A Deep and Dark December(4)

His grief over his wife’s death filled the room, pouring from him into Erin. Her chest ached with it. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. Why? Why her? She wasn’t made for this, didn’t have the capacity to deal with…dear God…murder. This was murder, not the suicide she’d seen.

They needed help. Erin pulled her cell phone from her purse, her hand shaking so bad that she almost dropped it. “We need to call 9-1-1.”

“No! You can’t. You can’t.”

“Please, Greg. We need help.”

“Don’t.” He came up kneeling, his hands clasped over his chest. “They won’t believe me. They’ll think I did it.”

“Greg…”

Tears lined his face, falling in fat drops like the rain just beginning outside. “She was going to leave me.” He sank back down on his haunches. Deidre stared blankly at the ceiling as her husband caressed her once again. “I don’t blame you, baby. I was an *. I can’t believe you stayed as long as you did. God, you’re so beautiful. What am I going to do without you?”

Erin spoke quietly into her phone, her heart beating so hard she could hardly get the words out. “Can you send the sheriff to—”

Greg whipped his head toward her, jerking back as if she’d slapped him.

“—321 Amiable Lane.”

Erin recognized the police dispatcher’s voice. Mabel Johnson was a lot of things, including a good friend of her aunt’s, but discreet wasn’t one of them. Erin would set the phone tree ablaze with her next words.

“There’s been a…murder.”

“A murder!” Mabel exclaimed.

Erin could hear Jessica, the sheriff’s secretary, in the background, rushing over to where Mabel sat at the dispatcher’s desk. “Who’s murdered?” Jessica asked Mabel.

“I don’t know yet,” Mabel told Jessica. “Let me ask Erin. Erin, honey, who’s been murdered?”

Erin didn’t like the glee in Mabel’s voice or the fact that Jessica probably had her ear pressed to Mabel’s so she could hear everything Erin said.

Erin’s gaze fell to the woman on the floor. She was so young. “Deidre Lasiter.”

Greg stood, glaring at her as though she’d betrayed him, the gun balanced in his shaky palm. She’d managed to keep the panic from her voice, but it made her lightheaded and sick.

“Are you sure she’s dead, honey?”

“Yes.” Erin wanted to scream. “Can you please just send the sheriff?” She punched the off button on her phone and shoved it into her coat pocket, trying to hide her trembling hands.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Greg said, inching closer.

“I’m sorry. I-I had to.”

“Deidre’s killer will go free.”

“It’s going to be all right.”

“No, it’s not! You don’t get it.” His eyes held wild violence, like the sky churning and spitting outside. He put the barrel of the gun to his head and cocked it. Snot dripped down his lips and chin. “All you Decembers are supposed to be some kind of f*cking clairvoyants, aren’t you?”

“No. Not me.”

“Did you predict this?”

Shaking her head, she put her palms up. “No, Greg. Don’t. Please don’t.”

He held her gaze for a moment and then he closed his eyes.

“Noooo!”

He pulled the trigger. Blood shot out, splattering everywhere. Erin knocked into the doorframe behind her. Greg crashed to the floor next to his wife. His blood mixed with hers. A fine red mist covered Erin from head to toe. She gasped for air—her head reeling—and almost dropped to her hands and knees. Righting herself, she scampered backwards. Into the living room with its grayed walls and orphaned furniture. To the porch with its pumpkins that no one would carve. Over the walk to the rotting gate. And out onto the deserted sidewalk.

Lightning flashed overhead. Rain pelted as if a thousand accusing fingers poked at her, each one blaming. She lurched into the street and turned to look at the house. It glared back with its black-windowed eyes and fat, picketed mouth. It, too, condemned her. She should have seen this. Why hadn’t she seen this? Her chest heaved, her skin prickling in the cold damp air. In the distance, a siren wailed over the pounding of the rain.

The house blurred and she swiped at her eyes. Pink tinged water mixed with the black of mascara on her hands. The shaking started with a jolt. She wrapped her arms around herself to control it. Greg. Bile bubbled at the back of her throat until she bent over and let it all out, heaving into the cracks in the pavement.

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, stumbled over to the curb, and dropped onto the wet cement. The trembling wouldn’t stop. Why didn’t I see this? She slammed her fists on her thighs. Damn it! Why had the vision been so wrong? What could she have done differently?

The sheriff’s patrol car slammed to a halt in front of 321 Amiable Lane. She watched him climb out and look around. A second patrol car screeched to a stop at the curb, then another and another. San Rey’s entire police force had shown up. This was big news. There hadn’t been a murder in this town since 1943 when one brother had accidentally run over his twin, knocking him into a ditch where he’d hit his head and died.