The corners of Porter’s mouth turned down and his eyes cinched shut with pain. “I wish we could, too, Caroline,” he whispered. “I wish for that, too.”
She moved, raising her hands as if to comfort him. She fought the urge to step closer, for that would take her farther away from the wardrobe and the shotgun inside.
Porter sensed her movement. He tightened his grip on the gun and tensed, his eyes springing open.
Caroline’s heart sank.
Porter stared.
Measuring her, she knew, trying to decide whether she was telling the truth.
A tear slid down his face. “If you want to work things out, why did you run away?”
His voice rose higher, turning plaintive. Childlike. It was the tone of a little boy who’d watched his mother put on her makeup and dress with care on that fateful day, pleading to go along in the car. Promising to behave. She’d promised to bring him a present when she came back, a surprise. But she never did.
Caroline swallowed. So much depended on her answer. She settled on the half truth, the three-quarters truth. “I’ve tried to be a good wife to you, Porter. I wanted that more than anything. You have to believe me. But I failed. I needed space to think things through.”
Porter moaned.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Before the words left her mouth she realized it had been the wrong thing to say.
“Sorry?” His voice was soft, laced with sorrow, and his eyes closed around his tears. “What’s the use of sorry? You never should have done that to me.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Too late, Caroline realized these were the wrong words.
Porter’s eyes sprang open. “Liar!” His lips curled around the last word.
The Porter she knew was gone again, dancing dangerously close to the edge of the vortex that spun around them gathering energy. In seconds, he would tumble into it. Tightening her grip on the wardrobe handle, Caroline willed her mind to shift course away from the vortex. She forced herself to consider new options, reaching for the right words, the magic ones that might save her now. “I know I was not honest with you, Porter,” she began. “But I want to start now. There’s just so much I want to tell you.”
He stared, unblinking.
The room was quiet. Caroline’s words dropped into the void that had formed around them. She forced herself to go on, facing the man who had picked over her private wounds, tearing them open again and again so the scars would not heal. “I guess I never thought anyone would love me if they knew the things that had happened to me as a child, what my part in it was.” She looked down, again reaching for three-quarters of the truth.
“I loved you, Caroline.” Porter’s voice, barely a whisper, shook with emotion.
“I know that, Porter.” This, at least, was a complete truth. “And I loved you, too.”
He moaned again. “I never wanted it to come to this. I want you to know that.”
“It doesn’t have to, Porter,” she said quickly. “We can still go, just walk away from here. Just you and I.”
He shook his head swiftly, as if to clear it.
“Porter, please.” She was pleading and it was the wrong thing, she saw that in an instant.
His lips tightened. He sniffed once and blinked. When he opened his eyes again she saw that it was too late.
Porter was gone. He had slipped away.
“You don’t care about us, Caroline. You’re just trying to save him. Kincaid.” His voice hardened on Ken’s name.
The room started to spin again as the vortex gathered energy. Caroline calculated her odds. Reaching inside for the gun would require four seconds. Propping it into position would require at least three more. She shook her head. “Porter, please, let’s just talk.”
“Talk?” Porter’s voice rose to a screech.
Pippin pricked up his ears.
“All I do is talk.” Porter’s eyes glittered again. “Talk, talk, talk.”
Pippin let out a low growl.
Porter licked his lips, excited now. “I’m the only man that ever loved you. I’m the only man that ever could. Nobody will ever accept you the way you are. You’re damaged.” He spat the words out. “You know that.”
Caroline nodded, like a student signaling that she has memorized her lesson.
“Nobody else could ever understand you. Nobody else would even want to. You’re not worth it. Do you see that?”
“Yes,” she whispered. But she saw in his eyes it was no use, there was nothing she could say now to change things. He was beyond compassion.
Porter shook his head in disgust. “I don’t think you do. I’m sick of your lies.” He redoubled his grip on the .38, his voice dropping as he motioned at Ken with his chin. “I could shoot him right now.”
Caroline forced herself to be still so he wouldn’t see her flinch.
“And the sad thing is, that’s all you care about. Isn’t it?” Porter waited, his lips working in fury.
The room turned deadly still. Caroline searched desperately for words, the right words, the ones that could turn this around and save their lives, hers and Ken’s. But nothing came.
Porter flicked his hand so the gun moved.
Caroline jumped.
He gave a cruel little smile. “Answer me, wife. He’s all you care about, isn’t he?”
Pippin growled.
Caroline’s mind raced. Anything she said now would tip Porter over the edge. She could tell by his eyes, flat and cold with rage.
“Talk!” Porter shrieked, flicking the gun once more.
Caroline jumped.
There was no way to appease him. There never had been, not since that day in the museum when they first met. She had aged a thousand years since then. He had been choking the life out of her, inch by inch, beginning on that day.
She risked a glance in Ken’s direction. She could see only his legs stretched out on the floor in front of him, motionless and still. She pondered the millions of moments, known only to him, that made up the sum total of his life. Moments of pain and passion, love and glory, loss and joy that belonged to him. In a moment or two, it would all be finished, released into eternity and fading like a whisper on the mountain wind.
