Love Lies Bleeding: A Novel Part 32

It's done, I think as the weariness overcomes me. There is no way out. The past repeats itself and the theme of my life continues. As it has been many times before, success was almost within my reach, the sweet taste of it lingering in my mouth. I felt it just outside of my grasp, but once again, cruel fate has s.n.a.t.c.hed it away at the last moment. And my life crashes around me in a thousand slivers. But this time, I don't have the strength to pick up the pieces and go on.

I see my reflection and am shocked. Haunted eyes; disheveled hair. With a harsh laugh, I pour another drink.

Did I say fate destroys my dreams? I shake my head and down the gla.s.s. Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I pour another. No, not fate-her, always her.

Crossing to the stereo, I turn it on and crank it up until music fills the room, but not even music can bring solace to my soul. I make it softer. Feeling imprisoned, I roam the room aimlessly, looking for escape. There is none.

I return to the window and look beyond my reflection and see the truth.

I killed once . . . I can kill again.

Chapter Thirty-two.

Sam sat on the deck with a cup of coffee in her hand and Roxy curled up at her feet. A veil of mist was rising dreamily above the smooth surface of the lake, and above it, gray skies masked the rising sun. A stillness seemed to surround Sam as if the entire world were holding its breath. She didn't know why, but she couldn't escape the p.r.i.c.kling sense of antic.i.p.ation. It had to be an effect of the last twenty-four hours. She'd managed to convince her father to return to the Cities and take Jackson with him. It had taken the threat of a nasty court battle spread across of the front page of The Minneapolis Star, but finally he'd backed off. At least for now.

All she wanted to do today was to look to the future. A plan was forming in her mind. After what had happened between her, Jackson, and her family, there was no way she was moving back to the Cities. She'd extend her lease on the cabin and stay here, at least for now. If it worked out, maybe she'd eventually open a small art gallery. She'd display her work and that of other artists. Sam frowned. One problem. Running a gallery wouldn't leave her much time for painting. She'd need someone she trusted to handle the day-to-day management.

Her frown fell away. Anne. She loved managing. Handling hesitant customers wouldn't be much different from managing unwilling patients.

Pleased at her new idea, she smiled down at Roxy. "See-everything is going to be fine."

At the sound of her voice, Sam felt the dog lift her head, and looking down, she saw her staring up, as if asking a question.

"We should be happy, right?" she said aloud. "The past is finished." Returning her attention to the lake, she realized that what she'd said was true. When she'd described her experience in Blanche's room to Anne and Greg, she'd felt a sense of completion. It was over. Whatever connection she'd had to Blanche had ended with her death. She could move forward with confidence, haunted by no one. All she had to do was ditch the antsy feeling crawling up her arms and all would be well.

Sam glanced over her shoulder at the half-finished painting, visible through the French doors. If she wanted to move forward, she should go finish that painting. Tilting her head back, she studied the sky. Not in this light. If she was serious about painting, she needed to make a few alterations to her work area, and lighting was at the top of the list.

That's what she'd do, she thought, standing, make a list. Then she'd call the art supply store in the Cities and have new supplies s.h.i.+pped to her. It would be another step forward. Entering the cabin, she grabbed a pencil and piece of paper and, sitting at the kitchen table, began to consider what supplies she'd order. She drew a blank.

Tapping the pencil, she stared at the empty page. A soft whimper drew her attention to the door.

"I get it. You want to go for a walk," Sam told the dog, rising to her feet. "Maybe you're right. Some fresh air would do us both good."

Sam slipped on her tennis shoes and, after fastening Roxy's leash, was out the door. She'd made it to the last step when she glanced over at what she'd forever think of as "Blanche's bush." Her steps faltered. The bush was dead.

Not wanting to contemplate the significance of this, she tugged on the leash and set off down the road. She tried not to think about Blanche as she walked, but couldn't avoid it. Something that happened yesterday was hovering on the edge of her mind, but she couldn't quite bring it into focus. She took a deep breath and let it go. Keep walking and don't think about it, she told herself. It will come to you.

The self-talk failed and the sense of apprehension increased. She felt a moment of fear. She wasn't going to have another panic attack, was she?

