“The sixth floor is one big studio. The Blackwoods are one of the oldest musical families in America, as you no doubt know, Mr. Irvin. The builder devoted that whole floor to a vast, acoustically friendly room in which Robert Blackwood could play and compose music.”
Marvin stroked his chin thoughtfully. At length he asked, “Anything else, my young bird?”
“There’s a basement, but it doesn’t look like there’s anything down there, at least not from the Craigeivar floor plans. There’s roof access, but you can only get to that from the studio.”
“So it’s shaped like an L,” Marvin said, leaning forward on the wheel.
“Yes, sir.”
Marvin held out a hand, made an L with his thumb and forefinger. “We’ll hit all three doors at once. That way there’ll be no way they can slip out and strike at us from behind.” Marvin glanced at Bullington. “Jim, I want you to take the back door. That’s the place where the longest line of the L ends, am I right?” Marvin looked up at Griffin, who nodded eagerly. Turning back to examine his hand, Marvin said, “Ray, I want you on the front door, where the two lines meet.” He tapped the base of his thumb. “That’ll leave me and Nicky to cover the short part of the L, which is the side door.”
When he didn’t say more, Griffin cleared his throat. “Where will I be, sir?”
Marvin said, “You’ve no doubt observed my boy and me have a difference of opinion where you’re concerned.”
Griffin threw Nicky a quick look but didn’t say anything.
“Nicky thinks you’re worthless and that I made a mistake bringin’ you into the fold. I feel differently, though I do have to admit your habit of turning green every time there’s work to be done worries me.”
Work, Griffin thought. Christ.
“Now, this mission is going to afford you the chance to show me how smart I was in taking you on. And I dare say you wouldn’t mind making Nicky here eat a little crow, am I right?”
Griffin didn’t even need to look at Nicky to know how bitter his expression was.
“So here’s the deal. You stick with me. Prove yourself tonight, you’ll stay with us permanently.”
Griffin swallowed. “Tonight?”
Marvin grunted a humorless laugh. “Of course tonight. What do ya think we’re gonna do, camp out on the beach? Roast weenies?”
“I don’t—” Griffin forced the lump down his throat. “I don’t have a gun.”
Eyeing him steadily, Marvin reached under his jacket, came out with a shiny silver pistol, a squarish, sleek-looking thing that glinted moonlight as Marvin held it out.
Griffin accepted it. He turned it over in his hands, amazed at the thing’s solidity.
“You take that Smith & Wesson as a sign of my trust, Griff. You’ll more than likely get the opportunity to use it tonight.”
Griffin nodded. He’d never fired a gun before, but the thing in his hand intrigued him.
Nicky watched him sourly. “I don’t like it, Pop.”
Turning back to the wheel, Marvin said, “Give him a chance, Nicky. Griff here’s rejuvenated me. I even left my cane back at the house. A guy has that kind of effect on your daddy, least you can do is give him a chance.”
The gun in his hand, Griffin returned Nicky’s baleful stare and thought, That’s right, Nicky. Give me a chance. And don’t turn your back on me, you goddamn monster.
Griffin gripped the gun tighter.
Teddy Brooks awoke at just before midnight. He’d been drowsing fitfully but not really sleeping. Almost like he’d eaten Thai food. Whenever he and Tanya had gotten Thai, he’d had a hell of a time getting a decent night’s rest. But Tanya liked it, so they got it often. Whatever Tanya wanted, Tanya got.
The thought of his ex-wife brought him fully awake. Teddy sighed, reached out in the dark and fingered the satiny bedsheets. Expensive. And the bed…shit, it was like lying on one of those mats they used when he did high jump. He always sucked at high jump; it was his worst event because he was too short. But the coach probably assumed because he was black he could jump. Teddy didn’t mind though. Some of the prettiest girls on the team were in the event. He’d wait his turn and often stand near the big, puffy mat as if spotting the female jumpers. Looking out for their well-being. When all he was really doing was waiting for them to land in a heap so he could catch a glimpse of their crotches in those tiny track shorts.
