Cutler - Midnight Whipsers Part 48

"I'll be all right, Gavin. I'm not letting them abuse me anymore. Jefferson's being flown in tonight.

We're going to the hospital to be with him when he arrives," I said.

"Call me as soon as you know anything, okay?

Promise?"

"You don't need me to promise, Gavin. I'll call 'you. You and Jefferson are the only two people I care about right now."

"I love you, Christie. I loved all of our tender moments at The Meadows," he said softly.

"Me too."

"I'll wait for your phone call," he said. "Bye."

"Bye."

I cradled the phone and returned to the dinner table. They all looked up in antic.i.p.ation when I arrived.

"I'm not hungry anymore," I announced. "I'll wait upstairs, Uncle Philip. Call me when you're ready."

"Ready for what?" Aunt Bet demanded.

"We're going to the hospital," he said. "Jefferson's on his way."

"You didn't tell me that," she said.

"Didn't I? Oh. Well, it must have just slipped my mind. We had a busy day working on the hotel today," he said quickly and looked down at his food.

Aunt Bet scowled at him and then s.h.i.+fted her eyes at me.

"I told you what she did to the twins today. You were going to speak to her about it, Philip. Well?" He looked up at me.

"Now's not the time," he told her.

"It certainly is the time. Why . . ."

"It's not the time!" he declared with more firm-ness in his voice than he had shown since I had returned.

Aunt Bet turned crimson and pressed her lips together. She nodded, her head bobbing as if her neck were a spring on which it rested.

"I'll wait upstairs," I repeated and left them sitting and eating in their morgue-like atmosphere.

A little more than a half-hour later, Uncle Philip knocked on my door. He had changed his clothes and wore the strangest things-a pair of jeans, sneakers, a black sweats.h.i.+rt and a black and gold jacket that had his name embroidered above the breast pocket.

"Ready?" he asked, smiling. He saw how I was staring. "Oh, this is my high school jacket with my varsity letter," he explained and turned around to show me the Emerson Peabody patch sewn on the back of the jacket. "Still fits pretty good, eh?"

I rose slowly and put on my own light cotton jacket. Something frightened me about his wearing his high school clothes. I didn't know why it should, but it did. He stepped back as I walked out of my room.

"You look very nice," he said. "Very nice."

I wondered if Aunt Bet was coming along with us at least to pretend some interest in Jefferson, but she sat downstairs reading and listening to the twins tinker on the piano. None of them even looked our way as we proceeded to the front door. Uncle Philip opened it for me. I was expecting Julius and the limousine, but Uncle Philip had brought his own, rarely used car up front instead.

"Where's Julius?" I asked.

"It's his night off," Uncle Philip said.

"I'm sure he would have wanted to come."

"Oh, Julius has a girlfriend, a widow he sees over in Hadleyville. He even hints about getting married," Uncle Philip said, smiling. He opened the door for me and I got into the car. Then he moved around quickly to get in the front seat and drive us off.

The night sky was overcast so that even the sliver of moon was hidden. The darkness seemed thicker to me, especially when we left Cutler's Cove and headed toward Virginia Beach. Uncle Philip was oddly silent. I had been expecting him to babble just the way he had on our plane trip back, but all he did was drive and stare out at the road. When I gazed at him, I saw a strange, soft smile form on his lips.

"What a night, what a night," he finally said. I didn't think anything of it, although I wouldn't have called this night very remarkable. The ocean on our right looked inky. I didn't even see one small boat light. It was as if the stormy sky had joined with the sea and one ran into the other. A night sky without any stars or moon was just a vast empty wasteland of bleak darkness to me.

"You were wonderful," he added a few moments later.

"Pardon me?"

"The faces on the people in the audience . . ."

He looked at me. "You couldn't see them like I could, not with the lights in your eyes. I know. I've been on a stage, too."

"Stage? What are you talking about, Uncle Philip?" My heart began to pound.

