A beam of light shot from the front of the cabin into the surrounding darkness.
Sarah rushed down the hill and managed to hide behind some tall bushes. From her hiding place, she watched Daryl walk about the cabin, searching for the noise. He shone a flashlight along the sides of the house, then out toward the forest. He said something to Karla as he stepped close to the door. Shutting off the flashlight, he returned to the interior, closing the front door.
Sarah’s breath came faster and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She stashed the crowbar, her sweater and the lock, and emerged from behind the bushes. She scurried back to the door and opened it. She could barely discern the cement steps that led down to the dark basement.
Cautiously, she stepped over the threshold and closed the basement door behind her. Darkness engulfed her. A musty odor permeated the air. She pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans, launched the flashlight app, and shone the light on the steps as she made her way down.
21
The Split
Sarah reached the bottom of the stairs and shone the flashlight around the basement in search of the source of the noise she’d heard.
There it was again. Thump, thump.
She made her way through the narrow aisles between a series of large, dusty shelves that turned out to be a well-stocked wine cellar. The thumping came from behind one of the shelves. Sarah crept toward the noise. In the farthest corner she spotted a man, bound to a post and gagged, with a big gash on his head, feebly kicking a nearby cask.
She kneeled down, put the light on his face, and examined him. The man had been severely beaten, and a trickle of dry blood formed a brownish line on one side of his face.
“Andrew?” she whispered.
He tried to nod, but the pain stopped him and he simply closed his eyes.
Gingerly, she removed the gag.
The man whispered, “Who are—”
“I’m Sarah, a friend of your mother’s.”
He opened his eyes and managed to mumble, “The rope…”
“Yes, I’ll take it off. But I’m afraid I have to ask you a question first. Did you see your mother in the attic in Paris?”
“What? What attic?”
“Your uncle Gabriel’s.”
Andrew rolled his head from side to side. “I don’t remember an attic. Please.”
Sarah hesitated. “Martha, you’d better warn me.”
“Martha? Who are you talking to?”
“Hold on. I’ll untie you.” She scooted behind the post to untie the rope that bound his chest. After a few tries the knot loosened and the rope gave way.
Andrew inhaled deeply.
His hands were tightly bound behind him and secured to the post. Sarah tried to untie him, but the knot held. She struggled to loosen it, pulling and yanking, until it finally released.
Andrew dragged his hands forward and weakly rubbed his wrists. “Thank you,” he mumbled between breaths.
Sarah scurried toward his feet and grabbed the rope, pulling on the knot to untie it. Andrew bent forward to attempt to help, but the pain in his head forced him back to a sitting position with a soulful moan.
Sarah looked up at him. “You have a big gash up there. No sudden movements. Try to catch your breath. I’ll work on this rope.”
He closed his eyes and leaned back.
Laughter seeped through the floorboards above and they both looked up.
“Is that Karla?” Andrew asked, his eyes more alert.
“Yes. She and your brother are having dinner.”
The knot gave way and she quickly released his feet. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here. My car isn’t far.”
“No. I can’t go. He’s going to kill her.”
“That’s why I’m here. To help her, and you.”
He stared at her. “How—”
“Long story. I’ll tell you later. C’mon, we have to get you out of here.”
“No, please. I can’t go.” He took several deep breaths. “Listen, there’s a sink back in that corner,” he gestured to his left, “and some rags in the cupboard right next to it. Maybe some duct tape. Help me get my head bandaged so that I can move. Please.”
“We should leave—“
“No,” he said forcefully, “I can’t leave her.”
“Okay.” She pointed her phone in the direction he’d indicated and headed toward the sink. She grabbed the towels and rags, wet a few, and returned to him. Kneeling down at his side, she shone the flashlight on his wound. “It looks bad, Andrew.”
“I guessed as much. Don’t worry I’ll be fine. I heal well. Here, let me hold your phone while you work on it.”
Sarah did as he said, and got to work gently cleaning the wound, careful not to reopen it. “The blood around the cut has coagulated. I’m not going to mess with that.”
“Sounds good.”
She cleaned the blood that had oozed from the gash onto his forehead and face, making sure there were no other open cuts. “How long have you been here?”
“Days,” he shrugged, “I’ve lost track of time. I’ve been unconscious for part of it, and when I wasn’t, he hit me to knock me out.”
“Why?”
He looked directly at her, his exhausted eyes filled with hate. “He wants me to watch him kill Karla.”
Sarah stopped and sat on her heels. “My God! Why?”
“To punish me.”
“For what?”
“For killing Mother.”
Sarah gasped and recoiled. “Did you—”
“Of course not. But he’s convinced I did. Please, hurry. We don’t have much time.”
Sarah finished wiping the blood, then tore some of the rags into strips. She folded one several times over the wound to form a bandage, and wrapped his head with the other rags tightening them as much as he could tolerate. She secured the bandages with the duct tape. “That should hold.”
“Thank you. Can you help me up?” He put the phone on the floor facing up. It illuminated the room in elongated waves of light and cast long shadows in all directions.
