* * * *
Sami didn’t bother telling Steve she was leaving. She needed groceries, and didn’t want to disturb Boy Genius in his lair. Instead of going to the store near the house, she opted for a drive into Brooksville. She wanted to get extra sheets and towels for Matt’s visit, as well as some new pillows for the beds.
Why did that thought make her heart skip?
She shook it off. There was too much going on for her to do this to herself. She needed spare sheets and towels and pillows, and knew a little more retail therapy would help her feel less angry at Steve.
After the department store she spent a lot of time at Publix. She liked their meat department, and they had a huge produce section. She stocked up on some of Matt’s favorites and grabbed a four-pack of wine coolers.
Steve Corey be damned, I want one.
She’d wait to drink it until Matt arrived. Then, after Steve went to bed, the two of them could sit in the living room and talk. Matt would help her finish the four-pack.
She’d need alcohol to tell this story.
* * * *
Sami, Matt on the couch drinking wine and laughing. cuddling and kissing. he takes her to bed and makes love to her.
Steve didn’t understand exactly what he was reading, but he knew it came from his own fingers.
matt doesnt want kids so she breaks up with him. still loves him. they are still friends. stupid bitch. poisonous bitch. take her out back to the fire with the kids and get it over with. teach her to poison me. i didnt even cry when i shot them. burned them real good. no one will ever know. say she ran off with the kids.
There was more, but Steve didn’t have the stomach to read it—he barely made the garbage can. On his knees he hugged the cool metal against him, incredibly sick, trying to block out the images flooding his brain—
A dark room, with a rough-hewn table and oil lamp…
A sobbing, petite, auburn-haired woman, tied spread-eagled to a bed, her clothes cut off with a buck knife…
The smoldering bones of the children on the fire…
Steve puked again, crying now. He smelled the sickly sweet smoky aroma, like roasted pork but not quite, tasted the whiskey coming up from his stomach—
Sami and Matt together, before Matt’s hair went gray. Before Steve met Sami…
Matt making love to her…
Steve didn’t know how he knew this. It was like a demented TV in his brain and he couldn’t change the channel.
A young man hanging, swinging from a tree, his black feet covered in gray dust. Under the flour sack, Steve knew his tongue bulged from a slack mouth…
He held on to the garbage can with white knuckles, ready when the next wave hit—
A little girl, crying. “No, Daddy, please…”
Steve screamed and vomited black bile into the trashcan. He didn’t want to see any more. It was like channel surfing from Hell—
Sami and Matt sitting on a couch—the new one in the living room—sipping wine coolers and talking…
Running through the woods, through rain and mud, pushing branches and swatting spider webs out of his way…
The basement again. That smell—that horrible, smoky smell, as if flesh had been cooked…
A man’s body, motionless on the basement floor, a pool of blood congealing beneath his head…
A woman looking out the attic turret window, anxious, scribbling something in a book before hiding it in the window seat—
Darkness overtook him. It was welcomed relief.
* * * *
Sami didn’t bother calling out to Steve. She unloaded the groceries and put the cold stuff away before knocking on his office door.
“Steve, I’m back. Do you want something to eat?”
No answer.
She thought about leaving him alone. After a moment, she knocked again and opened the door.
She spotted the garbage can first, on its side next to him on the floor. The ambulance arrived in less than ten minutes. Sami followed in the truck, trying to stem her tears.
They started him on IV antibiotics. An hour later, with a few bags of fluids in him, he appeared somewhat better.
His face looked pale against the pillow. “I can’t do anything right, can I?”
“Shut up, Steve,” she gently said, feeling guilty. No telling how long he’d lain there. She’d returned home at least fifteen minutes before she checked on him. No matter how upset she got with him, she still didn’t want to see him suffering.
“Good news is, his temperature’s already down,” Dr. Smith announced. “You’re bound and determined to be a pain in my ass, aren’t you?”
Steve smiled weakly. “You know me, just want to make sure I get my money’s worth out of this place.”
They decided he should stay overnight for observation and more antibiotics. Fortunately they’d caught the infection in time. When they were alone, Sami pulled up a chair. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I—”
He squeezed her hand and smiled. “It’s okay. I was an asshole, I know it. Don’t feel guilty. I don’t know what got into me.” He started to say something else, paused, then said, “Look, go home, get some rest. I’m sure I left a nasty mess. I’m sorry I gave you such a scare.”
She studied his face. Something was different about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Finally she asked, “Okay, if you’re sure?”
He nodded. “Go on. I’ll spend the evening annoying the nurses.” He pulled her to him and kissed her. “Go home and get some rest. Maybe have a wine cooler or something.” He smiled.
She left, wondering why he said that.
How had he known she bought wine coolers? She never bought wine coolers for home. Sometimes she took them with her when they went to Matt’s for dinner, but she never bought them to drink at home unless Steve was out of town.
A congealed mess on the office floor stank up the entire room. She held her breath and scooped the worst of it into the garbage can with paper towels, then hauled the entire mess outside. With the contents sealed in a garbage bag, she hosed out the can and bleached it.
