Are You Afraid Of The Dark Part 5

Kelly was disappointed. 'Nous ne connaissons pas la personne qui repond a ce nom.'

'Pardonnez-moi. C'est une erreur de telephone.'

A wrong number. Kelly put the phone down. As she did, there was a tremendous crash that shook the whole building. A moment later, there was a babble of voices and loud screams. Horrified, she rushed into the hall to see what had happened. The sounds were coming from below. Kelly ran down the stairs, and when she finally reached the lobby, she heard loud, excited voices coming from the bas.e.m.e.nt.

Apprehensively, she went down the stairs to the bas.e.m.e.nt and stood in shock as she saw the crushed elevator car and the horribly mangled body of Madame Lapointe in it. Kelly felt faint. That poor woman. A minute ago she was alive and now. . . And I could have been in there with her. If not for that telephone call. . .

A crowd had gathered around the elevator, and sirens were heard in the distance. I should stay, Kelly thought guiltily, but I can't. I have to leave. She looked at the body and whispered, 'I'm so sorry, Madame Lapointe.'

WHEN KELLY ARRIVED at the fas.h.i.+on salon and walked in the stage door, Pierre, the nervous fas.h.i.+on coordinator, was waiting.

He pounced on her. 'Kelly! Kelly! You're late! The show has already started and-'

'I'm sorry, Pierre. There-there was a bad accident.'

He looked at her in alarm. 'Are you hurt?'

'No.' Kelly closed her eyes for a moment. The idea of going to work after what she had witnessed was nauseating, but she had no choice. She was the star of the show.

'Hurry!' Pierre said. 'Vite!'

Kelly started toward her dressing room.

THE YEAR'S MOST prestigious fas.h.i.+on show was being held at 31 Rue Cambon, Chanel's original salon. The paparazzi were near the front rows. Every seat was occupied, and the back of the room was crowded with standees eager to get the first glimpse of the coming season's new designs. The room had been decorated for the event with flowers and draped fabrics, but no one was paying any attention to the decor. The real attractions were on the long runway-a river of moving colours, beauty, and style. In the background, music was playing, its slow, s.e.xy beat accentuating the movements onstage.

As the lovely models glided back and forth, they were accompanied by a voice on a loudspeaker giving a running commentary on the fas.h.i.+ons.

An Asian brunette started down the runway: '... a satin wool jacket with edge top st.i.tching and georgette pants and a white blouse . . .'

A slim blonde undulated across the runway: '... is wearing a black cashmere turtleneck with white cotton cargo pants . . .'

A redhead with an att.i.tude appeared: '... a black leather jacket and black shantung pants with a white knit s.h.i.+rt. . .'

A French model: '... a pink, three-b.u.t.ton angora jacket, a pink cable-knit turtleneck and black cuffed pants...'

A Swedish model: '... a navy satin wool jacket and pants and a lilac charmeuse blouse...'

And then the moment everyone had been waiting for. The Swedish model had walked off and the runway was deserted. The voice over the loudspeaker said, 'And now that the swimming season is here, we are pleased to display our new line of beachwear.'

There was a crescendo of antic.i.p.ation, then Kelly Harris appeared at the peak of it. She was wearing a white bikini, a bra that barely covered her firm, young b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a figure-hugging bottom. As she floated sensuously down the runway, the effect was mesmerizing. There was a wave of applause. Kelly gave a faint smile of acknowledgment, circled the runway, and disappeared.

Backstage, two men were waiting for her.

'Mrs. Harris, if I could have a moment-?'

'I'm sorry,' Kelly said apologetically. 'I have to make a quick change.' She started to walk away.

'Wait! Mrs. Harris! We are with the Police Judiciaire. I am Chief Inspector Dune and this is Inspector Steunou. We need to talk.'

Kelly stopped. 'The police? Talk about what?'

'You are Mrs. Mark Harris, yes?'

'Yes.' She was filled with sudden apprehension.

'Then I am sorry to inform you that-that your husband died last night.'

Kelly's mouth was dry. 'My husband-? How-?'

'Apparently, he committed suicide.'

There was a roar in Kelly's ears. She could barely make out what the chief inspector was saying: '... Tour Eiffel. . . midnight. . . note . . . very regrettable . . . deepest sympathy.'