"No," she whispered firmly. "You're just nervous about beginning a new life," she finished, pleased that she could find a place for her emotions.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until Roxy darted away from her, barking loudly. Sam spun to find Jackson blocking the path between her and her way back home.

Holding up both hands, he took a step back. "I just want to talk to you. Could you get your d.a.m.n dog to shut up for a minute?"

At Sam's light tug on the leash, Roxy quieted, but wouldn't move from her position between Sam and Jackson. He took another step back.

Good Lord, he looks terrible, Sam thought. His clothes appeared as if he'd slept in them and his normally groomed hair was tousled.

"Jackson, leave me alone, or I'm getting a restraining order," she said in a firm voice He eased a bit forward. "You can't do it."

"Why? Afraid it will hurt your practice? I will if you keep hara.s.sing me."

He stared at her blankly and shook his head. "You can't walk away from me. You have to marry me, Sam."

Sam spun on her heel. "We've been through this," she called angrily over her shoulder. "I'm not going over it again."

"Wait!" he cried out. "I'm no good without you, Sam."

She hesitated and turned to face him. "Jackson, I'm sorry, but we're not right for each other. We do not want the same things anymore."

Did you ever? asked a little voice in her head.

"Yes, we do," he said petulantly. "I'll want whatever you want."

"I wouldn't expect that of you."

He came forward. "But I'd do it, I would," he said with an intense light burning in his eyes.

He was beginning to scare her. Glancing around, she tried to get her bearings. If she wasn't mistaken, Fritz's cabin was around the next bend, but she knew that she couldn't outrun Jackson.

She began to inch backward, her eyes never leaving Jackson. At her side, Roxy tensed. "I don't want-"

"Me!" he exclaimed. "You don't want me. You're just like her," he said in disgust.

"Who?" Sam asked, still slowly backing away.

"Mother," he blurted. "I wasn't good enough for her either."

Sam stared at him in shock. "Your mother's been gone a long time. I'm sorry. I know you still feel-"

"Why does the past keep repeating itself?" he asked, his chin lowering.

From his expression, Sam had a feeling that his question wasn't addressed to her. She moved a little faster, increasing the distance between them.

Jackson lifted his head. "There's someone else, isn't there?" His eyes raked her up and down. "You've been cheating on me with that guy living down the road."

"Greg is a friend."

He waved a hand in the air dismissively. "I'll forgive you, but only if you come back to the Cities with me."

Sam forgot her fear as her anger flashed. Grasping Roxy's leash, she looped it around her hand tightly while she prepared to try to make it to Fritz's. "Get away from me," she cried, spinning, and hurried off toward her neighbor's cabin.

Her unsteady gait made it hard to run fast and she fought the urge to peek over her shoulder. She feared that she'd see Jackson only a few steps behind her. Concentrating on keeping her balance, she rounded the bend. Almost there, she thought with relief. She stumbled up the steps and pounded on the door. Hurry, hurry, she prayed, ignoring the music drifting through the open window. Finally the door opened, and she almost fell inside.

"Oh, thank G.o.d you're home," she panted. "Jackson is following me. I need to use your phone."

"Phone?" Fritz asked in a slurred voice.

It was then that Sam noticed the confused look on his face, the rumpled clothing. He wasn't in much better shape than Jackson.

Crossing to him, she placed a hand on his arm. "Fritz, what's wrong?" She got a whiff of booze. "Are you ill?"

"Not ill," he replied, moving away from her. "Edward-don't you know about Edward?"

Sam wasn't following what he was trying to tell her. Anne had told her about Edward's accident, but she hadn't expected Fritz to take it this hard.

"Yes," she answered in a calm voice. "I know he's in the hospital, but I thought he was stable. Has his condition worsened?"

Fritz's face took on a shrewd expression. "You don't understand, do you?"

"No, Fritz, I'm sorry. I don't." Wrapping Roxy's leash around the table leg, Sam moved to the window to see if she could spot Jackson. It looked like he'd disappeared. Was it safe to walk back home? No, he could be waiting for her. She'd call either Greg or Anne and ask them to pick her up. But first she needed to help Fritz.

"Fritz, why don't you explain to me about Edward? I know he was a former student, but I didn't realize you were such close friends."