Yeah, this bed was almost as big as one of those mats, but that only mattered if you had somebody in bed with you. Lying in the big bed alone he felt absurd, like it was accentuating his loneliness. Shit, how long had it been? Six months? Eight? Shaking his head, he realized it was probably even longer than that. And now that he had the image of flimsy little track shorts in his mind, he had a hard-on, and what good was that? Sure, he could take care of it himself, but that would only leave him feeling glum and messy. He didn’t even have any tissues. Teddy blew out a disgusted breath. It was a sad thing for a man his age to have to jack off to get some satisfaction. He was supposed to have a wife.
Teddy sat up in bed, glanced out the window. It was relatively early, but he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping again for a good long while.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, winced as the bare soles of his feet touched down on the frigid wood floor and went over to slide into his loafers. He didn’t suppose he looked too manly wearing nothing but a pair of yellow boxer shorts and some loafers, but who was he going to see this late at night?
Maybe Elena. He passed through the door and ambled down the hallway. Yeah, that would be all right. Teddy was still muscular, the slight layer of cushion on his lower belly understandable given his age. But he could suck that in. His chest and arms were hard. Tanya had always loved his legs. Yeah, if he encountered Elena Pedachenko right now, and if she could get past the ridiculous yellow underwear-loafer ensemble, she might be pleasantly surprised by his build.
He started down the spiral staircase.
If he met Elena at this late hour, he was certain he’d approve of her outfit. Teddy reflected back on that lovely blue number she had on earlier, the way the sundress showed off her shoulder blades, the delicate line of her backbone. The girl was tiny, couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds, and though he normally liked his women with a trifle more size on them, there was something irresistible about Elena’s tight little body, those pert breasts. He was positive she wore no bra.
Teddy reached the first floor and passed into the pantry.
“Teddy.”
His hand halfway to the pantry light, Teddy froze. He gazed into the darkness of the pantry, but it appeared empty.
Yet he’d heard the voice.
“You goin’ crazy, Teddy,” he muttered. He flipped on the light.
And bellowed in terror at his wife’s face staring back at him from the shelf. He windmilled his arms, backpedaled, swept cans and bottles off the shelves, then tripped over his own feet and fell sideways into the hall. But he could still see Tanya’s face eyeballing him, smiling, the face very much alive but ghastly in its unblinking knowledge. Teddy scrambled around the corner, had taken a few panicked strides toward the staircase, when it occurred to him.
Tanya couldn’t be in the pantry.
Tanya couldn’t be anywhere.
“Come on, Teddy,” he muttered, recrossing the hallway. He felt a blast of dread as he stepped into the pantry again, but it was as he thought. Empty, except for the food.
Teddy moved deeper into the pantry and scanned the shelves. Boxes of pasta. Some canned soup. Some protein drink in a big canister. Probably belonged to Chad Wayne. Dude had to make sure he maintained those cartoonish muscles and that rancid stink breath. Remembering the smell of Wayne’s breath, Teddy wrinkled his nose, and as he did, he noticed something in the rear of the pantry, where he’d scared himself shitless thinking his ex-wife had materialized between
the Rice-a-Roni and the taco shells.
There was something stuck between a couple of cans. Minestrone soup and some baked beans, Teddy observed as he edged nearer. What poked out between them was only a small piece of paper, and why that should fill him with such an atavistic dread he had no idea.
“Come on, Teddy,” he said with even less patience this time. He reached out for the beige slip of paper, thinking it was a scribbled note or maybe a receipt. But no, he thought, his fingers closing on it and sliding it out, it was the wrong kind of paper for that. Too thick.
Teddy saw it was a business card.
He read the name on it, then read it again.
He clapped a hand over his mouth, the card fluttering down to land between his loafers. The card lay face up, the name still easy enough to read even from this distance: LARS HUTCHINSON.
Teddy became aware of a high-pitched moan coming from way down in his throat. He wanted to believe this was a sadistic joke someone was playing, that sassy little Elena maybe, but the hope vanished as rapidly as it had sprung up. No one here would do something like that because no one would go to so much trouble. And even if someone had taken the time to learn about Teddy’s past and use it against him, just how the hell would they know to place the card right here where he’d find it?