The words were not real. They were pieces of sound with no meaning.

'Madame-'

This weekend, I want you to get all dressed up, darling. You're going to love where we're going.

'There is some-some mistake,' Kelly said. 'Mark wouldn't-'

'I am sorry.' The chief inspector was watching Kelly closely. 'Are you all right, Madame?'

'Yes.' Except that my life has just ended.

Pierre bustled over to Kelly, carrying a beautiful striped bikini. 'Cherie, you must change quickly. There is no time to waste.' He thrust the bikini in her arms. 'Vite! Vite!'

Kelly slowly let it drop to the floor. 'Pierre?'

He was looking at her in surprise. 'Yes?'

'You wear it.'

Kelly was taken back to her apartment in a limousine. The salon manager had wanted to send someone to be with her, but Kelly had refused. She wanted to be alone. Now, as she walked in through the entrance, Kelly saw the concierge, Philippe Cendre, and a man in overalls, surrounded by a group of tenants.

One of the tenants said, 'Poor Madame Lapointe. What a terrible accident.'

The man in overalls held up two jagged ends of a heavy cable. 'It was no accident, Madame. Someone cut the elevator's safety brakes.'

CHAPTER 7.AT FOUR O'CLOCK in the morning, Kelly was seated in a chair, staring out the window in a daze, her mind racing. Police Judiciaire. . . we need to talk . . . Tour Eiffel . . suicide note. . . Mark is dead. . . Mark is dead. . . Mark is dead. The words became a dirge pulsing through Kelly's brain.

In her mind, Mark's body was tumbling down, down, down. . . . She put her arms out to catch him just before he smashed against the sidewalk. Did you die because of me? Was it something I did? Something I didn't do? Something I said? Something I didn't say? I was asleep when you left, darling, and I didn't have a chance to say good-bye, to kiss you and tell you how much I love you. I need you. I can't stand it without you, Kelly thought. Help me, Mark. Help me-the way you always helped me. . . . She slumped back, remembering how it had been before Mark, in the awful early days.

Kelly had been born in Philadelphia, the illegitimate daughter of Ethel Hackworth, a black maid who worked for one of the town's most prominent white families. The father of the family was a judge. Ethel was seventeen and beautiful, and Pete, the handsome, blond, twenty-year-old son of the Turner family, had been attracted to her. He had seduced her, and a month later Ethel learned she was pregnant.

When she told Pete, he said, 'That's-that's wonderful.' And he rushed into his father's den to tell him the bad news.

Judge Turner called Ethel into his den the next morning and said, 'I won't have a wh.o.r.e working in this house. You're fired.'

With no money and no education or skills, Ethel had taken a job as a cleaning lady in an industrial building, working long hours to support her newborn daughter. In five years, Ethel had saved enough money to buy a run-down clapboard house that she turned into a boarding house for men. Ethel converted the rooms into a living room, a dining room, four small bedrooms, and a narrow little utility room that Kelly slept in.

From that time on, a series of men constantly arrived and left.

'These are your uncles,' Ethel told her. 'Don't bother them.'

Kelly was pleased that she had such a large family until she became old enough to realize that they were all strangers.

When Kelly was eight years old, she was asleep one night in her small, darkened bedroom when she was awakened by a guttural whisper: 'Shhh! Don't make a sound.'

Kelly felt her nightgown being lifted, and before she could protest, one of her 'uncles' was on top of her and his hand was over her mouth. Kelly could feel him forcibly spreading her legs. She tried to struggle, but he held her down. She felt his member tearing inside her body, and she was filled with excruciating pain. He was merciless, forcing himself inside her, going deeper and deeper, rubbing her skin raw. Kelly could feel her warm blood gus.h.i.+ng out. She was silently screaming, afraid she would faint. She was trapped in the terrifying blackness of her room.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she felt him shudder and then withdraw.

He whispered, 'I'm leaving. But if you ever tell your mother about this, I'll come back and kill her.' And he was gone.

The next week was almost unbearable. She was in misery all the time, but she treated her lacerated body as best she could until finally the pain subsided. She wanted to tell her mother what had happened, but she did not dare. If you ever tell your mother about this, I'll come back and kill her.

