One Last Scream

Chapter Eight

Karen sat in the dark while Amelia tossed and turned in the bed across from her. The muffled sobs emitting through the vent from Jody’s room upstairs had ceased. Karen guessed the police had been grilling George McMillan for about an hour now, and they were probably getting warmed up for Amelia.

She heard someone coming down the stairs. Karen climbed off the bed just as a knock came on the door.

Amelia sat up, suddenly awake.

Karen opened the door to find Jessie, her face in the shadows. “They sent me down here to fetch Amelia,” she whispered. “They’d like a statement, which means they’ll be asking her all sorts of rude, tactless, personal questions for the next two hours.”

“Well, that’s just too much for her right now,” Karen said under her breath.

“It’s the treatment they’ve been giving her uncle.”

Karen glanced over her shoulder at Amelia, who stared back at them, visibly trembling. Karen couldn’t let the police interrogate her, not when Amelia was so distraught and disoriented. “Go back to sleep, honey,” she whispered to her. “And if you can’t nod off, just lie there quietly until they go.”

She stepped out of the guest room and gently closed the door.

“They want her uncle to go to Wenatchee tonight to identify the bodies,” Jessie whispered. “He might not be back until very late. I promised him we’d stick around and hold down the fort.”

“Yes, of course,” Karen said.

“I told you we wouldn’t be in the way, but you never listen to me.” Jessie tapped her shoulder. “And if we hadn’t come here, you wouldn’t have met George. Talk about a sweetheart. Oh, and the way he is with his little girl. He’s just the kind of man I’ve always wanted to see you with.”

Karen frowned at her. “For God’s sake, Jessie, his wife was just murdered last night.”

“Well, I know that,” she whispered. “Doesn’t mean you can’t call him in a couple of months and find out how he’s doing.” Jessie sighed. “I put the little one down for a nap. The poor lamb cried herself to sleep.”

They headed up the stairs. Karen could hear George talking as she approached the study.

She knocked, and then opened the door. A handsome, mustached, gray-haired man in his fifties was pacing in front of George, who sat in an easy chair. The man wore a blue suit that looked slept in, and he stopped to glance at her.

George got to his feet as Karen stepped inside the room. He was wearing glasses, the Clark Kent type, which made him look even more handsome-and gentle.

A young, beefy, uniformed cop was also in the room. He sat in a swivel chair by the computer desk. He also stood up long enough to lean over and switch off a small recording device on the coffee table. The three men seemed slightly cramped in the close quarters. There was a small window above the desk, and two walls of shelves packed with books and framed photos of the McMillan clan.

“Detective Goodwin,” George said. “This is Amelia’s therapist, Karen Carlisle.”

“Hello.” She shook the detective’s hand. “I understand you wanted to meet with Amelia. But I’m afraid I kind of threw a wrench in that. You won’t be able to get a statement from her this afternoon-or even tonight. She’s heavily sedated right now.”

The detective frowned. “But we need to talk to her.”

Karen shrugged. “Well, I’m sorry. She’s asleep. It’s my fault. She was hysterical earlier, and I had to give her some tranquilizers to calm her down-the maximum dosage.”

“The poor thing, it would have broken your heart to see her,” Jessie chimed in from the doorway. “All the crying and carrying on, she was just beside herself. Thank God Dr. Carlisle was here.”

Karen shot her a look over her shoulder. She knew Jessie was trying to help. But did she have to pour it on so thick-especially with the doctor bit? Jessie quietly retreated toward the kitchen.

Turning, Karen locked eyes with George. He hadn’t witnessed Amelia in hysterics. He hadn’t seen his niece crying and carrying on to a level that required her to be sedated. Yet he seemed to know she was protecting Amelia right now. Karen could see he understood.

His gaze shifted to the detective. “Haven’t you gotten enough for the time being? Do you really need to question Amelia now?”

The gray-haired detective rubbed his chin and stared at Karen. “How long have you been treating Amelia?”

“Since the beginning of the summer,” she replied.

“In any of her therapy sessions, do you recall her mentioning anything about her father that would shed more light on what happened at the Lake Wenatchee house last night?”

She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything significant-at least, nothing that would help your investigation.”