“Teddy.”
Teddy spun around, a scream clotting in his throat. Teddy bolted out of the pantry and dashed toward the staircase. He hurried up the stairs, wishing he could move faster but knowing he was incapable of any more speed. His heart rocked in his chest, the beat like a militaristic snare drum. Teddy expected at any moment to see Lars Hutchinson or Tanya lurch out of the shadows to claim him, and was it any wonder Ben Shadeland had so much fear of this place? Ben feared it, Teddy realized as he clambered higher and higher, because it was a place where anything could happen. Teddy didn’t believe that bullshit about a goat man and music playing from a tower that had been walled up for almost a hundred years.
But did he believe the place had a tendency toward the supernatural?
“Bet your ass I do,” Teddy muttered and hustled down the fifth-floor corridor. He pushed rapidly through his door and heaved it shut with a clang.
Holy shit, he thought. Just how could Lars have found him? How could…
The island is like a magnet, Ben had said.
Yes, Teddy thought as he squirmed under the covers. Ben sure had told him that. Told him a whole lotta other stuff too, and the scariest thing was, the thing Teddy hadn’t considered until right now, was that one part being true—that there were spirits on the island—meant the other parts could be true as well.
The covers cinched tight around his throat, Teddy thought it over. He had never believed in the paranormal, supernatural, whatever the fruitcakes like Elena wanted to call it. He didn’t want to believe in it now. But…
Lars Hutchinson.
“Son of a bitch,” Teddy whispered.
He sat up, pushed off the covers and hurried to get something out of his suitcase. He got back under the covers, the furthest thing from tired.
But the bottle would help. It was Glenlivet, a bit of an extravagance, sure, but worth it. Good Scotch was always worth it. He opened the bottle, took a long gurgling swig. The heat from the Scotch swirled down his esophagus, made his empty stomach tingle. But it felt good. He knocked back another huge swig. The stuff was too expensive to merely get drunk on, but right now sobriety was the last thing he needed.
Yes, Teddy thought, sipping again. He needed to get the hell away from sobriety, needed to enter the land of the anesthetized, the land of the severely sedated.
Drunk was what he needed to be. Drunk and out cold. He’d pay for it in the morning, but he refused to spend the rest of the night listening to every stealthy sound in this old mausoleum.
The thought made him shiver. Move on, Teddy, he told himself. Move on. Drink. Drink until you forget about Lars. Hell, drink until you forget about Tanya.
As if he could.
But Teddy drank.
Drank and hoped the business card was the only part of Lars he would find.
Chapter Two
The pills hadn’t worked. Reading hadn’t either. She had pleasured herself with the Rabbit, but even the catharsis her vibrator offered didn’t make her drowsy. Sleepless, frustrated, Christina lay awake in the vast, lonely master suite. Part of her wanted to march down to Ben Shadeland’s room right now and demand he tell her everything he’d told the federal agents. Of course, there were two problems with that. According to Teddy, Ben hadn’t told the agents anything. Even more troubling was the fact that as of eleven o’clock that evening, Ben apparently hadn’t even been to his room. Teddy refused to tell her much about their experience earlier in the basement, but what he had shared didn’t imbue her with much hope.
She sighed, rolled over and lay on her stomach. Dammit. Why couldn’t Ben just remember everything so they could all move forward? She didn’t care particularly what she learned about Stephen’s death—truth be told, the news of his murder had come as a monumental relief—but she simply couldn’t bear not knowing what had happened to her son.
At memory of Chris, her eyes began to sting. She thrust the covers off and got out of bed. To hell with it, she thought. It was time for more pills. They might put her under until well past noon tomorrow, but at least she’d be rested.
She was heading toward the bathroom when a faint voice made her freeze. It had been high and lilting. Familiar. Christina leaned forward, listening.
The sound came from the interior wall of the room, which was impossible. There was no room behind her, only…
Her breath caught.
Only the secret passageway.