Grief came to her then, and something else she had never known for even one day of her life with Porter.
Acceptance. It was finally done and spent, this dark love they had shared. It was finished, and the vortex had won.
Game over.
Caroline had nothing to lose now.
Oddly, this gave her strength. She straightened to her full height. She was almost as tall as Porter, a fact she had been careful to cover up with ballet flats. “I thought I loved you once, Porter. But no matter how much I tried, it wasn’t enough.”
His eyes widened with shock.
“My love wasn’t good enough,” she continued. “Nobody’s love was ever enough for you. Not your father’s. Not mine. Not even your mother’s, if you think about it.”
“Don’t you tell me about my mother!” Porter pointed at her with a finger that trembled as his voice rose to a hysterical screech. “Your problem”—he spat the words out—“is that you are corrupt. You were born that way. You liked what was done to you. You won’t admit it, and you refuse to grow up.”
His screeching sounded to her ears like a record that was worn and scratched. Caroline shook her head. “No, Porter. I did not choose the things that were done to me. But I chose you, and I don’t want you in my life anymore.”
His eyelids fluttered up into their sockets, showing white. “No! You can’t leave me. I won’t let you leave me again!”
Terror made Caroline drift, watching these changes in Porter as though they were flickering across a screen at a movie, and she was safe in the last row. It was a sensation left over from her childhood, and it served her well now.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But all you’ve done is destroy my love for you. It’s the one truth you couldn’t analyze.”
> Caroline vowed she would not slide down into the vortex with him again. Never again. Not even if she paid for it with her life.
Porter’s lips curled back. His voice shook with rage. “I have dedicated my life to uncovering truths about people, the truths they won’t face.”
Caroline shook her head. “You won’t face your own truth, Porter. You torture anyone who tries to get close to you. You made my life hell.”
“Your life was never going to amount to much anyway.” Porter’s face twisted with rage.
Caroline had once considered him sophisticated, exotic. “Porter, it’s over. I don’t love you anymore. I did once but you pushed me away. And now I never will.”
Porter’s features collapsed. “No!”
Caroline saw beyond his anger to something else. Despair. She shook her head.
His voice turned pleading. “You can’t leave me. I can’t let that happen.” Porter motioned at Ken with his chin. “You can’t leave me for another man. I’ll kill him first.” Porter swung the pistol to Ken.
Caroline thought of the shotgun in the wardrobe, the knife in her pocket. Two options. The knife was closer. Her fingers moved.
It was a small motion, but Porter caught it. His voice was low and cruel in the tone he used with his riding crop. “What are you hiding?”
Caroline forced herself to stand still. She tried to swallow.
Porter’s eyes narrowed. “Show me.”
He’d told her countless times he knew when she was hiding something, that deceit flowed from her core. There was nothing left now but to tell the truth. She pulled the knife from her pocket.
Porter looked from her face to the blade in her hand and back again, shaking his head. His voice was no more than a weak croak. “You would use that? To hurt me?”
Caroline said nothing.
Porter’s face twisted as a sound worked its way up from deep inside him, a terrible high-pitched howl such as an animal would make in distress.
And the animal in the room responded.
Pippin sprang at Porter, sinking his sharp tiny fangs into Porter’s leg.
Porter grunted in surprise and knocked the dog off. In doing so, he lowered his gun for a precious few seconds.
Which was all the time Caroline required. She reached for the wardrobe door and grabbed for what lay inside, careful not to turn her back on Porter.
Everything after that happened in slow motion.
She fumbled for the gun, pulled it out by its neck and swung the stock up to her chest. Her fingers closed around the trigger.
Porter stared, his mouth dropping open.
Caroline saw inside to the rows of silver fillings in his teeth, and thought idly how upset he must be to let his mouth hang slack like this, considering how fastidious he always was with his appearance.
He snapped his mouth shut, swallowed once before swinging his pistol back around to Caroline.
But he was too late.
The barrel of the shotgun was already where she needed it to be.
Their eyes met, long enough for Caroline to regret her part in this, bringing them here to this moment in time. She hesitated, dropping the barrel a millimeter and no more, so it was aimed at his legs and not at his heart.
Porter’s eyes glinted like shards of ice. He aimed his pistol at her head.
But Caroline had the advantage. She squeezed her trigger first.
The room exploded with a crack of thunder and a flash of red, followed immediately by the pistol shot.
Pippin howled.
The kick from the shotgun knocked Caroline off her feet. She landed on her back and felt the bullet from Porter’s gun whiz past her ear. She rolled, still clutching the shotgun, and scrambled onto her knees to take aim again.
But there was no need. Porter lay sprawled on the floor, his face deathly white as a horrible dark liquid spilled from his gut.
The .38 skittered to rest on the floor nearby.
Porter groaned. He turned his head and spotted the gun when Caroline did.
Quick as lightning, he reached out to make a grab for it.
“No!” Caroline screamed, lunging forward.
Porter’s fingers closed around the pistol.
