Comes The Blind Fury Part 17

"He's-he's changed," Mich.e.l.le said softly, so softly June had to strain to hear her.

"Changed?" June echoed. "How?" But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer.

"Ever since I fell," Mich.e.l.le began, but then another storm of tears broke over her. "He doesn't love me anymore," she wailed. "Ever since I fell, he doesn't love me!"

June rocked her gently, trying to comfort her. "No, darling, that isn't true. You know that isn't true. He loves you very much. Very, very much."

"Well, he doesn't act like it," Mich.e.l.le sobbed. "He-he never plays with me anymore, and he doesn't talk to me, and when I try to talk to him he-he goes somewhere else."

"Oh, now that isn't true," June said, though she knew it was. She had been afraid of this moment, sure that sooner or later Mich.e.l.le was going to realize that something had happened to Cal, and that it had to do with her. She could feel Mich.e.l.le s.h.i.+vering in her arms, though the studio was warm.

"It is is true," Mich.e.l.le was saying, her voice m.u.f.fled in the folds of June's blouse. "This morning I asked him if I could go to the office with him. I only wanted to sit in the waiting room and read the magazines! But he wouldn't let me." true," Mich.e.l.le was saying, her voice m.u.f.fled in the folds of June's blouse. "This morning I asked him if I could go to the office with him. I only wanted to sit in the waiting room and read the magazines! But he wouldn't let me."

"I'm sure it wasn't that he didn't want you with him," June lied. "He probably had a busy day, and didn't think he'd have much time for you."

"He never never has time for me. Not anymore!" has time for me. Not anymore!"

June pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket, and dried Mich.e.l.le's eyes. "I'll tell you what," she said. "I'll have a talk with him tonight, and explain to him that it's important for you to get out of the house. Then maybe he'll take you along tomorrow. Okay?"

Mich.e.l.le sniffled a little, blew her nose into the handkerchief, and shrugged. "I guess," she replied, straightening up and trying to smile. "He does still love me, doesn't he?"

"Of course he does," June a.s.sured her once again. "I'm sure there's nothing wrong at all. Now, let's talk about something else." She cast about in her mind quickly. "like school, for instance. Don't you think it's about time you thought about going back?"

Mich.e.l.le shook her head uncertainly. "I don't want to go back to school. Everybody will laugh at me. They always laugh at cripples."

"Maybe they will at first," June conceded. "But you just turn the other cheek, and ignore it. Besides, you're not crippled. You just limp a little. And soon you won't even limp anymore."

"Yes, I will," Mich.e.l.le said evenly. "I'll limp for the rest of my life."

"No," June protested. "You'll get well. You'll be fine."

Mich.e.l.le shook her head. "No I won't. I'll get used to it, but I won't be fine." Painfully, she got to her feet. "Is it all right if I go for a walk?"

"A walk?" June asked doubtfully. "Where?"

"Along the bluff. I won't go very far." Her eyes searched her mother's face. "If I'm going to go back to school, I'd better practice, hadn't I?"

Go back to school? A minute ago she said she didn't want to go back to school. In confusion, June nodded her agreement. "Of course. But be careful, sweetheart. And please, don't try to go down to the beach, all right?"

"I won't," Mich.e.l.le promised. She started toward the studio door but suddenly stopped, her eyes fixed on the stain on the floor. "I thought that was gone."

June shook her head. "We tried, but it wouldn't come out. Maybe if I knew what it was..."

"Why don't you ask Dr. Carson? He probably knows."

"Maybe I will," June said. Then: "How long will you be gone?"

"However long it takes," Mich.e.l.le said. Leaning on her cane, she slowly went out into the sunlight.

Josiah Carson stared up at the ceiling, ran one hand through his thick mane of nearly white hair, and drummed the fingers of his other hand on the desk top in front of him. As always when he was alone, he was thinking about Alan Hanley. Things had been going well until that day when Alan had fallen from the roof. Or had had he fallen? he fallen?

