Hush

28

LAKE STARED ACROSS the kitchen table at Rory. She’d heard the words but it seemed as if they’d been said out of order and she could barely make sense of them.

“I’m not understanding at all,” Lake said. “What does Harry’s daughter have to do with Dr. Keaton?”

Rory cocked her head and lowered her eyes, as if she felt qualms about sharing the information.

“Please, Rory,” Lake urged.

“Okay,” she said, looking back up. “His daughter did a kind of internship during her spring break in March. Her name’s Allison. I guess she’s a biology major or something and she wanted to learn about embryology and help out-though I’m not sure what help anyone thought she could be. Well, that’s when Dr. Keaton was consulting the first time around, and she was very, very flirty with him. You could tell it made him uncomfortable, and when he ignored her she got mad. She told her father Dr. Keaton was the one being flirty and then Harry became very upset with Dr. Keaton.”

Lake couldn’t believe this. Harry had made no reference to the situation when he’d spoken of his daughter. Why not at least mention that she’d worked at the clinic?

“How did Dr. Kline feel when it was announced that Keaton was joining the clinic?”

Rory lowered her eyes again and took another long sip of tea.

“I don’t think very good,” she said softly. “I have a feeling it’s why he wasn’t around that day. It’s like Dr. Levin had told him that if he didn’t like it, tough luck.”

Lake’s mind began to reel. Flirting didn’t seem like much of a motive for murder. But what if Rory didn’t know the whole story? Maybe Keaton had been interested in Harry’s daughter. Maybe he’d even seduced her. He’d been so slick-it wasn’t hard to imagine. And then, in a rage, Harry had killed him. Perhaps this explained why Harry had tried so hard to tune into what Lake was feeling-he’d suspected she’d been with Keaton and knew something that could incriminate him. Maybe he was the one who’d shaved Smokey and put the catnip in her bag. But then who was the man who had forced her to jump in the river? Was the embryo stealing a whole separate issue?

Lake took a quick sip of tea to steady her nerves. “Have you told the police this?” she asked bluntly.

“The police? You don’t really think Harry killed Dr. Keaton, do you? Just because of what his daughter said?”

Lake didn’t answer. She was trying to get a grip on their situation. Harry had asked Rory what she was doing this weekend. He knew she was home alone. She’d have to convince Rory that staying at her apartment was the right thing to do-at least for a night or two.

A bolt of lightning lit up outside again, followed by an instant crack of thunder. The lights in the house flashed off and then on again.

“Oh God,” Rory said. “If the lights go out, I’ll die.”

“You’ve got flashlights, I hope,” Lake said. Her heart was beating fast now. She didn’t like being here. And she would like it a hell of a lot less, she realized, without any electricity.

“Somewhere,” Rory said. She jumped up and yanked a couple of kitchen drawers all the way open. “I don’t see them. Well, I know I have candles-probably in the living room.”

As Rory hurried into the other room, Lake pressed her fingertips to her lips, thinking. She doubted she’d have any more difficulty persuading Rory to leave. She took one last sip of tea and poured the rest in the sink, setting the cup there. As she turned, the yard outside seemed to explode in whiteness, as if it was being lit by a strobe. Thunder rolled over the house and the lights flashed off and on again. Lake could now hear that it was pouring hard outside.

Rory scurried back into the room, carrying a smudged cellophane-covered box with two white taper candles inside. It looked like it had been purchased in some other decade.

“This is it? You don’t have any more?”

“Yes. I mean, no, I don’t have any more.”

“All right-I’ve got a flashlight out in the car,” Lake said, digging her key out of her purse. “Have you got a slicker I can throw on?”

“Yes,” Rory said, following her to the door. “It’s in the hall.”

“I’ll only be a minute. As soon as I get back, we really need to pack up and leave.”

“Okay,” Rory said, squeezing her arms tightly around her bulging belly. “There’s no way I’m staying here now.”

There were just two coats on the hooks in the hallway-a lightweight woman’s jacket and a green slicker. Lake pulled the slicker over her head, and with her car key in hand made a dash from the door.