She donned a pair of gloves and scoured the floor. It didn’t look like it would stain. He’d managed to miss the throw rug. His laptop was still open, but either off or hibernating. She closed the lid, took a final look at the room, and shut the door behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sami debated whether or not she wanted a wine cooler. She’d packed them at the bottom of the veggie drawer, hidden by a bag of fresh spinach leaves. It had to be a coincidence, what Steve said about a wine cooler. He had no way of knowing what she bought at the grocery store.
Impossible, she thought. He’s not a mind reader.
No, nearly seven years of marriage had proved that beyond a doubt.
Unlocking her file cabinet, she retrieved the folder and Mary Prescott’s journal. The handwriting was soft and rounded, completely unlike Evelyn Simpson’s distinctive, narrow script. She was also not as dedicated a diarist as Evelyn. Her journal started a year before she married Tom, and continued until after her son was born. Then it ended, leaving several dozen blank pages in the back.
Sami paused, rifled through the folder, found the information Jane provided about the Prescotts.
Tom Prescott mentally slipped a cog after moving to the house, not before. By Mary’s words they were happy, and he was a loving, doting father to their little girl.
The trouble started a few months after their move. Tom became short-tempered and started drinking, something he’d never done before. Mary never saw what and suspected he hid the bottles, but she was sure it was whiskey.
Didn’t that sound familiar?
According to her statement at the coroner’s inquest, Mary said she caught Tom looking at their daughter in a strange way, speaking Spanish on occasion when she didn’t even think he knew Spanish, and he even called her Evelyn on several occasions. Mary confronted him one day when he looked like he was in a trance. He snapped ou
t of it.
For several weeks, he seemed better. They took a family vacation to the coast and went fishing.
Upon their return, things went downhill fast. Mary found out she was pregnant, which should have been a joyful occasion. Tom had wanted more children, but he greeted the news with disdain, became sullen and argumentative.
In the weeks before Lisa disappeared, Mary noticed the little girl acting strangely, crying, pulling away from her father whenever he was in the room.
One night, she thought she heard her daughter crying downstairs. Then she heard the front door open. She watched Tom carry Lisa across the front yard into the dark woods. When he returned—alone—she asked him what happened. He slapped her and told her if she didn’t keep her mouth shut, he would kill her and her unborn child.
Sami really wanted that drink.
She took a deep breath and continued reading Mary’s journal.
* * * *
Steve lay in bed, his eyes closed, ignoring the TV. Sami definitely flinched when he mentioned wine coolers. How he knew she bought them, he had no idea.
His mind never felt clearer.
Images rolled out of the darkness. This time, he could deal with them.
Matt and Sami making love. From her hairstyle and Matt’s lack of gray, it was before Steve knew her. Neither Sami nor Matt mentioned a past romance, but in retrospect, everything fit. They were close friends, maybe too close. Steve always attributed it to a brother-sister-type relationship. She knew Matt’s favorite foods and always cooked just the right thing when he came for dinner. Christmas and birthday gifts. How they looked together playing tennis.
How could he have been so stupid?
Wait a minute—she hasn’t cheated on you.
He sensed that, but why lie? Maybe not a lie, but why pretend? Why not tell him the truth in the beginning about their relationship? All the times he’d talked to Matt, asking him for advice, divulging intimate details about their relationship and looking for a way to make amends when he lost his temper with Sami, yet again…
Did Matt secretly hope to win her back?
Steve ditched that thought. Matt introduced them, for God’s sake. He was best man at their wedding.
Maybe I’m really, really sick from the fever, too sick to realize I’m sick.
Yeah, that made sense. He’d look back on this once he was feeling better and wave it off as a horrible dream.
Other images crept to mind—hellish funeral pyres, Indian massacres, and a lynching. Steve fought waves of nausea as his body shook.
What’s happening to me?
His anger dissipated. It was the infection, it had to be.
Besides, he was guilty of telling Sami plenty of lies over the years. If there was any shred of truth to his visions, hers were merely sins of omission. He’d never asked either of them if they ever dated.
If it was even true. Most likely it was a figment of his fevered brain.
By the time Steve drifted to sleep, he was convinced he wasn’t crazy, just hallucinating. How could he doubt Sami and Matt? He couldn’t accuse them of keeping secrets when he had absolutely no proof. Not to mention he had more than a few skeletons in his closet.
Would Sami still want him after he confessed his sins, or had he blown his last chance with her?
* * * *
Sami felt physically ill. Tom had repeatedly molested his daughter and then killed her to keep his secret. Why would such a loving, caring man turn so evil? Then not only allow, but lead the charge to lynch an innocent man to conceal the crime?
It was probably for the best he hung himself. How tragically ironic, especially after poor Ben Caleb paid for a crime he didn’t commit. It turns out Prescott was buried in a grave near Caleb and Simpson.
Talk about irony.
While Mary mentioned a few odd noises and sights around the property, she didn’t talk much about the house. There was certainly enough in her writings, with what Sami already knew, to reinforce her conviction that odd things happened around the property.
