Don't Scream Part 24

Oh, Ashley, of course she does, Brynn a.s.sured her, but it sounded, and felt, like a lie. You know she loves you, dont you?

Yeah, I know she does, but Shes not really into being a mom, you know?

What could Brynn say tothat?

She opted for silence and just let Ashley talk, sensing she needed an ear. She talked for a long time, mostly about her mother and how busy she was, and how she wished Fiona didnt have to work so hard all the time.

It takes a lot of energy to run a successful business, and I bet youre proud that your mom has done very well for herself, Brynn heard herself point out, though what she really wanted to say to Ashley was,You poor thing, let me hug you.

Im really proud of her. I just wish she was around more. And I wish I didnt have to go home by myself some days.

Youre home by yourself?

Ashley backpedaled furiously, seeing the look on Brynns face. Only for a few minutes, until my babysitter gets there. Its fine.

No, it wasnt. And Brynn made a mental note to talk to Fiona about it.

If Fiona cant get her sitter there earlier, Brynn decided, shed just offer to have Ashley come here instead.

Finally, catching Ashley trying to stifle a tremendous yawn, Brynn told her it was time for bed. Ashley protested her offer of the master bedroom, but finally relented when Brynn said she was going to wait up late for Garth.

Where will you guys sleep, though? Ashley wanted to know.

Ill sleep on the couch, and Garth will sleep in his recliner when he gets home. He does that most nights anyway.

The thing is He isnt home yet.

The whole time she was watching the movie, she kept lowering the television volume, thinking she heard him coming in. It must have been her imagination.

Where is he?

But, of course, she knows the answer to that question.

Hes on campus, in the library, working on his book.

But its getting really late, and And Im getting really freaked out for no reason,Brynn realizes, rolling onto her back once again.

Everything is fine. Theres nothing to worry about.

Right, you can think thats true from now until next year, but you arent going to get rid of this feeling that something is just wrong.

She doesnt even know what it is.

She only knows that shed feel a whole lot better if Garth was here with her And if she had never gotten that d.a.m.n birthday card for Rachelfrom Rachel?last month.

dear Tildy, Happy Birthday to yoooooouuuuuuu.

Matilda Harrington is really struggling now. Its becoming more difficult to hold on to her.

Stop squirming around, would you?

She reacts with a monumental spasm teamed with an excruciating abdominal kick.

Owwww you little b.i.t.c.h!

In that doubling-over, pain-blinding instant, she has broken free.

Get back here!

She scrambles out of reach, hurtling herself toward the dining room. Dancing candlelight grotesquely distorts her shadow as it darts along the wall toward the closed kitchen door.

Moments later, another shadow looms, and begins to furtively creep after her.

Lying on sagging cus.h.i.+ons with a stray couch spring poking into her ribs, Brynn is increasingly uneasy.

She pulls the blanket more snugly over her shoulders and tries again to relax.

Its long past midnight. She should be sleeping.

Right, and Garth should be home.

She turns onto her left side, the way she usually sleeps, pulling the blanket with her. Its an old one, with squeaky layers of acrylic that send chills down her back. She should throw it away after tonight. Go shopping at Bed, Bath & Beyond, buy some new blankets, new pillows. Maybe a new slipcover for this worn old couch She doesnt like having her face just inches from the back cus.h.i.+on this way. It makes her feel uneasy, as though shes going to tip forward in her sleep and smother.

Smother? Thats a crazy thought.

Her head has been filled with crazy thoughts all night, though. Troubling thoughts.

She flips onto her back again and stares into the darkness, listens for the crunch of tires in the driveway or a key turning in the lock, and she worries.

About Garth. About her boys. About Ashley. Even about Fiona.

Do you think my mom is going to be okay?Ashley asked after Fee leftand again a little while ago, just before bed.What if something bad happens to her?

Outwardly, Brynn rea.s.sured her. Inwardly, she cringed.

Fiona drives much too fast, much too recklessly. She works too hard. She doesnt eat well, when she bothers to eat at all. She smokes too much.

She does all the things maternal instinct should guard against If she possessed a blessed ounce of it.

Yet, so far, Fee has always managed to land on her feet. It seems unfair.

Especially when Brynns mother did everything right.

Marie swam at the Y five mornings a week. She never ate red meat; she bought organic produce back when it was next-to-impossible to find. She didnt smoke, she rarely drank caffeine or liquor, she took vitamins every day She should have lived to be ninety.