“Sure you’re not holding out on me?” he pressed. “This isn’t one of those doctor-patient confidentiality things you’re pulling on me, is it?”

“No, sir. If you were infringing on that, I’d tell you.”

Frowning, he let out a little huff. “I still want to talk to her.”

Karen shrugged helplessly. “Well, I’m sorry.”

“Listen,” George interjected. “If you’re after more information about her dad’s state of mind, you won’t get much. Amelia has been away at school these last two months. I don’t think she knows about her dad and Ina.” He turned to Karen. “My wife and Amelia’s dad, they had an affair in August. It was very short-lived. Has Amelia mentioned anything to you?”

Karen bit her lip. “No. This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

He turned to the detective. “See what I mean? You won’t get much from Amelia. So leave the poor girl alone-at least for tonight.”

“Fine,” Goodwin grumbled. Then he glanced at Karen. “But I’d like her in my office at the West Seattle precinct tomorrow morning at nine o’clock-sharp.”

Karen nodded. “I’ll drive her myself. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. If that’s all, can I go now?”

He sighed. “Fine.”

But Karen couldn’t leave it at that. She was thinking about Amelia’s fantastic confession to last night’s shootings. She hesitated in the doorway. “May I ask you a question, detective?”

“Go ahead,” he muttered.

“I had to tell Amelia about what happened last night-based on an early report from Mr. McMillan. I really didn’t have a very clear idea.” She stole a glance at George, hoping this wouldn’t bother him too much. “I told Amelia it appeared her father had shot her mother and aunt-and then himself. Amelia asked me what kind of gun he’d used-and where the police had found the bodies. She-um, she wanted details I couldn’t give.”

The detective stared back at her, unyielding.

“Mark had a hunting rifle, he used that,” George answered-almost bitterly, as if he were just so sick and depleted from discussing it. Still, there was a tremor in his voice as he spoke. “My sister-in-law, she was shot in the face. They found her in the upstairs hallway. Ina-my wife-she-um, she was shot in the chest. She was in the living room with Mark. And Mark, he sat down in his rocking chair by the fireplace and shot himself in the head.” Over the rims of his glasses, George looked at the older cop. “Did I get everything right, Detective?”

The plainclothesman said nothing.

Neither did Karen. She was thinking about Amelia’s version of how it had happened last night. Amelia’s story wasn’t part of a nightmare or some delusion. The details she’d recalled were horribly real.

In the darkened guest room, Amelia lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. She listened to the voices upstairs in Uncle George’s study, distant undecipherable murmuring. But she recognized Karen’s voice. Maybe Karen could keep the police from talking to her for a while. But eventually they’d figure out who had killed her parents and her aunt. Karen couldn’t keep that from happening.

In fact, Karen couldn’t do much to help her at all.

Amelia wondered if she was even that good a therapist. Probably not.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t even think it.”

Amelia clung to her pillow and curled up into a fetal position. She suddenly felt sick, because along with her doubts, another thought raced through her head-an ugly thought that Karen Carlisle deserved to die.

Around five o’clock, after George and the two policemen had left, Karen went down to the guest room to check on Amelia again. But she wasn’t there. Karen felt a little wave of panic in her gut. She glanced toward the bathroom, and saw the door was closed. But she still felt wary, thanks to memories of Haley. While checking the medicine chest earlier, she hadn’t been looking for razor blades or sleeping pills.

She gently tapped on the bathroom door. “Amelia?”

“Karen?” she replied in a lazy voice. “If it’s just you, come on in.”

A warm waft of steam engulfed her as she stepped into the bathroom. The shower curtain had a pattern of fish and seahorses. It was halfway open to reveal Amelia sitting in the tub. Her hair was pinned up, but some wet black strands cascaded over her pale shoulders. Her head was tipped back, and her eyes half closed. “Did the police leave?” she asked.

“Yes, they’re gone,” Karen replied. She was glad no one had heard the water running down here. They would have known Amelia was awake after all. She wondered if Amelia, on some subconscious level, was trying to give herself away.

“Sit down,” Amelia said, with a nod toward the toilet.

Karen lowered the lid and sat down. The tub faucet dripped steadily, and the sound echoed off the blue and white tiles. Amelia didn’t seem a bit shy. She had a beautiful body, and Karen was reminded of high school, and her own teenage envy toward bigger-breasted girls. She felt a resurgence of that now.