"You've got the prettiest voice I've ever heard.

And I'm not just saying that," he said quickly.

"What?"

"I'm so proud of you, proud you're my girlfriend," he said and suddenly he slowed down and turned the car onto a beach road.

"Uncle Philip!" I sat up. "Where are you going?"

"To the top of the world, remember? I promised I would show it to you. Well, here it is," he said, coming to a stop. He sat back and looked out the window at the pitch-dark night. "Ever see so many lights?"

"What lights? What are you talking about?

Uncle Philip, we're on our way to the hospital . . to Jefferson."

"I told you," he said, not hearing me. "I told you I would teach you things; I would show you things." He slid over to my side and put his arm around my shoulders.

"Stop!" I cried. "Uncle Philip."

He clutched my shoulder firmly and started to bring me toward him, his lips moving toward mine.

"Dawn , . . oh Dawn," he said.

I screamed and pushed my hand into his face, digging my nails into his cheeks to push him back.

Then I spun around and grabbed hold of the door handle. He seized the collar of my jacket, but I opened the door and pulled myself forward. My jacket came off in his hands. I felt his fingernails tear down the back of my neck in the process, but I wasn't concerned with the pain; I was only thinking of escape.- - As soon as I was out of the car, I ran down the beach.

"DAWN!".

I heard him coming after me. The ocean roared to my right and there seemed to be miles of sand to my left. I charged forward, tripping and falling on the beach and then pulling myself up and running again.

Just when I thought I was away from him, however, I felt his arms wrap around my waist and we both went down on the sand.

"I want . . . to show . . . to teach you . . .

things," he gasped. His hands were over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and his fingers began to fumble with the b.u.t.tons on my blouse. I kicked up and twisted myself wildly to get out from under him, but he was too heavy and too strong. His fingernails tore down the side of my neck and onto my chest. I screamed and screamed and then I clutched a handful of sand and turned to him.

Even in the pitch darkness, I could see his eyes gleaming, his skin moist with perspiration. "Dawn . .

"I'm not Dawn! I'm not!" I screamed and tossed the sand into his face.

He cried out and when he brought his hands to his eyes, I spun over, slipped out from under him and scampered to my feet. Then I charged away again, this time running to my left. I ran and ran until I heard the sound of a car and realized I had reached the highway.

I broke out onto the road, into the headlights of the oncoming vehicle. I heard the brakes squeal and saw the car veer to the left, but the driver never stopped.

He kept going, his tail lights becoming smaller and smaller in the darkness, like the eyes of a retreating wolf.

I walked on and on, afraid now that one of the oncoming cars might be Uncle Philip. Finally, I saw the outskirts of Cutler's Cove. But I didn't go into the village. I turned up the road that led to Bronson Alcott's house instead. It took me nearly an hour more to reach his home on the hill. My clothes torn, my legs aching, dirty and sweaty, I rapped on the door and waited. He opened it himself.

"Christie!" he said in shock, and I fell forward into his arms.

Still in a daze, I lay on the sofa in the living room. Bronson had Mrs. Berme bring a wet cloth to put on my forehead and then went himself to fetch me a gla.s.s of water. He returned with it quickly and then he helped me sit up so I could drink.

"Now begin slowly," he said when I lay back against the pillow on the sofa, "and tell me everything. I didn't even know you had returned. I'm surprised and very upset that no one told me. Your uncle and aunt knew how concerned I've been."

"It doesn't surprise me that he never called you," I said and took a deep breath before starting.

Even now, even after this frightening and horrible episode with Uncle Philip, it was difficult for me to seek Bronson's help. It embarra.s.sed me, and even though I was sure everyone would tell me I had no reason to feel guilty and ashamed, I couldn't help but have those feelings.

Bronson listened attentively, his eyebrows lifting when I began to describe my reason for first running away. He gazed at Mrs. Berme and she left the room, a.s.suming he wanted us to be alone to discuss such personal matters.