It isnt fair.

Even after all these years, an ache rises in Brynns throat: heavy, hard, and hollow as Sues d.a.m.n bowling ball.

But shes starting to realize that it isnt just grief. Not tonight.

Tonight, its something more, a nagging feeling thats settled over her more snugly than this horrible squeaky blanket that smells vaguely of mildew.

Something bad is going to happen.

Yes, thats it,she realizes.Thats whats been bothering me all night.

She takes a deep breath, telling herself shes being ridiculous.

But she cant seem to shake the inexplicable feeling of trepidation.

Matilda Harrington is on her hands and knees, crawling like an animal across the cold slate floor of her beautifully remodeled kitchen.

Shes alone in here for the moment, having allowed the door to swing closed after her, but she knows it wont stay that way for long. Any second now, its going to open and No, dont think about it.

She pushes away the shocking image of the face she glimpsed back thereor thought she glimpsed, in the instant before she bolted.

It cant be can it?

And if it is why?

Why are you here?

Why are you doing this to me?

Even now, remembering the weird party setup in her dining room, she wants to believe its some kind of warped birthday joke.

But it isnt,her gut tells her.You have to get out of here.

She hugs the darkness against the wall, glancing longingly at the back door across the room.

The liquors numbing effects have been obliterated by adrenalin, making way for full-blown panic. Yes, maybe the numbness was preferable to this constricting ache of terror in her chest, but at least Tildy now has the presence of mind to stop herself from making a run for the back door.

That escape path is well illuminated in a pool of light that spills from beneath the ma.s.sive stove hood; if the kitchen door opens before she gets out, sh.e.l.l be in plain sight, and easily caught.

Anyway, even if she made it out the door to the backyard, shed be trapped there by the tall privacy fence. Impossible to climb, the installer a.s.sured her not so long ago; neighborhood kids and would-be burglars wouldnt be trespa.s.sing in her backyard. Theres no way anyone can get in Or out.

No, desperate as she is to flee, shes better off going full circle through the pantry to the back hall that leads through a windowed alcove into the foyer again. From there, she can run out the front door onto the street. Even at this time of night, there has to be somebody around to see her, help her. If by chance there isnt, there are still plenty of people within earshot; all she has to do is run screaming down the avenue and somebody will call the cops.

Fire,she thinks somewhere in the back of her frenzied mind as she crawls across the newly refinished wooden floor of the pantry, which still smells faintly of polyurethane.

If youre in trouble, youre supposed to yellfire,not help.

Isnt that true? That people dont respond to strangers screaminghelp anymore?

She thought she heard that somewhere. Never in her wildest imagination did she think she, Matilda Harrington, might find herself in that kind of trouble.

This kind of trouble.

G.o.d, please help me.

Fighting to keep from erupting into a scream, she rounds the corner into the pitch-black hall.

Dont scream.

If you scream, youre giving off aHere I Am signal.

Dont make a sound.

She feels her way into the alcove, where faint light spills through the bare windowpanes. She glances up, sees tree branches silhouetted against the night sky.

Maybe I can use something to break the window and climb right out from here.

Yes, and that would trigger the alarm system No, she remembers. Somehow, the alarm system isnt working.

And her attacker would be upon her at the sound of breaking gla.s.s, before she could get out through the window.

Her only escape is the front door.

Shes almost there, and still not a sound behind her.

She makes it to the threshold of the foyer, where she struggled so fiercely, frantically, just moments ago Why? Why are you doing this to me?

What did I ever do to deserve this?

Fragmented thoughts flicker in her brain; okay, so shes no saint.

Hot tears slide from her eyes, landing on her hands splayed on the floor.

Shes no saint, but she doesnt deserve to die for her sins.

Die? Oh, my G.o.d, is she about to die? Is that whats actually going to No! Stop it!

She isnt going to die. Not like this, crawling like an animal. Not here, now, on her birthday.

Sh.e.l.l be fine; she just has to stay calm.

And, look, theres the front door. Less than three yards away. Salvation.

The front hall is silent, dark, aside from the faint flickering from the next room, and seemingly deserted.

She inches her way forward, forcing herself to stay low, quiet, calm.

Still no sign of her tormentor.

Tildy is just a couple of inches from the door now.

Almost free.