One Last Scream

Chapter Twenty-three

She wandered up and down the aisles at the Wenatchee library, searching for Amelia. Karen figured she might have missed her somehow. But she’d already walked around outside the building in the cold rain searching for Shane’s car. She’d seen plenty of vacant parking spots, and no sign of the VW Golf. She’d already explored the reference, periodicals, and nonfiction sections with no luck. Now, as she zigzagged around the shelves of books in the fiction section, Karen heard an announcement over the PA system saying that the library was closing in five minutes. Above her, every other row of overhead lights went off.

Karen was filled with a lost, hopeless feeling. She kept thinking about how Amelia was the only one who could get through to her sister, Annabelle. She might even know Annabelle’s next move.

After four months with Amelia in therapy, Karen still didn’t have a handle on her. What kind of therapist was she anyway? Even with all she’d uncovered about Amelia’s childhood, Karen still felt as if she didn’t really know her. It baffled her that little Amelia had fled from Clay’s house the way she had that day. Besides her twin, he’d been her only friend, and she’d run away from him, screaming.

“The Wenatchee Public Library is now closing,” a woman announced over the public address system. “We will be open again tomorrow at 10 A.M. Please exit through the front doors. Thank you and have a nice evening.”

Slump-shouldered, Karen wandered toward the front of the library. She wasn’t sure about what to do, except maybe call the state police. She could give them a description of Amelia, and Shane’s car, and then ask them to look for a motorist in trouble on Highway 2, somewhere between Grand Coulee Dam and Wenatchee.

A little blond girl, who apparently didn’t want to leave the library, was screaming and crying as her father dragged her toward the exit. Karen held the door open for him. He nodded at her, muttered “Thank you,” then finally scooped the screaming, squirming kid into his arms. Karen watched them walk down the library steps. She thought about how Lon Schlessinger had handled that same situation by throwing the hysterical child in her room and locking the door.

She remembered what Miriam had told her about Lon taking Annabelle with him on his aborted trip to the police station that Sunday afternoon fifteen years ago: “He said he didn’t even make it to the police station, because Annabelle started pitching a fit. None of us could figure out what was wrong with her.”

Karen hiked up the collar to her trench coat and started down the library steps. She could still hear that little girl screaming as her father carried her to their car, halfway down the block. Karen suddenly stopped dead. The rain was stronger now, but she didn’t move. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “He never went to the police station. He went and switched the twins.”

It was exactly as Naomi Rankin had said: “There’s a difference between what people saw that day and what’s true. I’m certain of that.”

Annabelle had been the cooperative twin, the one their father had had on a tight leash. She’d pretended to be her sister that afternoon.

It was a skill she would hone later as a young adult.

Ignoring the rain, Karen stood on the sidewalk. Behind her, the lights inside the library went off. All she could think about was Amelia, struggling in her father’s arms as she’d been smuggled out of Clay’s house, dressed in her sister’s clothes. Karen could almost hear her screams, until her father had clasped his hand over her mouth and locked her in her room. And from her bedroom window, Amelia might have seen everything that had happened down the block at her friend Clay’s house. She might have even seen her father gun him down.

No wonder they’d found it necessary to get rid of the child after that. She’d been too rebellious. She’d seen too much.

No wonder Amelia had blocked out all memory of her family-a demented, violent, serial-killer father, an ineffectual mother, and the twin sister who had betrayed her.

Karen suddenly realized her cell phone was ringing. She grabbed it and checked the caller ID. She didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was local: 509. “Hello?” she said into the phone.

“Karen, it’s Amelia….”

“Oh, thank God,” Karen said. “Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry. Are you still waiting for me at the library in Wenatchee?”

“Yes. Didn’t you get any of my calls?”

“No. Something must be wrong with the frequency, because I tried to phone you several times, but it didn’t answer. It didn’t even go to voice mail.”

“Where are you, honey?” Karen asked.

“Well, I feel like such a lamebrain. I decided to try a different way back, and ended up getting lost. I totally overshot Wenatchee, and then Shane’s car broke down. It’s been a nightmare….”

“Where are you now? I’ll come pick you up.”

“Well, I ended up getting a tow from this garage my dad used to go to near Lake Wenatchee. They were about to close, so I asked one of the guys there to give me a lift to this little restaurant near our lake house.”