Was it too late to call? Sami leaned back and closed her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. She needed a reality check. She looked at her cell phone on the coffee table.
Matt was in bed but not yet asleep. “What’s up, hon?”
Sami tried to ignore the flutter the endearment stirred in her stomach. “Steve’s back in the hospital.”
“What happened?”
She wearily explained.
“Maybe I should leave now.”
“No, don’t do that. I just needed to talk. You get some sleep.”
“I could drive straight through. It’ll only take me about eighteen hours. I can be there late tomorrow night.”
“Matt, no. I don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel.”
“What sleep? Did you forget what it’s like to ride in a vehicle with this beast?”
Pog. He was a handful in a car.
“I’m sorry to put you through all this trouble, Matt. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Anything for you, you know that.”
They said good-bye, and his words rang in her ears. Anything for you.
She struggled to sleep in the master bedroom, eventually opting for the guest room. She couldn’t get comfortable in her own bed, like the bedroom’s air felt sticky and warm despite the air-conditioning.
Maybe it’s because I’m not sure I want to be in my husband’s bed anymore.
The guest bed would have to be made anyway. She put fresh sheets on it and remembered nights cuddled up next to Matt, safe in his arms…
Stop. Don’t even go there.
But on that exact thought, she drifted to sleep.
* * * *
Steve was in a sullen mood Saturday morning. His fever had returned, and they started a new round of antibiotics. He hated the IV and was ready to go home, but the doctors delayed his discharge pending his fever breaking and staying down.
“Not until the doctor releases you, Steve,” Sami said.
“I’m so sick of this damn place, I could scream.”
She empathized. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want you dying on me.”
“I’d think you’d like it, be able to collect the insurance money and move to Hawaii or something.”
At first she thought he was joking. She looked at him. “Steve, what’s wrong with you?”
As he glared at her, she realized her husband had left the building. His voice dropped to a husky, slurred growl. She swore she smelled alcohol on his breath.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, bitch.” A slow, scary leer crept across his face, his eyes burning into her. “Don’t worry, it’s all gonna change soon. Real soon.”
Sami gasped for air, too stunned to say anything. Then Steve’s eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.
She grabbed the call button and frantically punched it, screaming, “Nurse! Help, please help!”
Two nurses ran in, saw Steve, and one pulled Sami out of the way while the other called a code on the intercom.
More people flooded into the room and Sami stepped into the corner. That wasn’t Steve—that wasn’t her husband.
She wasn’t sure who it was, but she had an idea.
They moved him to the ICU less than twenty minutes later. His fever raged. There was talk of taking him back to surgery to make sure peritonitis hadn’t set in, but an hour and massive doses of superdrugs later, he was sitting up and smiling.
“I’m pretty good at getting attention, huh?”
Sami paused at the foot of his bed, searching for clues as to who she was talking to. Steve, or George. “How do you feel?”
“Better. They said they think they’ve got the right cocktail in me this time.” He realized what he said. “Sorry, I meant drugs.” He winced.
She smiled. That was all Steve, with no evil undertone in his voice. She relaxed and stepped forward to take his hand. “I know what you meant. They won’t let me stay here long, ICU rules. O
nce you’re back in your regular room I can visit again. Do you want me to bring you anything from home?”
He shook his head. “I need sleep. You don’t have to come all the way back out here. Just call me later.” He paused. “Um, what exactly did I say? I remember you had a weird look on your face, and then it was lights out.”
She shook her head. “Nothing. You weren’t making any sense. They said the fever made you delirious.” No way in hell would she tell him the truth.
Unlike Matt, Steve couldn’t tell when she lied.
A nurse stepped into the cubicle and kindly told her time was up. Sami kissed Steve good-bye.
“You’re going to be fine, you hear me?”
He nodded. “Whatever you say, boss.”
“I’ll call later and check on you.”
He caught her hand and met her eyes. “I love you, Sami.”
“I love you, too.”
But she wasn’t sure how true that was anymore.
* * * *
The nurse checked Steve’s IV, added more drugs to his medicine pumps, and left him alone. He closed his eyes and tried to recall exactly what happened. Everything between the time he sat down at his desk and now was a fuzzy blur. There was something about Sami and Matt—
He pictured a crazy, spinning kaleidoscope of images, horrific scenes flashing past.
Stop that, he thought. It’s the infection, that’s all. You’re hallucinating.
* * * *
When the shakes hit nearly halfway home, Sami pulled over, her whole body trembling. What the hell happened? The doctors said it was the infection causing him to hallucinate.
Sami knew it was more than a fever.
Is that what George Simpson sounded like in his final days? Is that the man Evelyn dealt with, the man who murdered her and her children?
Did she dare wait for Steve to get out of the hospital? Maybe she should insist on flying Steve home to Ohio. No, he wouldn’t go for that. He also wouldn’t believe her wild suspicions.
She wasn’t sure she believed them. Maybe there was a perfectly logical explanation, like he’d somehow managed to hide a secret stash of booze she didn’t know about.