“So you talked to them,” Amelia said. She took a deep breath. “Was I right about how it happened?”

Karen nodded. “You might be close,” she allowed.

She didn’t know what else to say. How could Amelia have known-without being told-exactly where the bodies were found and how each one had been slain?

The only possible explanation was that perhaps Amelia had some kind of extrasensory perception or clairvoyance. But that was a stretch, and it still didn’t account for why Amelia had assumed she’d committed the murders.

With a vague, forlorn look in the direction of the faucet, Amelia soaped up her arms. She wouldn’t even glance at Karen. “Do the police still think my dad did it?” she asked.

“Yes,” Karen replied. “There’s no reason to doubt them, Amelia. It’s a terrible thing to comprehend. But your father did this-not you. We’ll never know why he did it. But there are things about your dad that will come out now, because of what happened, some things you might not be aware of.”

Amelia slowly shook her head. “He would never do anything to hurt my mom-or Aunt Ina. I knew him. He was a good man.”

“Well, he was human, too. But you’re right. He wouldn’t intentionally hurt anybody. Amelia, you’ll have to brace yourself for certain…revelations about him.”

“Like what? If you know something, tell me.”

Karen hesitated.

“Is it something the cops are going to tell me?” Amelia asked. “I’d rather hear it from you, Karen. Tell me.”

Karen wondered: Did she really need to know? At the same time, for Amelia to start believing her own innocence in the shootings, she needed to start accepting the fact that her father was guilty. “Okay,” she said, finally. “Your uncle just told this to the police. I’m not sure if you know. But it sounds like your dad and your Aunt Ina had a-an affair. I guess it was very brief and happened about two months ago.”

Amelia said nothing. She absently rinsed the soap suds from her arms and shoulders. “I thought Ina was acting a little weird back in August,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. “I should have guessed it was something like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Karen muttered.

“I’m glad to hear it from you instead of the police-or Uncle George.”

Karen didn’t say anything for a minute. Finally, she sighed. “The police want to see you tomorrow morning,” she said. “I think they’re mostly interested in what you can tell them about your parents-especially your dad. But if they ask what you were doing last night, you need to be very careful how you answer them. I don’t want you wrongly incriminating yourself, because you’ve had these disturbing…visions.”

“Don’t worry, Karen. I won’t say anything to the police. Amelia slid further below the surface, and water sluiced around in the tub. It was up to her chin now. “I was a closet drinker for three years, and no one knew. I became pretty good at covering up and lying. I’ll be okay tomorrow.”

“Well, I don’t want you lying to the police. Just-just don’t incriminate yourself.”

All she could think about was what would happen if Amelia confessed to the shootings. Guilty or innocent, they’d book her immediately. And if Amelia didn’t end up in jail, she’d end up in an institution. She’d be destroyed.

“Listen,” Karen said, “why don’t you call Shane back? Invite him to dinner. I’m sure there’s plenty. Knowing Jessie, she’s made enough to feed an army.”

Amelia nodded. “Yeah, I think I’d feel better if Shane was here. But you’re not leaving, are you?”

“Not unless you want me to,” she said.

“No, I’d really like it if you stuck around, Karen.”

She smiled and got to her feet. “Okay, then. I’ll go tell Jessie to expect one more for dinner.”

Forty-five minutes later, Karen met Shane as he was parking his car in front of the McMillans’ house. She knew him from all the times he’d picked up Amelia after her sessions. With his messy, light brown hair, scruffy beard, and perfect white teeth, he looked like a surfer dude, and talked like one half the time. But he had a good heart and was totally devoted to Amelia.

As Shane climbed out of his VW Golf, Karen saw he’d forgone his usual semi-grunge attire and was dressed up in a blue oxford-cloth shirt and khakis. The unruly hair was slicked back with some product. And she saw something else very out of character for Shane: he was crying.

He gave her a forceful hug, and dropped his head on her shoulder. “Shit, I can’t believe they’re dead,” he cried. “How is she? How’s Amelia doing?”