“You mean Danny’s Diner?” Karen asked.

“Yeah. How do you know about Danny’s Diner?”

“I was there earlier today,” Karen said. She started walking toward her car. “I’ll explain when I see you. Listen, this is important, okay? Have you had a-premonition about something happening at George’s house?”

There was silence on the other end.

Karen stopped in her tracks. “Amelia?”

“Um, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Have you had any feeling that something’s wrong at George’s house, something with Jessie or the children?”

“No. Why are you asking?” There was a little panic in her voice. “Karen, are they okay?”

“Um, for now, I think they’re all right.” Karen hurried toward her car. “I’ll be at the diner in about thirty minutes. And please, please, don’t go anywhere, Amelia. I need your help with something, and it’s very important. We have a lot to talk about, too.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you’re in Wenatchee?”

“Sort of,” Karen said, climbing inside her car. She shut the door and started up the ignition. “I’ll explain when I get there. I promise.”

She switched on the wipers and headlights. She didn’t hear anything on the other end of the line. “Amelia?”

“If you were at Danny’s Diner, you must have gone to the lake house,” she said. “Were you looking for evidence that I was there the night everyone was killed?”

“Amelia, I know you weren’t at the lake house that night.” Karen pulled out of the parking spot, and started down the road. The highway on-ramp was two blocks ahead. “Stop blaming yourself for that, and for a lot of other things,” she said, “even things dating back to your early childhood.”

“My God, you found out about my real parents, didn’t you? Are they still alive?”

Karen didn’t answer. It wasn’t something she wanted to tell her over the phone.

“Karen, please. For God’s sake, don’t make me wait. Alive or dead, I’m not going to fall apart if you tell me now. I don’t even remember them. I’d just like to know. Are they alive?”

“No, honey, I’m sorry. They’re both dead.”

“Were they dead when the Faradays adopted me?”

“No, they were alive at the time. Amelia, I’ll explain it all when I get there.”

“Do you know why they gave me up?”

“I have a pretty good idea, now,” Karen admitted. “But I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. Besides, I’m just about to get on the freeway. I need to hang up. Just stay there and wait for me. We have a long drive back to Seattle. I’ll tell you everything then.”

“Karen?” she said, a sudden urgency in her tone.

“What is it?”

“Earlier just now, you asked if I had any premonitions about something happening at Uncle George’s house….”

“Yes?” Karen said, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“Well, I’ve had this awful feeling most of the night that someone’s in danger. But it’s not Uncle George, or my cousins, or Jessie. I keep thinking something bad is going to happen to you, Karen. Please, be careful. Okay?”

“Well, I–I will be. Thanks,” Karen managed to say. She swallowed hard, and then started onto the highway on-ramp. “Just stay put and I’ll see you soon.”

“All right,” she said. “Good-bye, Karen.”

Standing in the booth outside Danny’s Diner, Annabelle hung up the phone and started laughing. She loved screwing with Karen’s head like that, warning her of the danger ahead. And yet Karen was rushing here, probably speeding all the way to her demise.

It was unfolding perfectly, even better than she’d planned. Looking back now, if she’d killed Karen in the basement of that rest home-or in her bed last night-her death just wouldn’t have had the proper impact. It was important for Amelia to see Karen, her therapist, her confidante, her last remaining friend, dead. It was important for Amelia to realize that she had no one left but the twin sister she’d forgotten she had.

Amelia had run away by herself that Sunday morning in November nearly fifteen years ago. She hadn’t said a thing to her about it. Amelia had just disappeared, leaving her alone to deal with their angry father. And when he was riled, it never mattered who had misbehaved, he lashed out at whoever happened to be around at the time. The only way she and Amelia had survived up to that point had been by sticking together and being there for each other. They had their own secret language. They could read each other’s thoughts. They protected each other. And it wasn’t just because they loved each other. No, it was more than that. Whenever Amelia got a beating, Annabelle felt it, too, and vice versa. Amelia only made things worse for both of them when she incurred their father’s wrath, which she frequently did. Their father may have beaten Amelia more often and more brutally, but Annabelle still felt every punch, slap, and kick.