The rain seemed to be coming down in rivers. As she plunged across the muddy yard, trying to scan the surroundings with her eyes, she didn’t know what she was more afraid of-being attacked out there or hit by lightning. She unlocked the car with her key from fifteen feet away, yanked open the door, and quickly locked it again once she was safely inside. Her hands trembled as she hit the button on the glove compartment. She felt overwhelmed with a sense of foreboding.

The flashlight was where she remembered it to be-wedged behind the owner’s manual-but when she turned it on she saw that the battery was low and the light was a dull beam. Maybe Rory at least had batteries inside.

She pulled the slicker hood over her head again and jumped from the car. As she staggered through the mud, all the lights in the house went off again-and this time they stayed off. Damn, she thought.

“Rory,” she called out as she entered the darkened entranceway. “Have you got any C batteries?” She quickly locked the door behind her and kicked off her muddied clogs.

“Did you hear me?” she called out as she felt for the peg and hung the slicker. “I need batteries.”

There wasn’t any answer.

She trained the flashlight through the doorway to the living room and let it bounce around. It lit up only the first several feet of the room, and beyond that was only darkness.

“Rory,” Lake called again. “Where are you?” Maybe she can’t hear me from the kitchen, Lake thought. And yet something didn’t seem right.

She edged her way through the living room, her anxiety mounting. Finally she reached the kitchen. She ran the flashlight in an arc around the room. There was no one there.

From what she’d been able to see earlier, there were only two main rooms on the ground floor-the living room and the kitchen. But a doorway at the far end of the kitchen seemed to open onto some kind of mudroom. Lake walked toward it and pointed the flashlight into the space. It was actually more of a pantry than a mudroom, with shelves of canned and packaged foods-and a door to the outside. Had Rory fled the house in a panic? she wondered.

I’ve got to get out of here, she thought desperately. But first she had to find Rory. She turned and inched back into the kitchen. The light from the flashlight seemed even fainter now, and she knew it might be only seconds before it went out all together. She flicked the light toward the table. She could just make out the package of candles. It had been ripped open and one of the candles was missing.

Squeezing the flashlight in her armpit, Lake pulled out the other candle and then turned and squinted at the stove. To her relief she saw that it had gas burners. She fired up a burner and thrust the candle into the flame, lighting it. Suddenly there was a sound behind her. She spun around. Rory was standing there, a burning candle in one hand and a box of matches in the other.

“God, Rory, where were you?” Lake blurted out.

“I’m sorry. I went upstairs,” Rory said. “I thought I heard a noise up there.”

“What kind of noise?”

“It was this sort of knocking sound. It really scared me. It turned out to be just the drapes in the bedroom-they were flapping against the wall.”

“What do you mean?” Lake asked anxiously.

“The window was open a little. The wind was blowing them.”

“But I thought you said you’d locked all the windows,” Lake said. She could barely hide her irritation.

“I know-I thought I had. But I must not have noticed that one because the drapes were closed.”

“And you’re certain you’re the one who left it open?”

“Yes. But it’s closed now and locked.”

“Fine, okay, you’ve got to pack now. What do you need besides clothes and toiletries?”

“I take heparin for my pregnancy. I have to get that.”

Suddenly Lake felt overwhelmed by a wave of fatigue. She took a deep breath, trying to summon her strength. “It’s going to be tough for you to pack with a candle. Do you have any C batteries?”

“I’m not sure. But I remembered where my husband keeps the flashlights-in the basement.” As Rory spoke she cocked her head toward a wooden door across the kitchen that obviously led downstairs. “He’s got a workbench down there with flashlights in the drawer.”

“Good,” Lake said. “Take a seat at the table. I’ll get the flashlights and then I’ll help you pack your stuff. We can be out of here in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Rory replied, but she stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, staring at Lake.

“What’s the matter?” Lake said.

“Are you all right?” Rory asked. “You look funny all of a sudden.” Rory’s face was drawn with concern, her pale skin like a mask in the flickering glow of the candle flame.

“I’m-I’m just tired. And I just want to get out of here.”

“Me, too,” Rory said.