Afterward, Bronson sat back, stunned. Then he looked at me sympathetically.

"Betty Ann told me you ran away because you were very upset over her household rules. After you and I had had that earlier discussion, I just a.s.sumed that was the reason," he said apologetically. "I should have paid more attention to some of the things you were telling me. I'm sorry. I would have never permitted him to fetch you and Jefferson and put you through such a horrible experience. Where did this latest episode occur?" he asked.

"He was taking me to see Jefferson at the hospital," I said and I described the beach road Uncle Philip had taken. Bronson nodded, his face hardening, his eyes growing small and sharp. Then he stood up and went to the telephone. I heard him call the local police.

"This is all very nasty business," he said, returning. "You've been through a terrible time, but it's all going to end now I promise you that," he said firmly. "You and Jefferson will come to live with me.

If you want to, that is."

"Oh yes," I said quickly. "I always did." He nodded and then smiled.

"It might be nice having a little boy around here. The house could use the pitter-patter of young feet and the sound of a child's laughter again," he said.

"And goodness knows, it needs the gentle touch of a young lady once more," he added, looking toward the portrait of his long-dead sister. "I look forward to you and your brother . . ."

"Jefferson!" I said sitting up quickly. "I'm not sure Uncle Philip was telling me the truth now.

Maybe he wasn't transferred. Maybe he's still in Lynchburg!"

"I'll find out about him right away," Bronson said. "In the meantime, you go into the bathroom and wash those nasty scratches. have Mrs. Berme bring you some disinfectant. I'm sorry," he said again, "I'm sorry I wasn't more aware of how difficult things were for you and Jefferson."

"Don't blame yourself. You had your hands full with my grandmother, Bronson."

"Yes," he said, finally admitting it. "Yes, I did.

But strange as it may seem, I miss her, even in her fragile state of mind. Every once in a while, she would become herself again and we 'would have some precious moments," he said, smiling at his recollections. "But now I'll have you and your brother to cheer up this big, sad house." He pushed down on his knees and stood up. "Go on," he said. "Take care of your injuries and let me call the hospital."

I went to the bathroom and peeled off my blouse slowly, my shoulders aching and my skin burning in spots. When I looked at myself in the mirror, it seemed I still had the imprint of terror on my face. My eyes remained wild, my hair disheveled.

I traced the scratches on my collarbone and chest and then squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn't start to cry again. Mrs. Berme knocked on the bathroom door and then came in to give me the medicine.

"You poor dear," she said, looking at my back.

I hadn't realized how sc.r.a.ped up I was. It must have happened when he threw me to the ground and I struggled to get out from under him, I thought. Mrs.

Berme washed and dressed my wounds without asking any embarra.s.sing questions. A little while later, Bronson came to tell us Jefferson was indeed at the hospital in Virginia Beach.

"He's doing fine, too," he added.

"Can we go see him?" I asked.

"Absolutely, my dear. If you're sure you're up to it, that is," he added.

"Oh, I'm up to it. I never thought I would miss him as much as I do."

Bronsen laughed. We heard the doorbell ring and Mrs. Berme scurried off to see who it was. It was a tall, dark-haired policeman. I followed Bronson down the corridor slowly to greet him in the entryway.

"Evening, Mr. Alcoa," he said. He looked at me. "This is Dawn?"

"Dawn? No, no, this is her daughter, Christie.

What made you say Dawn?" Bronson asked. I stepped closer to him and he took my hand quickly. It was eerie to hear a policeman use my mother's name like that.

"Well, we went down to the beach, to where you described, to begin our search and we found the car still there. A short while afterward, Charley Robinson, that's my partner," he explained, gazing down at me, "Charley, he hears someone on the beach. So we walked out aways and sure enough, we heard him screaming for Dawn."

"Oh no," I said, pressing my hand to my heart.

"Mr. Cutler?" Bronson asked.