One of the worst sessions had been after their dad had gone out to punish a bad woman. It had been one of those nights Uncle Duane had come along to help their father with his “work.” They’d brought Amelia. Apparently, she’d done everything they’d told her to do. But as soon as they’d put the bad woman to sleep in the car, Amelia had started screaming and crying. She’d even tried to jump out of the car. Their father and Uncle Duane had been furious with her. She’d almost ruined everything. It had been a night of agony for both twins. Amelia had bruises all up and down her back. But Annabelle had felt every blow, too. The next day, Annabelle couldn’t get out of bed, she ached so much. But even with all her pain, Amelia had snuck off to that Indian’s house. She didn’t tell Clay why she’d been beaten. She only showed him the marks on her back. “Clay took pitchers of me,” Amelia later told her. Annabelle never got to see the “pitchers,” but after that, they weren’t allowed to go anywhere near Clay’s house.

Weeks later, on that chilly Sunday morning in November when Amelia ran away, Annabelle knew where she’d gone. So did their father. But he didn’t find Amelia hiding over at Clay’s. However, Annabelle knew her sister was there, hiding from both Clay and their father. Even though Amelia hadn’t told her about her plans to run away, and even though they would both get in trouble for it, Annabelle kept silent. She didn’t want to betray her sister.

Sure enough, a few hours later, Mrs. Getz called from down the block, saying she’d spotted Amelia in Clay’s backyard. Their father asked the old woman to come over, and tell him exactly what she’d seen. Annabelle got scared when her father announced he was taking her with him to the police station. She thought she and her sister might end up in jail or something.

But once Annabelle climbed into the car with her father, he told her, “You’ll have to be your sister for a while. It’s pretend.”

She’d been only four years old at the time, but Annabelle remembered everything about that day. She recalled feeling relieved the police weren’t going to arrest her or Amelia. Her father drove around the block, and parked in back of old Mrs. Getz’s house. They cut through her yard. He kept telling Annabelle if she said one word, cried, or even coughed, he’d smack her.

They crept through the bushes and into Clay’s backyard, past the little playhouse that Amelia loved. The windows at Clay’s house were too high for her to see, but her father got a look inside. At the risk of making him mad, Annabelle kept tugging at his shirtsleeve. “Is she in there?” Annabelle whispered.

With a sigh, her father finally lifted her up to the edge of the window so she could see. Inside, Amelia sat at Clay’s kitchen table, eating a cookie and drinking orange juice. Clay was on the telephone. He hung up the receiver, then moved over to the table. “C’mon, pumpkin,” she heard him say, his voice a bit muffled through the glass. “I want you to lie down and take a nap. I need to talk to some people. They’re going to help you. They’ll make sure he won’t ever hurt you again.”

Annabelle kept waiting for Amelia to say, “What about my sister? Can you make sure my sister doesn’t get hurt, too?”

But Amelia didn’t say anything. She just finished her cookie.

Annabelle’s father set her back down on the ground. Crouching along the side of the house, they moved over to another window that Clay had just opened a bit.

Annabelle tugged at her father’s sleeve again. She wanted to know what was happening. “Stop that,” he hissed. “Want me to crack your face?”

She kept very still and said nothing for several minutes.

“Goddamn redskin, he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with,” her father muttered, almost to himself. “Well, I’ve already planted something in there for you, Cochise, and it’ll fix you, but good. Smug, uppity son of a bitch.”

He turned to Annabelle. “Take off your clothes,” he whispered.

Aghast, she just shook her head. It was cold out. And besides, she didn’t want anyone to see her naked.

“Do it!” her father hissed. “You can leave your underpants on if you want. I need to put your clothes on Amelia, so Mrs. Getz thinks she’s you. I told you, you’re going to be Amelia for a little while.”

Her father explained how she would have to sit and wait on the bed in Clay’s house until she heard a police siren getting close. That was her cue to climb out this window and start screaming.

Trembling, Annabelle nodded obediently and started to undress.