Lake crossed the kitchen. After opening the basement door, she instinctively felt for the light switch and flipped it up. Dumb, she thought. She stared below. With the light from the candle, the basement looked like an empty black pit that went on forever. At least there was a railing to grasp. With one hand sliding along it, Lake made her way tentatively down the wooden stairs.

As she reached the bottom step she saw that the basement was split in two by the stairs. To the right were a washer and dryer against the wall and a big, stand-alone freezer, the horizontal kind. On the far left she could see the workbench with just a few tools hanging from a pegboard above it. All I have to do, she told herself, is find the flashlights and get out.

She crossed the cement floor and tugged at one of the two drawers. Her arm felt oddly weak, and the drawer refused to budge. She tugged again, harder, and this time the drawer jerked open. Its bottom was scattered with loose nails, nothing more. She tried the other drawer. Two flashlights lay side by side. They were the long heavy-duty kind security cops carried.

She grabbed one, pushed the switch up and to her relief saw that it worked. She blew out the candle and then grabbed the other flashlight. Now get the hell out of here, she told herself. As she turned, a muffled crash sounded directly above her, making her whole body jerk. Something had fallen hard in the kitchen. Had Rory tripped? Had someone gotten into the house? Was it Harry? Or the man from Brooklyn? She had to get back upstairs to help Rory.

Flooded with fear, she lunged through the near-darkness toward the stairs. Suddenly she felt dizzy and disoriented in the near-darkness. She raised her foot to meet the first step but didn’t reach it, and she stumbled, falling. As she landed in a heap, both flashlights bounced from her hands. She heard one roll across the floor to her left. The other, the one she’d been using, was just a few feet away, shooting a beam of light across the hard cement floor. Terrified, she crawled toward it on her knees. Don’t let it go out, she begged.

She reached the flashlight and stuck her arm out feebly to grab it. Then she felt an intense, searing pain in her head. A split second later she slipped into unconsciousness.

Pain woke her, forced open her eyes. She was lying in pitch-black darkness, and her head was throbbing, as if someone had smashed the back of it with a chair. There was a weird taste in her mouth-metallic. I’ve cut the inside of my mouth, she thought. She tried to find the spot with her tongue, but it was too swollen to move.

Where am I? she wondered panic-stricken. Her heart began to pound in time with the throbbing in her head. She tried to shift her body, but she felt paralyzed.

She forced herself to take a breath. I’m in a nightmare, she told herself, one of those nightmares you can dream and see yourself in at the same time. And I’m going to wake up. As she breathed, she smelled something musty, like mildewed clothes. No, this was real. She tried again to shift her body. Her arms didn’t move but she was able to twist her head a little.

A sound slid through the blackness-a long, low groan that she didn’t recognize. Her heart pounded harder. It’s a motor, she thought finally.

She realized at last where she was. But why? Had she fallen? Or had someone hit her? Her mind was so confused, her thoughts choked like a tangle of weeds in a lake. She found the beginning and tried to go step by step from there. The last thing she recalled was trying to reach the flashlight. It must have gone out, though. How long had she been here and why was she alone? And then suddenly she knew. She remembered everything. She let out an anguished sob at the truth.

She realized that the hum of the motor must be from the freezer she’d seen earlier, which meant that the power was back on. She had to get out. She twisted her head back and forth and commanded the rest of her body to move. Her legs felt leaden, like they were metal drums filled to the brim, but she was able to move one of her arms-the right one. She flexed her right hand slowly open and closed, back and forth.

There was another noise-from far above this time. Footsteps. And next a door opening. Terror engulfed her body, squeezing air from her lungs.

The killer was coming to get her.

Lake tried desperately to move again. She managed to drag her hand to her face, but that was it. Suddenly the lightbulb in the ceiling popped on. The light made her head hurt even more but she forced her eyes to stay open. She realized that she was lying just to the left of the bottom of the steps. Raising her pounding head, she saw Rory descending the stairs.

“Rory,” she said weakly as her head fell back onto the hard floor. “I must have passed out.”

“Of course you did,” Rory said, stepping in front of Lake. She smiled down at her.

“What?” Lake asked groggily.

“I know you did. I gave you a little something in your tea.”