“Lean back against the post and I’ll try to prop you up.” She rose to her feet, placed his arms around her shoulders, and pushed up, propping Andrew against the post.
He groaned softly and squeezed his eyes shut as he raised himself up.
Sarah leaned against him pressing against the post. “Okay?”
He exhaled. “Yes.”
Slowly, she stepped back, her arms pinned against his shoulders, holding him steady.
He raised one knee at a time in an attempt to return circulation to his legs. “I’m pretty sure I can stand on my own.”
Carefully, Sarah let go of him.
He remained upright, leaning against the post. After a few moments he took a step forward, and another, and another. “I can do this. Thanks, whoever you are. A guardian angel, perhaps.”
Sarah picked up the phone. “C’mon let’s get you outside.”
“No. There’s a way we can look into the living room. The stairs are right over there.” He took the phone from Sarah. “Is this thing off?” He walked gingerly toward the back of the cellar.
Sarah followed, ready to support him if necessary. “Yes, I turned the ringer off when I got here. There’s interference with reception, so no chance of anyone calling. Wait.” They’d reached the bottom of the stairs. “Are you strong enough to climb?”
“Aluminum banisters on each side. I can manage.”
“Won’t they hear us?”
“Look, cement steps, wide enough for the two of us. If we’re quiet they shouldn’t hear us. Been peeking into the house for years. Mother never heard me.”
Sarah stopped. “Peeking in? You spied on your mother?”
“No. Yes. I needed to mak
e sure she was all right. She didn’t like me to hang around here when she came. Last time she was here, I wasn’t…and she died. By the time I got here, it was too late. C’mon.”
Sarah followed.
Andrew reached the top of the stairs and gestured for Sarah to climb up next to him.
“Why a deadbolt on this door?” Sarah whispered.
He turned off the phone, and handed it back to Sarah who slipped it into her back pocket. “Dad didn’t want us to come down here alone.”
“So it’s locked from the inside?”
“Not anymore. Back then Dad had the key, but it’s been lost for years.”
A couple of wooden planks in the door were separated enough to allow them to peek through into most of the main floor. They could see Daryl and Karla on the sofa, facing the fireplace, sipping brandy.
Karla had changed back into her clothes and lounged comfortably with her legs curled up under her. She glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late. Maybe we should head back.”
Daryl eyed her for a moment before he spoke. “You are so beautiful,” he said seductively.
“I wish you wouldn’t say that. Or stare at me like that.”
“Why? Because of Andrew?”
“Partly. And partly because of me.”
Daryl took Karla’s snifter and placed it on the side table next to his. He pulled her to him and kissed her.
She struggled to push him away, but he refused to release her. Finally, she pulled free and stood up. “I’m—”
He rose and gazed into her eyes. “Not that kind of girl?” He snickered. “The polite thing would be for me to say that I’m not that kind of guy, but that would be lie.”
She attempted to speak, but he leaned in again and kissed her. She shoved him away. “Please, don’t.”
“Why not?”
She walked away to establish a distance between them. “It’s unacceptable. I am Andrew’s. As much as you’re like him physically—your voice, your eyes, your smile—you’re not him. I can’t—no, I don’t want to be with you.”
Daryl spun away, snatched his snifter, gulped the brandy down, and turned to face her.
To escape his glare, Karla turned away, and faced the bookshelf. One of the titles caught her eye. She opened it, and leafed through it, stopping to read one of the pages intently.
Daryl took a tentative step in her direction. “What’s that you’ve got there?”
Karla remained silent.
“What are you reading?” Daryl demanded.
She continued to read then turned toward him. “It’s the poem you recited to me.”
Daryl leaped forward and snatched the book from her hands. He glared down, grimacing. “What the hell is this piece of shit doing here?”
“What do you mean? Those poems are beautiful.”
He stared at the book with a look of disgust and contempt. “It must’ve been Mother. She had another book.”
“Daryl, what—”
He signaled for her to stop talking and hurled the book into the fireplace.
She stepped forward to rescue the book, but Daryl barred her way.
“What are you doing? What’s wrong?” She saw that his eyes were bathed in tears.
“I need some fresh air. Be right back.” He raced out of the cabin, slamming the door.
Karla remained motionless, trying to comprehend Daryl’s actions. Moments later, the lights went out, plunging the house into darkness, leaving the flames from the fireplace as the only source of light. “Daryl!”
Karla went to the dining room table where they’d left the two candles and brought them to the fireplace. Once lit, she placed them on the small table by the sofa, and stood there, waiting.
Behind the wooden planks, Andrew reached for the lock.
Sarah stopped him, whispering, “You’ll scare her to death. Wait till the lights come on.”
“But Daryl—”
The front door opened and a disheveled Daryl burst in, slammed the door shut behind him, and darted to the fireplace. Eyes wide and fixed, he stared into the flames that continued to consume the book of poems. “Good,” he muttered. “That damned book is gone.”
He spun around and made his way to the cabinet by the door. He pulled out the bag with the votive candles. He placed them on the floor between the couch and the fireplace.