Her father pushed the window up, then gave her a boost to the ledge. She crawled into the bedroom. Gasping, Amelia sat up in Clay’s bed. Annabelle put her fingers over her lips and shushed her. She could hear Clay on the phone in the kitchen: “Yes…I’ve been on hold for five minutes now. Is there anyone in that office? Yes…yes…I know it’s Sunday, but I have a situation here…”

When their father climbed through the window, Amelia recoiled. She looked like she was about to scream. Within seconds, he was on her, stuffing a handkerchief in her mouth. She struggled as he started to undress her. “C’mon, help me put your clothes on her,” he whispered to Annabelle.

“Well, all I’m getting are these damn recordings,” Clay was telling someone on the phone in his kitchen. He sounded so frustrated. “But I don’t want to leave a message, damn it…. No, I need to talk with a person….”

Annabelle wanted so much to put on Amelia’s clothes, but her father had insisted she run outside in her underwear. Humiliating as that might be, it was better than a beating. She helped her father smuggle Amelia out the bedroom window. Then she crawled into Clay’s bed and waited. It seemed like forever.

“Fine. Screw you,” she heard Clay say in the kitchen. “I’ll get someone else to help me.”

Finally, she heard the sirens in the distance. Clay called to her, thinking she was Amelia. “Are you okay in there, pumpkin? You asleep?”

She didn’t answer. She listened to the sirens getting louder and louder. Shaking, Annabelle moved to the window. She hadn’t even gone outside yet, and already she was cold. Peering over the ledge, she thought she might hurt herself crawling out there.

Clay came to the bedroom doorway. “Amelia?”

Wincing, Annabelle jumped out the window and hit the ground. She could hardly breathe, and yet, somehow, she forced out a scream. She saw the police cars with their lights flashing. They pulled up in front of Clay’s house. Then she saw her father marching toward the front door with his hunting rifle.

Annabelle let out another shriek and started running toward the police cars, until she heard the loud bang.

She swiveled around at the edge of the front yard. Clay must have come out the front door to chase after her. But now he lay sprawled on the ground, with blood all over his shirt and his long black hair in his face.

At first, Annabelle was horrified. But then she thought about how her twin sister had abandoned her, and run to this man for protection. He was going to help Amelia, and didn’t even mention helping her.

Suddenly, she liked that he was dead. It felt good.

After that, things between her and Amelia were never quite the same. Amelia was different, withdrawn, and acting crazy most of the time. Her parents finally sent her away to live with another family.

Then they moved to the ranch in Salem, without Amelia.

While Annabelle endured her father’s abuse and those awful nights she was forced to help him with his work, she still picked up snippets of her twin sister’s experiences in a series of foster homes. Amelia wasn’t very happy, but her life was easy in comparison to Annabelle’s plight. Then something happened to Annabelle that was worse than her father’s most severe beating, worse than those long, lonely nights in the car, listening to those women scream and beg.

What happened was Amelia had decided to forget about her.

Annabelle never really forgave her for that.

She knew her sister was adopted by the Faradays. She still had a glimpse into Amelia’s sweet, privileged life with them, but she didn’t get to be a part of it. As far as her lucky sister was concerned, she didn’t exist, and never had.

After her mother had killed herself, her father and Uncle Duane kept grilling Annabelle about where Amelia was. They knew she’d had a special connection with her twin. Though Annabelle knew her sister’s last name was now Faraday, she didn’t tell them a thing. She somehow sensed they wanted Amelia dead. And Annabelle was still very protective of her sister, even though she didn’t deserve it.

Later, Annabelle figured it out. Her father and Uncle Duane had planned to do away with Amelia shortly after Clay had been killed. In a rare moment of clarity, Annabelle’s mother intervened. She persuaded her husband to put the problem child into foster care.

When she was a teenager, Annabelle found some documents tucked away in her father’s desk drawer. Shortly before the move to Salem, her mother and father had signed papers completely relinquishing parenthood of Amelia.

But once her mother was dead, Annabelle’s father and her uncle were desperate to track down Amelia. They wanted to kill her, because of what she knew and what she might tell. They had no idea Amelia had forgotten all about them.

Stupid Duane had killed those people at the adoption place and gotten himself killed for nothing.

She didn’t talk about Amelia with anyone until later in high school. Annabelle thought it might make her more interesting to people if she’d had a twin who died. But it didn’t make her popular. And all the while, she had a window into her sister’s life. Annabelle had her nose pressed up against that window. She knew Amelia Faraday had a kid brother and parents who loved her. She lived in a beautiful house with a dock and a lake in the backyard. They had a weekend home, not far from another lake.

