The Final Victim(23)

Easy come, easy go, Gib thinks as he crawls into bed alone.

Phyllida is awakened by Brian's prodding hand in her side, his stale, boozy breath wafting beneath her nostrils.

She yawns, opening her eyes to darkness. "What time is it?"

No reply, just an urgent, "Come on, Phyll," as he tugs at her cotton nightgown.

"Come on, what?" She rolls away-or tries to. This isn't their California King. There's little room to escape him on a full-sized mattress that butts up against the wall on her side.

"You know…"

She knows. And she isn't in the mood.

"Did you just get home now?" she asks, flinching beneath his cold touch on her bare skin.

"No, I got home hours ago. You were asleep." He moves closer and nuzzles the back of her neck with his razor stubble.

Phyllida endures it for a few moments, wondering if he might actually be able to arouse her for a change.

Nah. Try as she might, she can't even pretend he's somebody else. There are occasions when that works, but not this time.

"Stop, Brian. We can't," she tells him softly, nudging his probing fingers from her hip.

"Sure we can."

"No. The baby is right here."

Baby? Wills is no more a baby than Brian is the man of her dreams.

Yet her son is sleeping in a crib again, and right here in the room, a mere few feet from their bed, just as he was as an infant Back then, of course, it was with great reluctance that Phyllida warded off her husband's advances.

"He's asleep," Brian protests, just like old times.

Unswayed, Phyllida whispers, "If he wakes up, he'll be traumatized for life."

"Yeah, right." He resumes his neck-nuzzling.

She brushes him away. "Seriously, Brian, cut it out."

"Jesus, you're no fun anymore, you know that?" 'Yeah, I know. You keep reminding me."

He rolls onto his back, the bedsprings creaking loudly beneath his weight.

She wonders if he really was here, asleep beside her, for hours as he claimed.

She wouldn't know. As Brian likes to say, she sleeps like the dead.

"What time is it?" Phyllida asks again.

"Who knows? Four? Five?"

She groans. "I'm going back to sleep."

So leave me alone.

The unspoken words linger in the darkness between them.

Back in her room at last, Lianna goes straight to the antique dressing table, turns on the lamp, and looks into the slightly wavy looking glass that has undoubtedly reflected countless other-and much prettier-Remington females before her.

Her nose wrinkled in distaste, Lianna leans into the mirror, checking her straw-colored hair for cobwebs.

None are visible, though she swears she can feel them lingering.

The trip back up two flights of stairs in total darkness was almost as much fun as running into her mother's creepy cousin in the upstairs hall. She shudders, as much due to dunking about Gib as at the memory of hearing something scamper in her wake on the return trip to her room.

Is it really worth all this, just to be with Kevin?

No, she concludes with little deliberation. He's kind of a jerk. Cute, but a jerk.

Still, it's not just about Kevin.

It's about freedom. It's about evading her mother's constant stranglehold, about being in charge of her own life for a change.

Lianna turns away from the mirror and changes swiftly into pajamas, tossing her shorts and T-shirt in a heap on the floor.

Hearing a clattering sound, she realizes that it's the key to the back door. She forgot to return it to its hiding place in the garden.

Oh, well. She'll do it some other time.

She tosses it into a drawer, turns off the lamp, climbs into her bed, and wearily decides she's had enough of sneaking out into the night… for now.

But the secret stairway will beckon again. Of that, she has no doubt.

And it's comforting just to know it's there whenever she feels the need to escape.

Dawn creeps gray and rainy over the Atlantic sky, washing away the remains of a strange, restless night.

At last, the players are in place for Act Two, the first act having drawn to a satisfying close.

Soon enough, the residents of Oakgate-past and present, permanent and temporary-will find themselves playing out a drama nobody could have seen coming.

Nobody but me.

The stage must be set for the next act

And life must go on normally.

Rather, as close to normally as possible after a death. Even when that death claimed an old man who had long overstayed his welcome.

Interesting, how many ways there are to make death seem accidental.

The right poisons, administered in the right doses, can approximate any number of fatal illnesses without leaving a readily discernable trace.

Or, an electrical device thrown into a tub of water can result in fatal cardiac arrhythmia that leaves no outward signs, giving the appearance of a heart attack.

All you have to do is remove the device from the water, and nobody will be the wiser.

But it has to be the right kind of device. These days, household appliances have ground-fault circuit interrupters that turn off the power instantly in the case of immersion.

Years ago, there were no such precautions. Toasters, lamps - and yes, radios - lacked breakers that would prevent accidental electrocution.