge Psychiatric Hospital in eastern Washington. The night was pitch-black and bitter cold. Taking aim, she threw another stone at the window she believed was Angela’s. She had pretended to be a volunteer and had slipped into the hospital this afternoon to see how the room numbers went on the second floor. From the outside, now, she counted left from room 201 to Angela’s room, 207.

  But what if she had gotten it wrong? What if she should have counted to the right and this wasn’t Angela’s room at all, but some really weird sicko’s? What if some serial rapist looked out and saw her down here?

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, relax, Rachel, she admonished herself. They wouldn’t be able to get out to catch me. No one but Angela would be smart enough to do that.

  She threw another stone. There were bars on the windows, and they kept getting in the way. With the fourth try, however, Rachel was rewarded by a light coming on and Angela’s face behind the glass.

  The double-hung window slid open. Rachel stepped back a few paces so that Angela could see her better, and waved.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Angela called down in a low voice.

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “Why aren’t you locked up? I thought they put you somewhere.”

  “Only for a while,” Rachel said. “I’m going to school now…or anyway, they think I am. Can you come down?”

  Angela laughed the way Rachel remembered her laughing that night on the island: cold enough for icicles to form on her lips. Silently she laughed, too. Icicles on her lips…like fangs. What a picture.

  “You mean, ‘Slide down my rain barrel’?” Angela mocked. “You want me to come out and play, little sis?”

  “Don’t make fun of me,” Rachel said in a hard voice. “Just tell me, dammit! Can you come out?”

  “Can I?” Angela said. “Well, now, there’s a challenge. You think there’s anyone alive who can stop me from doing anything I damn well want?”

  She shook back her long blond hair, dark now at the roots, and closed the window. Four minutes later she was beside Rachel, under a tree and several yards away from the building.

  “That was fast,” Rachel said. “Didn’t anybody see you?”

  “Only one of the guards,” Angela said nonchalantly.

  “One of the guards? Really? He didn’t stop you?”

  “The guards here are a piece of cake after the good Dr. Chase,” Angela said bitterly. “So what do you want? Haven’t you done enough to mess up my life? ‘Angela kidnapped me, Mom,’” she mimicked. “‘She wanted to kill you, Dad.’”

  “I’m sorry I did all that,” Rachel said. “I’ve missed you. I didn’t realize how much I missed you till after we saw each other again.”

  She took one of Angela’s hands and held it between her own. “You feel so cold,” she said softly. “Look.” There wasn’t enough light to see well, so she held Angela’s hand against hers, matching the length of the fingers. “We have the same hands,” she said. “I didn’t even know that till I saw you in that cabin.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “We’re part of each other, Angela. Even if we’re not identical, there are parts of me that are just like parts of you. Isn’t that incredible?”

  Angela yanked her hand away. “You’re nothing like me! Why would I even want parts of a wimp like you inside me?”

  “Don’t say that! I’m not a wimp.”

  Angela’s eyes narrowed, and Rachel thought they looked like a wolf’s. “What are you even doing here?” she asked.

  “I just came to see you,” Rachel said. “I thought we could be friends.”

  “Are you kidding?” Angela said scornfully. “How the hell are we supposed to be friends when I’m locked up in here?”

  “But not forever,” Rachel said. “Vicky told Mom and Dad that you’re doing pretty good. Maybe you’ll be able to get out someday soon.”

  “Yeah, and then I’ll go to jail,” Angela said. “You want to be my cell mate? I could tell the cops how you tried to kill me when we were kids. After all, what’s the difference between me trying to kill you and Mom and Dad, and you trying to kill me?”

  The tears spilled onto Rachel’s cheeks. “I swear I never remembered till that night in the cabin when you told me. And I’ve been feeling so guilty ever since. All those years that you spent at Saint Sympatica’s instead of me…”

  “Don’t remind me. I hate you enough as it is.”

  “Do you really, Angela? Do you hate me?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Rachel. You are such a leech. You suck people dry, you know that? Mom and Dad said so, last time they came to visit me.”

  “Mom and Dad? They came here? You’re lying!”

  “No, I’m not. They come to see me, and every time we talk about you. They know what you’re really like now, Rachel. And by the time I get out of here, I’ll be living with them and you’ll be out the door.”

  “I will not! You’re lying. You said it yourself, you’ll be in jail.”