The closest Amelia Faraday ever came to true misery and pain was when Annabelle experienced it firsthand. Even then, Amelia had no idea where the sensations and visions came from.

It hurt Annabelle to be disregarded like that. It hurt more than all the physical pain and horror she’d endured growing up on that ranch with her awful father.

Now Amelia was beginning to feel some of that pain firsthand. First her brother, then her parents and her aunt, her boyfriend. One by one, the people Amelia loved weren’t there anymore. Within an hour, her therapist-along with her uncle and her cousins-would all be dead, too.

Amelia would have nobody, except the sister she’d chosen to forget.

Huddled inside the phone booth in front of Danny’s Diner, Annabelle listened to the rain beating on the roof. She made another call. It rang twice before he picked up. “Yeah?”

“Hi, babe. How’s everything there?”

“Fine,” he said, “except we got one down.”

Annabelle frowned a bit. “Already? Was it one of the kids?”

“No, a snoopy old bitch of a neighbor. But I have it under control. I asked the housekeeper, and she said the lady lived alone. So nobody’s going to come looking for her. In fact, I’m tempted to check across the street and see if she has anything in the house worth taking. Bet she has a shitload of jewelry.”

“Now, don’t get greedy,” Annabelle said. “Stay put. I don’t want any of the other neighbors to see you going over there. They might call the cops. You could screw this whole thing up. You’ve collected a car full of crap from Uncle George’s. That’s enough. What’s the latest on Uncle George, anyway?”

“The last time he talked to fatso, he said to expect him around nine o’clock.”

“Good. Well, be careful, babe. I got these vibes from Karen that they suspect something. So, if you get nervous, or things don’t seem right to you, then just abort. Shoot the maid and the kids, and get the hell out of there. We’ll worry about the uncle later.”

“I won’t get nervous,” he said.

“Well, once you’ve finished them all off, hurry here, baby. I need you.”

“Huh,” he grunted. “You just want me to help you escape.”

“Well, you promised,” she said. “You’re going to help me get away, and we’ll start new someplace else. See you at the lake house around midnight.”

Annabelle hung up the phone, and stepped out of the booth. She walked through the cool night rain back to Karen’s car in the parking lot of Danny’s Diner. She glanced over the swaying treetops in the general direction of the lake house.

Once she’d killed Karen, she’d wait for Blade. He was in love with her-at least he thought he was. He would be easy to kill.

She had a two-gallon tote container of gasoline in the trunk of Karen’s car. That would be enough to set the lake house on fire. The cops would find two burnt bodies in there, Karen and Blade. She knew what she was doing. She’d pulled it off without a hitch three years ago. Funny, she’d pretty much told Sandra the same thing she’d told Blade moments ago: “You’re going to help me get away, and we’ll start new someplace else.”

When she’d said we, Blade had probably thought she’d meant her and him.

But she wasn’t thinking of him at all.

His hands taut on the steering wheel, George studied the road ahead. He’d made it to the city of Jefferson in less than twenty minutes. Speeding along I-5, he’d kept his eyes peeled for patrol cars.

While in the cybercafe, he’d checked MapQuest for directions to Coupland Aeronautics, so he knew the helicopter place was only about a mile ahead in this industrial area. George passed several warehouses, a railroad and container yard, and a chemical plant.

He’d just talked with Karen, who was on her way to meet Amelia at the restaurant near the Lake Wenatchee house. Apparently, Amelia didn’t have any premonitions about the kids or Jessie being in trouble-not yet, at least. Karen said she’d call again from the pay phone when she got to the restaurant. George couldn’t help remembering the last time someone had promised to call him from that place. It had been Ina, the day of her murder.

Although he wanted to phone Jessie again, he decided to wait until he was ready to board the helicopter. The more he thought about how scared Jody and Steffie had to be, the harder he pressed on the accelerator. George started to pass a truck in front of him, but as he veered into the oncoming lane, he saw an SUV barreling toward him. Its horn blared. George swerved back into his own lane behind the truck, again. He got ready to try once more, but noticed the truck’s right turn signal blinking. It slowed down to a crawl to pull into a Chevron plant. George tried to go around it again, but another truck nearly ran into him. Its horn continued to wail, even after George swung back into his lane.