“She’s okay. She just had a bath.” Karen patted his back, then gently pulled away. “Listen, Amelia can’t remember exactly where she took the car last night. She talked to you earlier about the gas.”

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and nodded. “Yeah, looks like she used up about half a tank, but I don’t care. Screw the car. I just feel so bad-”

“How many miles can you get on half a tank in that car?” she asked.

He glanced back at the VW and shrugged. “About a hundred and fifty. What’s the big deal with the car?”

She didn’t go to Wenatchee, Karen assured herself. That was at least 150 miles one way. “Listen, have you cleaned or swept out your car at all since picking it up at my place?”

Mystified, Shane shook his head.

“Amelia thinks she might have left something in it. Do you mind if I take a look?”

He shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

Karen checked the seat and floor on the driver’s side. There wasn’t a drop of blood or a bloody rag anywhere; there was nothing unusual except an empty tequila bottle. Karen checked the glove compartment, then popped the trunk and checked in there. Nothing.

“Busted,” Shane said, nodding at the tequila bottle. “Did she tell you she fell off the wagon last night?”

“Yes, but we’ll worry about that later.” Karen tossed the empty bottle in a recycling bin at the end of the McMillans’ driveway. Then she gave Shane a nudge. “C’mon, I’m counting on you to make sure Amelia puts away some dinner. She hasn’t eaten a thing all day.”

Amelia ate, thank God. Shane sat next to her at the kitchen table. Jessie had set all six places in hopes that Jody might come out of his bedroom and join them. She’d used her charms, along with a root beer and a plateful of chicken tetrazzini and garlic bread, to gain temporary access to his room.

To Karen’s amazement, fifteen minutes into their dinner, Jody shuffled in with a near-empty plate in his hand. He was a good-looking kid, lean with brown eyes and wavy brown hair. “Is there any more of this stuff?” he asked quietly.

Jessie sprung up from the table and grabbed his plate. She got him a second helping-and got him to sit with them at the table. Shane asked Jody if he could crash in his room for the night. Whichever bunk was free, he didn’t care. He just didn’t want to be far from Amelia. If Jody still needed to be alone, he didn’t show it. In fact, he seemed honored to have his cousin’s boyfriend, a college guy, asking to bunk with him for the night.

Karen sat at the head of the crowded table in Ina McMillan’s breakfast nook. She remembered how she’d eaten dinner alone in front of the TV the night after Haley had died, and she’d done the same thing the night she’d put her father in Sandpoint View Convalescent Home. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself; she just wished she had family.

She looked at Amelia on the other side of the table. Shane had his arm around her. But Amelia stared back at her with a sad little smile. She nodded, and silently mouthed the words, Thank you, Karen.

Karen smiled and nodded back. And she felt as if she had family after all.

When George trudged through the front door at 12:40 A.M., Jessie began heating up his dinner. He made the rounds, checking in on his kids, kissing them goodnight, and then briefly chatting with Amelia and Shane, who were down in the basement, watching TV.

When he came back up upstairs, Karen asked to talk to him alone. He looked so tired and depleted, but said, “Of course.” They stopped by the kitchen, where he poured them each a glass of wine-and another for Jessie. Then Karen followed him into the study. He closed the door after her, then nodded toward the easy chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Karen sat down. “Thanks. And thank you for getting the police off Amelia’s case today. She was very confused and distraught this afternoon, understandably so. But-well, it wouldn’t have been good for her to talk to anyone, especially the police.”

“Did she tell you about her premonition?” he asked.

Karen nodded. “Yes, sort of.”

George sipped his wine. “Does Amelia think she’s responsible for what happened? Is that why you wanted to talk to me?”

Dumbfounded, Karen just stared up him. “How did you know?”

“She had a premonition about Collin’s death too. At one point, she even told Ina she thought she’d murdered him. Didn’t make any sense. She was a hundred miles away when he drowned.” George sighed, and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper-colored hair. “When Amelia called me today with her premonition about trouble at the lake house, I could tell she felt somehow responsible for it. And then her premonition turned out to be true. Anyway, this afternoon, when you wouldn’t let the cops talk to her, that cinched it. I figured you were covering for her.”

He had another hit of wine, and frowned. “It’s crazy. Thank God she didn’t say anything about it in front of the kids. You’re her therapist. Why would she blame herself for this? I mean, is it some guilt thing left over from her childhood or what?”