  “Not if Mom and Dad testify for me about what you did, and how my whole life was ruined because of it. My lawyer says he can get me off.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can live with us at home.”

  “Sure it does. Mom and Dad already said so.”

  “Stop calling them Mom and Dad!” Rachel cried. “You never did that before.”

  “Things are changing, little sis.” Angela shrugged. “I’m in. You’re out.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  But the truth was, she did. She had always known Angela was her parents’ favorite, even after they had sent her back to Saint Sympatica’s. Why had she thought anything would change that?

  The truth was that coming out here, she hadn’t really wished that she and Angela could be sisters again. There was only half of her that wished that. The other half, the half that went dark more often now, wanted Angela out of the way, once and for all.

  “What if the doctors here, and Vicky, figure out you’re still crazy?” Rachel asked. “They’ll never let you out of here, no matter what Mom and Dad say.”

  Angela laughed. “Listen, dummy, by the time I meet with that panel of doctors six months from now, I’ll have them all on my side—count on it! Vicky, too. They’l
l let me out of here, all right.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so,” Angela said.

  “You can get a whole panel of doctors to believe you’re well enough to leave?”

  Angela sounded like she was smiling, Rachel thought, though she couldn’t tell in the half-dark.

  “You little fool,” Angela said in a low voice. “I don’t need them to believe anything! I’ve already got three of them wrapped around my little finger, and when the time comes…well, let’s just say they’ll back up whatever I say. And believe me, once I get out of here, Mom and Dad won’t see you for dust.”

  Rachel was silent.

  “What now?” Angela said irritably. She stomped her boots on the ground, as if to ward off the cold.

  “I guess I hoped I was wrong about that.”

  “Well, you’re not. Wake up, Rachel. Look at me! I’m back!”

  Rachel searched her face in the dim light that spilled suddenly from a first-floor window. “You don’t really love them, do you? You’ve just convinced them that you do, so you can wreck their lives even more. It wasn’t enough that you and Daddy—”

  Angela’s voice grew hard. “He’s forgiven me for that. Besides, it’s none of your business what we did.”

  “It’s my life, too, Angela. What they do is my life, too. Did you know they’re getting back together?” she lied, just to get a reaction.

  Angela seemed to stop breathing. “That’s not true.”

  “It is. There will never be room for you.” And me, Rachel thought. When Angela comes home, there won’t be room for me.

  But she had known that coming here.

  Angela waved a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Rachel! Where’d you go?”

  Rachel came back slowly. Her voice was distant. “Into the future,” she said. “It’s all in my hands now.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Angela pulled an apple from her jacket pocket and bit into it. “You know, Rachel, sometimes I think you’re crazier than me. You’re definitely dumber. Look, I’ve got to get back inside. They’ll see I’m gone when they make rounds.”

  Rachel nodded. “Okay.”

  Angela patted her cheek. “I’ll be seeing you soon. At home.”

  Rachel watched her turn and begin to walk away. Maybe you’re right, she said to herself. Maybe I am as crazy as you. But the one thing I’m not is a dummy.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out the .22 caliber gun she had bought from a teenager that morning on a street in Seattle. Pointing it steadily at her sister’s back, she said, “Angela?”

  When Angela turned, Rachel pulled the trigger. The small gun made a loud popping noise, but no one seemed to hear it. There were no lights coming on, no excited voices calling out.

  Rachel walked the few feet over to Angela and knelt beside her, checking for a pulse. Finding none, she wiped her fingerprints off the gun with the hem of her shirt and put the weapon in Angela’s hand. Pressing it against Angela’s chest where the bullet hole was already blooming red, she pulled the trigger again. Forensics and powder burns weren’t something she knew much about, but she hoped this would at least confuse things.

  Standing, she said, “You really should have listened to me when I said we think alike, Angela. I sort of figured you had a plan like that. And you know what you said about me being crazy? Well, I am crazy—enough, anyway, to make sure you never mess with my life again.”

  Her voice became a soft whisper. “You should have died that Christmas Eve night. Why didn’t you, little sis?”

  Rachel smiled as she walked back to her car, which was parked just off the road at the end of the driveway. Her smile was cold, almost as cold as Angela’s had been. Still, it wasn’t as cold as Angela’s would be, from now on and forever more.

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-6374-4

  CRIMSON RAIN

  Copyright © 2002 by Meg O’Brien.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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