Caroline leaped forward and slammed the butt of the shotgun down on his hand.
It connected with the sickening crunch of bones breaking.
Porter howled in pain and released his grip on the .38. His fingers dangled uselessly. “Please give me another chance,” he moaned.
Their eyes met; his were wet with sorrow.
“Porter, I’ll get help for you,” she whispered.
For one moment she imagined that salvation might be theirs.
Porter blinked, gathering his broken hand to him like a bird with a crushed wing.
Then his good hand shot out and locked on her leg in a vise grip.
It knocked Caroline off balance.
“Bitch,” Porter hissed.
Pippin circled, barking furiously.
She went down hard, landing on her elbow. Pain shot up through her arm. She kicked his hand with her leg and swung the butt of the shotgun down onto him with all her strength, despite the stabbing pain in her arm.
The blow hit home with a sickening thud, landing in the soft tissue of Porter’s belly that was already seeping blood.
Porter fell back into the puddle of crimson. “Don’t destroy us,” he begged.
Pippin stopped barking at last and sat, watching.
“It’s too late, Porter,” she said, kicking the pistol out of his reach. Still clutching the shotgun, she raced to Ken’s side.
Ken was deathly still.
She set the shotgun down and shook him by the shoulders, calling his name.
His eyelids flickered.
Thank God. She grabbed him and pulled with all her might. He didn’t budge. She tried again, straining with effort. His head bobbed lifelessly against her knees as sobs of despair rose in her throat.
A small sound caught her attention.
She whirled around.
Porter had struck a match. He held it close to his face so its light danced near his eyes.
She saw only madness there.
“Come back to me, Mommy,” he pleaded.
“Porter, no!” Caroline raised her hand to stop him.
But it was too late.
“I wanted you to stay with me,” he said.
“No, Porter,” she screamed. “Don’t do it!”
But it was too late.
He dropped the match. A thin flame raced along the wet trail of kerosene with an audible whoosh.
Porter’s face was waxy and white, his breathing labored. He clutched his stomach with hands balled into fists and licked colorless lips. His hatred had imploded, curling his body into a fetal position. “Help me, Mommy! Don’t leave me!”
The flames were already leaping up walls and climbing furniture.
The cabin was no longer quiet. Now it was filled with the sound of a hot, choking wind.
Caroline crawled to Ken’s legs since they were nearest the door and grabbed them.
A shooting pain, hot like a knife, tore through Caroline’s arm.
Panic gave her strength.
She pulled at Ken’s legs with all her might.
Her hands slipped off and she fell back onto the floor.
Ken stayed where he was.
The flames were starting to give off heat.
Porter moaned, begging to be rescued.
Caroline scrambled to a crouch. She grabbed Ken’s ankles and tried again.
The smoke was not as dense here near the floor, but still thick enough to sting her eyes and fill her nostrils, making it difficult to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled, grunting aloud with effort.
Just when she thought her back would break, Ken’s body began to yield, just a tiny bit and then a tiny bit more. She crept backward, dragging Ken across the floor like a dead weight.
Flames licked the floorboards like
snakes on a mission from hell. In an instant, she knew, the rugs would catch, blocking her exit.
She dug her heels in and pulled, willing Ken’s body to move with every fiber of her being.
They inched along this way through smoke and bits of ash that were whipping through the cabin. Ken’s arms were splayed helplessly out at his sides.
His eyes were closed, and this only added to the wild terror Caroline felt.
The back of her throat burned with scalding air. She could no longer see the stove in the center of the room, or even the couch. She fumbled behind her, giddy with relief to feel the door at her back. She reached behind her and pulled it open.
A blast of cold air rushed in. Caroline had never felt anything so good in her life and she drew it deep into her lungs in great, greedy gulps.
Ken blinked.
But the wind fed the flames, whipping them into a leaping frenzy.
Caroline was choking, gasping for air. Ken was coughing, too, a weak sputtering sound that, she feared, would stop at any moment.
She heard more coughing from deep inside the wall of heat and smoke and knew that Porter was choking, too.
She pulled Ken free of the door, groaning with the effort. She bounced him down the steps, his skull hitting each one like a dead weight.
But she couldn’t do anything about that now.
She managed to get them both free of the small wooden porch before collapsing on the snow in a spasm of coughing.
Flames shot out the door behind them.
They needed to get farther away.
She reached for Ken’s legs once more, inching along the ground until they were far enough, at last, to escape the heat and breathe cold air. Caroline’s arm felt like it had been ripped clear of its socket.
She left Ken on the ground and ran back to save Porter.
But she was too late.
The cabin erupted in a bright orange ball of flame.
The ground shook.
The impact shattered windows and knocked Caroline off her feet.
She landed in the cold, clean snow. She lay there safe in the arms of the mountain, watching helplessly as the cabin turned into a fireball.
Bits of debris floated through the air like feathers.
After a minute or two, she willed herself to move. She crawled on all fours to Ken, who was lying where she had left him, pale and terribly still.
A Dark Love Page 28