"Friends? Pupil?" Fritz said, swatting the air with his hand. "We were more than that." He leaned forward and peered at her with bloodshot eyes. "Do you hear that?"

"Yes, that's the piece you were playing when I stopped by a few days ago."

He snorted and weaved his way over to the stereo. "That's Edward playing," he exclaimed. "Brilliant, brilliant. How a woman like Esther ever produced a boy with Edward's talent, I'll never know." He squinted one eye and tapped himself on the chest. "But I-me-it took me to awaken that talent."

"I'm sure you were a very good teacher," Sam murmured.

"Good? No-no-more than that," he said, his head wobbling back and forth. "Edward needed me. He needed me to survive as a concert pianist. Without me, he would've been nothing. Just another country boy who could play the piano." His eyes filled with tears. "We had such plans. I was to be his impresario, his agent. Together we would've played the capitals of the world."

"I'm sorry," Sam said with feeling.

Fritz sank down on the couch, hanging his head. "I would have been vindicated-those who turned their backs on me would've been forced to acknowledge my gifts." He lifted his face, the tears flowing freely now. "I would've finally, finally received the recognition that I deserve," he cried, his voice rising.

Sam watched him crying on the couch. She didn't know how to respond. She'd never seen anyone behave so irrationally. She couldn't understand it. It had been twenty-five years since Edward's career had been ruined. Had this bitterness been boiling inside of Fritz all these years? She'd better call Anne.

She moved to the phone, picked up the handset, and began to dial Anne. Fritz was beside her in an instant, tearing the phone out of her hand and slamming it down.

"No."

Sam stepped away. "I think it would be best if I came back when you're feeling better."

"Samantha, Samantha," he said in a stronger voice. "I think you should stay."

Something in his tone told her that she shouldn't argue with him. "Okay, but let's invite Anne over, too, shall we?"

"We shall not. She was rude to me."

"I know, and I want to apologize for that," she said, trying to placate him. "It was so nice of you to make those CDs for me."

"Have you listened to them?"

"Well, no . . . I haven't had the chance yet, but I will."

"And will you use your connections to help me?"

Sam was taken aback. "Help you? How? I don't have any connections."

"Sure you do," he replied. "You can pull some strings with the symphony. Your mother's on the board-I checked. They'll play my work if you recommend me." He frowned. "I would've liked something more prestigious, but it will be a start."

"Fritz, I don't think my mother has any influence over the symphony's selections."

"You mean you won't help me?" His face flushed.

"I don't see how I can."

He came toward her with his eyes narrowed. "You're refusing me. You're ruining my plans just like she did."

"Fritz," Sam cried, "I'd help you if I could, but-"

"You're lying!" he exclaimed.

Backing away from him, Sam held up a hand to stop him. "I'm not."

"Yes-you can't fool me." He pointed a shaking finger at her. "You're just like Blanche. She ruined my life and now you're doing the same thing."

"Fritz," she said, hoping to reach through his alcoholic haze, "Blanche is dead."

"I know."

"I didn't expect the news to get out this soon."

Fear flashed across his face as her words seemed to bring him up short.

He shook his head as if trying to clear it. "What?"

"Blanche-she never ran off. Ted Brighton beat her half to death, causing irreparable brain damage. She's spent the last twenty-five years in the care facility in Hankton."

"Impossible." He began to laugh while his eyes roamed the room. "I was afraid, so afraid what I'd done would be discovered. I made this my prison. And for what?" His laughter suddenly died. "For nothing. There was nothing to find."

Whirling, he ran to the stereo and, with one pull, sent the entire shelving unit cras.h.i.+ng to the floor.

For a moment Sam was frozen in place. The voice she'd heard in her mind, the one screaming obscenities as she witnessed Blanche's attack. It was not Ted Brighton-it was Fritz. She didn't understand what exactly had happened twenty-five years ago, but she knew she didn't have much time before he turned his rage on her. Moving to the table, she tried to unhook Roxy's leash, but it was wrapped around the leg. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Fritz coming toward her and redoubled her efforts.

Too late, a painful grip on her shoulder sent her sprawling away from the table. Roxy went crazy, straining and snapping, as she tried to reach Sam.