“I’m really not sure what it is in Amelia’s case,” Karen admitted. “But you’re right, a childhood trauma could explain a lot. Amelia doesn’t have much recollection from the time before the Faradays adopted her. I understand they had problems trying to track down information about the biological parents.”

He nodded. “There was a fire at the adoption agency.”

“Do you know the name of the place?”

“No, but it was in Spokane. I’m sure the adoption papers are somewhere at Mark and Jenna’s house. Amelia and I need to drive up there this week to go over whatever legal documents need going over. I’ll keep an eye open for those adoption papers, if you think they might help.”

Karen nodded. “Yes, thank you. They might end up helping Amelia-a lot.”

He plopped down in the desk chair. “God, I don’t want her knowing about this…. thing that happened between her dad and her aunt.” He slowly shook his head. “I’m pretty sure it was just one time, one little episode. Still, for a while there, I didn’t think I could ever forgive Ina. Then I saw her tonight, lying on that gurney. Suddenly, her stupid little sin didn’t matter anymore.” His tired eyes filled with tears. He sat up, and cleared his throat. “Sorry, I hardly know you. I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Karen said, waving away the apology. “I’m a therapist. People get emotional around me all the time. It’s a hazard of my occupation. I’m used to it.”

He just rubbed his forehead.

Karen winced a little at what she’d just said. It sounded stupid. She shifted around in her chair. “Listen, George, if it’s any help, I already talked to Amelia about what happened between your wife and…and Mark.”

He took his hand away from his forehead and stared at her. “You told her…about my wife’s indiscretions?”

“Yes, I–I needed to convince Amelia that her father was responsible for last night-and not her. She didn’t have any idea about how difficult things were at home for her parents.”

“But she didn’t have to know,” he argued. “I discussed it with the cops. They weren’t going to put it in the official report. Don’t you see? Amelia didn’t need to know.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” Karen said, wincing. “I was worried the police were going to tell her. I didn’t want her to hear it from them. If it-if it’s any consolation, Amelia seemed to take the news in her stride. And she even thanked me for telling her.”

“Well, please don’t expect me to thank you,” he muttered.

“I think I should probably go,” Karen said. “After everything you’ve been through today, the last thing I wanted to do was upset you. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t go. Forget it. I’m just very, very tired,” he grumbled. Then he swilled down the rest of his wine.

Karen didn’t say anything. She felt awful. At the same time, she tried not to take his abrupt sullenness too personally. The poor man was exhausted, and emotionally devastated.

George pulled himself up from the chair. “Then we’re done?”

Karen stood up, too. “Actually, I wanted to ask if you recall Amelia ever having any other premonitions, before the one she had about Collin’s death. When she was growing up, did she show signs of being clairvoyant?”

“You mean like ESP?” He shook his head. “No. I didn’t hear about any special gifts along those lines. I heard a lot about the nightmares when she was a kid. She had these weird phantom pains, too.”

Karen nodded. “Yes, I heard about those. That’s why in junior high school she started sneaking into her parents’ liquor cabinet. She was scared to go to sleep, because of the nightmares. The alcohol made her not worry so much, and she’d pass out. It helped numb the pain, too.”

He brandished his empty wine glass. “Well, right now, that sounds like an excellent idea.”

Karen kept a distance as she followed him from the study back to the kitchen. He refilled his glass with wine, then topped off Karen’s and Jessie’s glasses. He thanked Jessie profusely as she served him a plateful of chicken tetrazzini. Then he sat down at the head of the breakfast table. He took two bites, and said, “Wow, this is good.” But he suddenly seemed to have difficulty swallowing.

Karen stood back near the stove, but she could see tears in his eyes.

George McMillan started to sob over his dinner. “I’m sorry, I can’t eat,” he cried. “I’m sorry-after you went to all that trouble….”

Jessie patted his shoulder. She pulled a chair over, and then plopped down beside George. Her chubby arms went around him while he wept on her shoulder. “It’s okay, honey,” she whispered. “Don’t you worry about it.”

Karen remained by the stove, watching them. She knew, from eating alone so often and on certain nights, that it was hard to swallow while crying.