Josiah was sure he hadn't. Over the years, too many things had happened in his house, too many people had died.

His mind drifted back to his wife, Sarah, and the days when life had seemed to him to be perfect. He and Sarah were going to have a family-a big family-but it hadn't worked out that way. Sarah had died giving birth to his daughter. She shouldn't have died-there was no reason for it. She had been healthy, the pregnancy had been easy, but as his daughter was born, Sarah had died. Josiah had survived the loss, pouring his love out to his daughter, little Sarah.

And then, when Sarah was just twelve, it had happened.

He still didn't know how it had happened.

He came downstairs one morning and opened the huge walk-in refrigerator in the kitchen.

On the floor, holding a doll that Josiah had never seen before, he found his daughter, dead.

Why had she gone into the refrigerator? Josiah never knew.

He buried little Sarah and with her, he buried the doll.

After that, he had lived alone, and as the years, more than forty of them, pa.s.sed, he had begun to believe that he was safe, that nothing more was going to happen.

And then, Alan Hanley had fallen.

In his own mind he was convinced that Alan hadn't simply lost his footing. No, there was more to it than that, and the doll was the proof.

The doll he had buried with his daughter.

The doll he had found under Alan's broken body.

The doll Mich.e.l.le Pendleton had shown him.

Josiah had wanted to talk to Alan about the doll, but the boy had never regained consciousness: Cal Pendleton had let him die.

Had killed him, really.

If Cal hadn't killed him, Josiah could have found out what had actually happened on the roof that day-what Alan had seen, and felt, and heard. He could have found out what was happening in his house, what had happened to his family. Now he'd never know. Cal Pendleton had ruined it for him.

But he'd get even.

He was already starting to get even.

It had been so easy, once he'd found out how guilty Cal felt about Alan. From there it was easy. Sell him the practice. Sell him the house. It had worked.

He'd gotten Cal into the house, and the doll was back.

Cal's daughter had the doll now.

And whatever was happening, it was no longer happening to the Carsons.

Now it was happening to the Pendletons.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices from the examining room next to the office, where Cal was examining Lisa Hartwick.

Cal had tried to beg off examining Lisa, but Josiah hadn't let him. He knew how frightened Cal was of children now, how he had a feeling-reasonable or not-that whatever he did with a child, it was going to be wrong, and he was going to hurt the child.

Josiah Carson understood those feelings.

In the examining room, Lisa Hartwick stared at Cal, her light brown bangs nearly hiding her suspicious eyes. When he asked her to open her mouth, she pouted.

"Why should I?"

"So I can look at your throat," Cal told her. "If I can't see it, I can't tell you why it's sore, can I?"

"It isn't sore. I just told Daddy that so I wouldn't have to go to school."

Cal put down his tongue depressor, a feeling of relief flooding through him. With this child, at least, there was no immediate threat. Still, she wasn't the nicest child he'd ever run across. In fact, he found himself disliking her intensely. "I see," he replied. "Don't you like school?"

Lisa shrugged. "It's okay. I just can't stand the snotty kids around here. If you weren't born here, they never want to be your friends."

"Oh, I don't know," Cal replied. "Mich.e.l.le's made some friends."

"That's what she she thinks," Lisa said. "Wait'll she goes back to school." Then she c.o.c.ked her head, and stared impudently at Cal. "Is it true that she can't walk?" thinks," Lisa said. "Wait'll she goes back to school." Then she c.o.c.ked her head, and stared impudently at Cal. "Is it true that she can't walk?"

Cal felt himself flush. When he answered, his voice was gruff. "She can walk just fine. There's nothing wrong with her, and pretty soon she'll be as good as new. She just got banged up a little." He knew he was lying, but he couldn't help himself-it made things easier if he pretended Mich.e.l.le was going to be all right. And maybe-just maybe-she would be.

"Well, that's not what I heard," Lisa said, hopping off the examining table. Her expression changed suddenly, and her face took on a vulnerability Cal hadn't seen since she showed up in the office. "I don't have a mother, either," she said softly.