Though the walls of the castle appeared to be solid and uninterrupted stone, the castle was actually honeycombed with tunnels that ran between rooms, down hallways and even from one floor to the next. Years ago, upon learning of the tunnels and the two-way mirrors within them, she had been appalled. She’d declared the original builder of the castle—Stephen’s great-great grandfather Robert Blackwood—a fiend and a pervert.
But eventually, as her puritanical preoccupations with sex began to dissolve, so too had her contemptuousness toward the voyeuristic tendencies of Stephen’s forefathers. One night early in their marriage—this was during their second visit to the Sorrows—she had awakened to find her husband gone. When he’d slipped back through the hidden doorway to their room, she’d confronted him. He’d at first tried to play it off as boyish exploration, but she’d known the truth even before he admitted it. He’d been spying on their attractive cook Rosa as she’d showered. Christina had almost left him then, would have left him had it not been for the prenuptial agreement he’d forced her to sign. But eventually curiosity had replaced anger, and after making sure Stephen was outside walking the grounds, she had entered the hidden door to spy on Rosa herself. She’d never given much thought to her attraction to women, nor had she any sexual experience with them. But when she discovered Rosa under the seething water of the shower…when she’d glimpsed the firm, brown body moving within the cloud of steam…
The memory of Rosa’s nude body made her nipples instantly harden and a pleasant warmth spread in her tummy. The noise came from the wall again, the sound of it the perfect counterpart to her erotic memory. Christina realized how incredibly aroused she was. Already she was far more excited than she’d been with the Rabbit. That had been a robotic exercise, an obligatory ritual. Bloodless and bereft of passion.
But the voice she now heard, though faint, was bursting with passion, was oozing with energy.
It was Elena’s voice.
Heart racing, Christina hurried over to the wall, her fingers finding the slight indentation unerringly. She swung the heavy wall section open, then pulled it shut behind her. The whole thing was so well constructed that even now, over a century after it w
as built, the mechanism worked smoothly and silently. Christina scurried quickly through the narrow black passage. No light was necessary, though here and there she discerned ghostly vanes of moonglow cleaving the tunnel shadows. Elena’s room was next door, so she didn’t have to venture far. Nearing the peephole over Elena’s bed, Christina wondered if Elena had already taken a lover here on the island, and if so who it was.
She brought her eye to the peephole, looked.
Elena was alone.
But she was also nude.
Beautifully, gloriously nude, her small, delectable breasts culminating in perfect pink nubs. Her arms were lithe, her shoulders smooth and achingly kissable. On occasion, when she’d drunk several glasses of wine and had gone to bed alone, Christina had pleasured herself and imagined that the vibrator was actually Elena’s quivering tongue.
And now…here was Elena. In the flesh. Elena writhing on the bed, the blankets and sheets cast to the floor, Elena with a hand on her sex and the other pressed to her supple mouth, stifling her own cries.
Christina lifted her negligee, began to massage herself.
Through the peephole Christina could hear Elena’s moans, very loud despite the index finger the girl was biting down on. The moonlight spilling through Elena’s uncurtained window was so intense that Christina could see the tiny drops of moisture glistening in the curls of Elena’s pubic hair.
Slowly, luxuriantly, Christina Blackwood masturbated. She rubbed herself faster, imagining what it would be like to sink down between Elena’s legs and kiss her inner thighs, her sex. And as the molten heat began to spread through Christina’s body, her mind traveled back to Rosa Martinez, back to the only woman with whom Christina had ever made love.
Yes, Rosa had been Christina’s lover, but when Stephen discovered the affair, he had insisted on making the relationship a ménage a trois. In the beginning, when it had been just Rosa and Christina, their exploration had been an exhilarating experience.
When Stephen got involved, it became dreadful.
Christina frowned in the shadows of the tunnel, struggling to break loose from the memories. But they charged in upon her, chilling the sweet flame within. She peered down at Elena, whose climax never seemed to end. The girl was undulating now, arching her back, the cries issuing from her mouth full of longing and abandon. But Christina’s own climax eluded her.
Castle of Sorrows Page 13