Lake felt a sudden urge to vomit, tasting it in her mouth.

“I’m really very angry with you, Lake,” Rory said. “If you must know, I’m in a rage. But I’m too professional to let it show.”

“What…have I done?” Lake asked.

“What have you done? I think you know, Lake. You’re the reason Mark Keaton is dead.”

You must stay calm, Lake commanded herself, you must try to reason with her. “That’s not true,” she said. “I-I had nothing to do with that. I barely knew him.”

“But you knew him well enough to fuck him. You were with him that night, Lake. Don’t lie to me. You gave it away for sure when we were in that stupid piano bar-you knew about his terrace.”

Lake’s heart was pounding so hard she could hear the sound in her head.

“I’d called him that night, you know,” Rory said. “I’d told him before I left that day about our baby. It was a little bit of a shock for him but I knew he was going to be very, very happy. We just needed to talk it through and work out all the details. But as soon as I heard his voice on the phone I knew he was expecting someone. I didn’t have any choice but to go there-and of course, I’d been smart enough to make a copy of the key.”

“And in case you’re thinking the police are going to figure out it was me because they have a record of the call, don’t. I made a point of telling them that I’d spoken to Dr. Keaton that night. I said he’d asked me to call him to follow up about a patient. But as you know very well, Lake, the last thing on his mind that night was a patient. When I walked in his bedroom, it was disgusting. I could tell from the smell he’d had sex with someone. And I was almost positive it was you.”

I have to do something, Lake thought desperately. She raised her head a little, just to see if she could.

“Rory, I-”

“Hush, Lake. I’m not some kind of fool. I’d seen you being super flirty with him for days. One night I’d even thought you might have lured him to your place. Women are such predators-they won’t leave men like Mark alone.”

“But-”

“Don’t you dare give me any buts. I know all about women like you. I knew I’d guessed right when I saw how petrified you looked when the police came to the clinic. I mentioned to the police how upset you were and I could tell they thought you’d been up to no good as well. At that point I had to flush you out and see how you reacted.”

“Did-did you shave Smokey?” Lake asked. She was stalling for time, trying to think.

“Is that what you call that fat ugly cat of yours? You never said a word about it to anyone. That’s when I knew you had something to hide.”

“I-”

“Oh, shut up, Lake. Don’t you see what you’ve done? Because of you, Mark will never see his baby.”

“But why kill him?”

“You’d obviously poisoned his mind against me. He wasn’t going to make any time for me or the baby. I’d be all by myself up here with our son and he’d be busy fucking you in the city.”

“Rory, I did go to Dr. Keaton’s place-but it was only to talk to him,” Lake said. Her words sounded hollow to her, but a lie was all she had left. “It was about the clinic. He’d been in touch with one of the women-one of the women who was given someone else’s embryos. I need your help to expose the clinic. What they’re doing is wrong. No one has to know about Dr. Keaton.”

Rory just stared down at Lake, her face blank. Lake couldn’t even guess what was behind her eyes. Was she possibly considering what Lake had said? she wondered.

“Liar,” Rory spat out. And then before Lake even saw it coming, Rory kicked her hard in the side of the head. She was wearing thin ballet flats, but the blow stung and her head was knocked back to the ground.

Involuntarily Lake moaned. Rory was going to kill her. Lake had to get out of the basement somehow.

She sensed she was starting to regain strength in her arms and her legs-probably because she’d only drunk a little of the tea-but she couldn’t let Rory know. She had to outsmart her. Instinctively Lake’s eyes glanced from Rory’s face to her large hands. Would Rory try to stab her-like she’d done to Keaton?

Rory snickered. “No, I don’t have a knife, Lake,” she said, clearly having caught the movement of Lake’s eyes. “I can’t have a bloodbath in my basement. Blood does not come out of cement, trust me.”

In a flash she was on top of Lake, yanking her by the jersey shirt she wore. Rory twisted the fabric around her fist and began to drag her across the floor. She was strong, stronger than Lake could have imagined. Where is she taking me? Lake thought frantically. She let her body go limp, pretending she was still immobilized, but her eyes shot ahead. Then she saw it. Rory was dragging her to the freezer.