For a moment Cal wasn't sure what she meant, but then it came to him. "But Mich.e.l.le has a mother," he said. "We adopted her when she was just a baby."

"Oh," said Lisa, and Cal thought he could see disappointment in her eyes.

"Still," Cal went on smoothly, "I suppose the two of you do have some things in common. Neither one of you was born here, and even though Mich.e.l.le's a full-fledged orphan, you're half a one, aren't you? Maybe you should come out and see Mich.e.l.le sometime...." He deliberately left the question hanging in the air. For a moment he thought Lisa was going to pick it up. But she didn't, not quite.

"Maybe I will," she said halfheartedly. "But maybe I won't, either." Before Cal could reply to her rudeness, she was gone.

When Cal came into the office they were sharing, Josiah Carson pretended to be engrossed in a medical journal. Only when Cal had seated himself at his makes.h.i.+ft desk did Carson glance up.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

Cal shrugged. "She's a difficult child."

"She's a brat," Carson stated.

"Well, life isn't easy for her."

"Life isn't easy for any of us," Josiah said pointedly.

Cal flinched visibly, then met Carson's eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The old doctor shrugged elaborately. "Make of it what you will."

It was as if he'd pulled a plug. Cal sagged in his chair, his eyes as lifeless as his posture. He looked bleakly at Carson.

"Josiah, what am I going to do? I can't face Mich.e.l.le, I can't talk to her, I can't even touch her. I keep thinking about Alan Hanley, and wondering what I did wrong. And what I did wrong with Mich.e.l.le."

"We all make mistakes, Cal," Josiah said. "We can't blame ourselves for showing bad judgment under pressure. We just have to accept our limitations, and live with them."

He paused, trying to a.s.sess Cal's reaction. Maybe he'd pushed him too far. But Cal was watching him, concentrating on what he was saying. Josiah smiled and took another tack. "Maybe it's all my fault Certainly what happened to Mich.e.l.le is my fault. If I hadn't sold you that d.a.m.ned house-"

Cal glanced at Josiah sharply. "'d.a.m.ned house'? Why did you say that?"

Josiah s.h.i.+fted in his chair. "I probably shouldn't have. Call it a slip of the tongue."

But Cal was not to be put off.

"Is there something about that house I should know?"

"Not really," Carson said carefully. "I guess I just think it's an unlucky house. First Alan Hanley. Now Mich.e.l.le...." His voice trailed off.

Cal stared at him, feeling cheated. He loved the house, more every day, and wanted to hear nothing bad about it. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said. "For me, it's a good house."

He took off his white jacket, ready to go home for lunch. He was at the door when he suddenly turned back.

"Josiah?"

Carson looked at him inquiringly.

"Josiah, I just want you to know-I appreciate everything you've done for me. I don't know how I'd have gotten through all of this without you. I consider myself very lucky to have a friend like you." Then, embarra.s.sed by his own words, Cal hurried out of the office.

Alone once more, Carson's mind went back to the words that had caught Cal's attention.

d.a.m.ned house.

And that's what it is, he thought. An image came to his mind, an image of a stain, spread thickly on the floor of the potting-shed.

A stain that no one had ever been able to get rid of.

A stain that had haunted his life. Irrationally, he was convinced that it was somehow connected to Mich.e.l.le Pendleton's doll.

Now, he was sure, it would haunt the Pendletons.

Indeed, it was already beginning.

Josiah Carson didn't pretend to know exactly what it was about the house that made things happen to the people who lived there, but he had his suspicions. And it was beginning to look like his suspicions were correct. For Mich.e.l.le, it had already begun. And it would go on, and on, and on....

Mich.e.l.le stood in the cemetery, staring at the tiny stone with the single word on it: AMANDA.

She tried to make her mind blank, as if by closing out her thoughts, she would be able to hear the voice better. It worked.

She could hear the voice, far away, but coming closer.