The incident had lasted only a few minutes, but those few minutes altered Kelly's life. She changed from a young girl who had dreamed of having a husband and children to someone who felt that she was tarnished and disgraced. She resolved that she would never let a man touch her again.

Something else had changed in Kelly. From that night on, she was afraid of the dark.

CHAPTER 8.When Kelly turned ten, Ethel put her to work helping around the boarding house. Kelly rose at five every morning to clean the toilets, scrub the kitchen floor, and help prepare breakfast for the boarders. After school she did the laundry, mopped the floor, dusted, and a.s.sisted with dinner. Her life became a dreadful, tedious routine.

She was eager to help her mother, hoping for a word of praise. It never came. Her mother was too preoccupied with the boarders to pay any attention to her daughter.

When Kelly was very young, a kind boarder had read to her the story Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and Kelly was fascinated by the way Alice escaped into a magic rabbit hole. That's what I need, Kelly thought, a way to escape. I can't spend the rest of my days scrubbing toilets and mopping floors and cleaning up after messy strangers.

And one day Kelly found her magic rabbit hole. It was her imagination, which would take her anywhere she wanted to go. She rewrote her life. . .

She had a father, and her mother and father were the same colour. They never got angry and yelled at her. They all lived in a beautiful home. Her mother and father loved her. Her mother and father loved her. Her mother and father loved her. . . .

When Kelly was fourteen, her mother married one of the boarders, a bartender named Dan Berke, a surly, middle-aged man who was negative about everything. Kelly could do nothing to please him.

'The dinner is lousy. ...'

'That dress is the wrong colour for you. . . .'

'The shade in the bedroom is still broken. I told you to fix it. . . .'

'You haven't finished cleaning the bathrooms. . . .'

Kelly's stepfather had a drinking problem. The wall between Kelly's bedroom and her mother and stepfather's bedroom was thin, and night after night, Kelly could hear the sounds of blows and screams. In the morning, Ethel would appear wearing heavy makeup that failed to cover bruises and black eyes.

Kelly was devastated. We should get out of here, she thought. My mother and I love each other.

One night, when Kelly was half asleep, she heard loud voices from the next room. 'Why didn't you get rid of the kid before she was born?'

'I tried to, Dan. It didn't work.'

Kelly felt as though she had been kicked in the gut. Her mother had never wanted her. No one wanted her.

Kelly found another escape from the unending dreariness of her life: the world of books. She became an insatiable reader and spent as much of her spare time as she could at the public library.

At the end of the week, there was never any money left for Kelly, so she got a job as a babysitter, envying the happy families she would never have.

At seventeen, Kelly was developing into the beauty her mother had once been. The boys at school began asking her for dates. She was repelled. She turned them all down.

Sat.u.r.days, when there was no school and Kelly's ch.o.r.es were finished, she would hurry to the public library and spend the afternoon reading.

Lisa Marie Houston, the librarian, was an intelligent, sympathetic woman with a quiet, friendly manner and whose clothes were as unpretentious as her personality. Seeing Kelly in the library so often, Mrs. Houston became curious.

One day she said, 'It's nice to see a young person enjoying reading so much. You spend a lot of time here.'

It was the opening gambit of a friends.h.i.+p. As the weeks went by, Kelly poured out her fears and hopes and dreams to the librarian.

'What would you like to do with your life, Kelly?'

'Be a teacher.'

'I think you'd make a wonderful teacher. That's the most rewarding profession in the world.'

Kelly started to speak, then stopped. She was remembering a breakfast conversation with her mother and stepfather a week earlier. Kelly had said, I need to go to college. I want to be a teacher.

A teacher? Berke had laughed. That's a dumb-a.s.s idea. Teachers make zip. Do you hear me? Zip. You can make more sweeping floors. Anyway, your old lady and I don't have money to send you to college.

But I've been offered a scholars.h.i.+p and- So what? You'll spend four years wasting your time. Forget it. With your looks, you could probably peddle your a.s.s.

Kelly had left the table.

Now she said to Mrs. Houston, 'There's a problem. They won't let me go to college.' Her voice was choked. 'I'll spend the rest of my life doing what I'm doing!'

'Of course you won't.' Mrs. Houston's tone was firm. 'How old are you?'