“What’s the matter? What are you doing?”
He looked up at her, but appeared not to recognize her.
“What’s happened to you?” Karla asked with increasing alarm.
He returned to his task calmly, methodically arranging the candles in a wide circle.
“Why are the lights out? Did you turn off the generator?”
He retrieved the lighter from the mantelpiece above the fireplace and proceeded to light the candles, one by one. “This is all the light we’ll need.”
“What on earth are you doing?” she insisted.
He stared into her eyes, but did not respond.
“Daryl, if you’re trying to call up a spirit to help you fix the generator—”
“Daryl?” he yelled. “What’s wrong with you?” He advanced toward her, his eyes filled with fury. “I’m not Daryl.” A sinister scowl crept onto his lips. “You know exactly who I am. I’m Andrew.” He took another step in her direction.
“What?” She backed up. “Are you crazy?” Steadily, he approached her. “Daryl! Stop it!”
He stopped, looking bewildered. His eyes rolled up into his head for a moment and then he straightened up with a terrified look.
“Leave now while you still can,” he pleaded in a childlike voice.
Karla froze, unable to comprehend what she was witnessing.
His voice became normal and eerily calm. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
“For what, kissing me, or burning a book of poems?”
He gripped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “No, that’s not it. Don’t you understand? I’ve used you. I used you to trap Andrew.”
“Trap Andrew? What are you talking about?”
“I knew he’d be in pain, especially if you were here, in this cabin, with me.” Daryl leaned toward her, his face contorting with pain. “I must tell you something you’re not going to like. What they told you is true. All of it. Andrew is a murderer.”
Karla broke away from his grasp. Daryl continued.
“He killed Mother, right here, in this house.” He looked up toward the second floor. “He threw her down those stairs.”
“You’re out of sorts.” She spotted her brandy on the table and brought it to Daryl. “Take a sip of this. It’ll calm you down.”
Daryl gripped the snifter with such force that he crushed it, spilling the brandy and cutting his hand. “Shit.”
“Oh, my God. I’ll get you a towel.” Karla ran to the kitchen, turned the water on in the sink, and wet a towel. When she returned, Daryl had removed his shirt and was using it to wrap his hand.
Karla tossed the shirt on the floor, cleaned the cut, and tightened the towel around his hand. “You two really are almost identical. You even have the same birthmark.”
Casually, Daryl looked at his hand. “Do we?”
Karla applied pressure with the towel while she studied the look on Daryl’s face. His eyes wandered about the room as if trying to determine where he was. “Why do you want to trap Andrew?” she asked in a soothing tone. “Why not turn him in to the authorities?”
Daryl shook his head. “No. I need to kill him,” he said without the slightest emotion.
Horrified, Karla jerked away from him. “What? Why?”
“I can’t have him arrested and put in an institution for the rest of his life. Andrew is a wild and free spirit. He can’t be locked up. I can’t let them do that to him.” Tears flooded his eyes. “A
nd I can’t let him go on…killing.” He latched on to her, sobbing like a child.
She surrendered to the embrace, patting his back to reassure him.
He looked into her eyes and kissed her. But what started as an innocent kiss soon turned into violent and desperate need.
Alarmed at his intensity, Karla pushed back.
“Daryl, please don’t do that! Let me go!”
“I’m Andrew! Andrew!” His grip tightened around her arms. “Why won’t you listen? Why are you playing this game?”
Karla backed up, but found herself pinned against the bookcase. “What game?”
He moved in, his face almost touching hers. “Come to me. Let me love you the way you like it.”
Karla squeezed sideways along the bookcase. “What are you doing?”
He stopped and shook violently. Moments later, the helpless, trembling Daryl reemerged. “Karla, get out of here! I can’t hold him back for long.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“Andrew. He wants to kill you.”
“Daryl, what are you talking about? Where’s Andrew?”
His head jerked back and his eyes rolled. The shaking stopped and he grinned broadly, back in total control. He stepped back and opened his arms to her. “I’m right here.”
Taking advantage of the space between them, Karla bolted for the front door, but Daryl’s hand clamped onto her wrist and slammed her back against the bookcase.
“It’s cold and dark out there. Miles before you’ll find any help. If you leave, I’ll find you first. No sense in getting cold and dirty anyway.” His voice was chillingly matter-of-fact.
Karla struggled against his vice-like grip, but to no avail.
He picked her up and plopped her down in the middle of the circle of votive candles. “You’re in for a special treat.” He reached to open the top of her blouse, releasing her arms.
“Don’t!” She pushed his hands away and stepped out of the circle of candles. “I don’t understand what the hell is going on, Daryl, but I’m not going to take any more of this shit!”
His head jerked back and his countenance shifted. He looked terrified. “Yes, please go. Run! Go! Before he comes back.” He clasped a nearby armchair to steady himself as he let out a shriek of pain, his face reflecting an internal turmoil that only he understood. He stared down, writhing, and when he looked up, his face looked completely different.
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