Catching his breath, he waited for the trucker in front of him to make the damn turn. Then he saw a clear road ahead, and he pushed harder on the gas.

George passed Donahue Drive, one of the last major intersections before the helicopter pad, at least, according to MapQuest. And then he noticed the flashing light in his rearview mirror. “Oh, shit,” he murmured, releasing his foot from the accelerator. “God, no, please….”

The cop car was descending on him. He could hear the siren now.

“Please, God.”

George’s stomach was in knots as he slowly pulled over to the road’s shoulder. The lights in his rearview mirror were blinding now. For a moment, the bright strobes illuminated the inside of his car. And then the policeman passed him.

George sagged forward against the wheel. He took a deep breath, and pressed on. But he couldn’t stop trembling. He watched the squad car take a right turn ahead. He hoped the cop wasn’t headed to Coupland Aeronautics.

For the next few blocks, he drove at the 35-miles-per-hour speed limit. Then he noticed the airfield ahead to his left. Two helicopters were parked on the airstrip. George didn’t see a cop car anywhere near the place. Yet his hands still shook on the wheel as he went beyond the tall chain-link fence and followed the signs to customer parking. He didn’t think he’d breathe right or stop shaking until he saw his kids and knew they were safe.

He was just pulling into one of the parking spots when someone trotted out of the trailer office. George rolled down his window and saw that it was a woman in her midthirties, wearing a gray jumpsuit. She was pretty with dark brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail. “Mr. McMillan?” she said, approaching his car.

George nodded a few more times than necessary. He was waiting for her to say something like, “I’m afraid the Salem Police are looking for you….”

Instead, she leaned toward his car window and smiled. “Hi, I’m Kate. You spoke with me earlier. If you need to park for more than twenty-four hours, go ahead and take a spot where that green sign is.”

George glanced over his shoulder and saw a green sign on a light post: LONG-TERM PARKING. He looked back up at the woman and nodded again. He was still shaking, and he could tell she’d noticed.

“They charge twelve bucks a day for long-term parking,” she said. “It’ll be added to your bill. And speaking of paperwork, it’s all ready for you. Just come on into the office. We’ll get it signed, and we’ll be our way to Seattle. I’ll be your pilot tonight, Mr. McMillan. Do you have any luggage for your trip?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t. But thanks.”

“Okeydoke,” she said. “Then I’ll see you in the office.” She turned and trotted back toward the trailer.

George tried to take a few calming breaths as he maneuvered over to the long-term parking area. It just dawned on him that this was a rental, and he’d have to somehow get it back to the rent-a-car company. But that didn’t matter right now. He was just relieved he’d be on his way to Seattle soon, with no one detaining him. No delays.

Still, he couldn’t stop trembling, even after he’d parked the rental and locked it. Standing beside the car, he took out his cell phone and dialed home once more. He just needed to hear Jessie assure him again that Steffie and Jody were all right.

George listened to the ring tones, four of them so far. Something was wrong. Why wasn’t Jessie picking up? He’d figured they were checking his caller ID. They must have known his cell phone number by now. If they were trying to lure him there using Jessie and the kids, they would have had her pick up by now.

The machine clicked on. Hi, you’ve reached the McMillans. Sorry we’re not here to take your call. But if you’d like to leave a message for George, Ina, Jody or Stephanie, just talk to us after the beep!

It was Ina’s voice on the recording. He still hadn’t changed it.

The beep sounded. George kept wondering why no one was picking up. “Hello, Jessie?” he said into the machine. “Um, it’s George. I’m on my way. I should be there around nine o’clock. I just wanted to touch base with you. Are you there, Jessie? Jody? Steffie? Well, I guess you’re not there. I’ll see you guys soon, okay?”

He clicked off the line. Then he punched his home phone number again. Another four ring tones went by while George gazed out at the two helicopters on the airstrip. One of them was waiting for him. Ina’s recorded message came back on.

George quickly clicked off the cell phone. He had a horrible feeling in his gut. No one was picking up at his house-just the voice of someone already dead.