All the Way Home (49 page)

He’d seemed so quiet. So insignificant. How could Rory never have realized that he was such a monster? How could she never have known of the danger that Emily was in?

And now she’s going to make me pay the ultimate price for being so blind,
she realizes with sickening certainty.

“What happened when you showed Emily the room, Mr. Anghardt?”

“Oh, she was all worked up. She knew those girls, you know . . . my beautiful slaves. One of ’em was already dead, though. I had to kill her, to shut her up. She was a screamer, that one. The first one. Kept cryin’ for her mommy. So I shut her up good.”

Thirteen-year-old Kirstin Stafford.

“Emily begged me to let the other ones go, though
.
She even tried to attack me—picked up a sledgehammer I kept down here, just in case somebody got out of control, and she hit me with it. Hit me in the leg. And when I tried to come after her, she took off. Just took off, just like that.”

“Where did she go?”

“She wandered around from place to place. Did what she had to do, to make enough money to survive. It wasn
’
t any different from what I used to make her do, ’cept now it was with strangers. And she wasn’t a bad person, Rory. She never lost touch with that brother of hers, even though I used to tell her not to bother with him. If it wasn’t for appearance’ sake, I’d ’a never even bothered to take him out of that home for a visit.”

“So Emily visited David over the years?”

“Sure. She’d dress up like a nun, so no one would ever know. It was her little joke. David always called her ‘sister’ anyway.”

Rory keeps her expression neutral despite her startled realization that she’d guessed right about Emily’s motive for disguising herself as a nun to visit St. Malachy’s.

“And Emily never visited you for all those years, Mr. Anghardt?”

“Nah. But I knew she knew where I was. Back home, in North Carolina. I figured she’d eventually come look for me there. Because I was her daddy, no matter what happened between us. I knew she’d come back.”

“And she did?”

“Sure did. Just a few weeks ago. Showed up on my doorstep out of the blue. First thing she noticed was that I had a limp from where she hit me. And you know what? I think that made her feel good.”

Rory nods, willing Emily to break the relentless gaze she’s focused on Rory, to look away, even for a second. Just long enough for Rory to attack her.

“At first, you know, when she showed up at my door, Emily acted like she was there for a friendly visit. But then I realized that wasn’t it at all. You see, for all these years, Emily’s been mad at me. Gettin’ madder and madder. Rememberin’ what went on between us. What I did to those other girls. Guess she decided she wanted to get me back.”

There’s a faraway gaze in Emily’s eyes now, but they’re still focused on Rory’s face. If she makes the slightest move, Emily will notice.

“What did she do?”

“Attacked me. Tried to kill me.” The voice is indignant now. “But I won. I wasn’t goin’ to let her get me. No, sir.”

“So you left North Carolina, then? And came here?”

“Yup. It was easy to sneak back into this house. Those old screens . . . you just climb right in. And those people who live here now, they don’t know about the bookcase. Nobody ever knew, but me and Emily. And, of course, those girls. But that don’t matter now.”

“Why not?” Rory asks, filled with dread, knowing the answer even before Russell Anghardt points.

She follows the direction of her gaze, and sees the three grotesque corpses crumpled on the ground not far from Molly’s and Rebecca’s feet. And she knows, without being told, who they belong to.

Kirstin Stafford.

Allison Myers.

And Carleen.

A wave of dizziness sweeps over her, and she senses she’s going to faint.

But she can’t let that happen.

If she faints, she’ll never wake up.

This is my chance—she’s looking away!

The sudden realization stuns her momentarily, and then, knowing that it’s now or never, she leaps on Emily Anghardt.

“No!” the woman screams
.

Knock the gun out of her hand!
Rory commands herself, and does it with ease, taking advantage of the moment Emily let her guard down.

Then they’re rolling on the floor, scuffling, Rory struggling to hold on to the knife, to position it for attack
.

“No!” Emily shrieks again, and then there’s a blinding pain as she raises her knee into Rory’s stomach
.

Blinding pain.

Utter shock at the severity of the pain.

And in that moment, with a savage tug, Emily wrenches the knife from Rory’s fingers and wields it above her head.

I
n his North Carolina jail cell, Barrett waits, pacing, for Jack’s return.

He can’t stop thinking about the Connolly family.

About Rory, in particular.

How much pain can one person endure?

First she lost one sister . . .

Now another?

And it’s all my fault, Rory,
Barrett says silently.
If I had gone to the police, told them what I knew about Carleen’s whereabouts that night, they might have figured it out.

He stops to rub his exhausted eyes, struggling to grasp any possible clue to the identity of the person who kidnapped Molly and Ozzie and Rebecca.

It can’t be Russell Anghardt.

Russell Anghardt is dead.

But who killed him . . . and why?

Barrett slams his hand into the unforgiving stone wall of the cell in sheer frustration, utterly baffled
.

“Y
ou shouldn’t ’a done that, Rory.”

Her head is jerked back painfully by her hair, and she stares into the crazed eyes of Emily Anghardt. Then she feels the cool blade of the butcher knife pressing against her throat. If she moves, if she swallows, if she breathes, the blade will slice into her skin.

Please let it be quick,
she prays.

She can hear Molly sobbing from somewhere nearby, and Rebecca, and Ozzie, too. The cell is filled with terrified cries, and all Rory can think is that they’re going to have to watch this, watch Emily slit her throat right in front of them. And then what will happen? Who will be next?

“Say good-bye to little Ozzie, Rory,” Emily says, laughing, pressing the knife, ever so slightly, into her skin.

Rory feels a stinging pain; still she holds her breath
.

The knife is dull, she remembers. It had probably been in that drawer for years, with nobody using it. Maybe it isn’t sharp enough to—

“Say good-bye to Rebecca.”

More pressure from the knife.

More pain.

Rory remembers how she’d cut her hand only last night on the blade, how she’d bled.

She braces herself.

Closes her eyes.

Begins praying the Hail Mary.

“Say good-bye to Carleen.”

Rory’s eyes fly open.

Carleen?

What’s Emily talking about?

“Where’s Carleen?” she asks, trying not to move as she speaks, even as she realizes what Emily is talking about.

“What do you mean, where is she?” Emily sounds irritated.

Rory’s ears catch a faint, distant sound.

“Are you
blind?
Carleen’s right over there,” Emily says. “You know, I thought for sure she was dead for all these years. When I caught her sneakin’ across our yard in the dead of night all those years ago, I knew she’d have to pay. Trespassin’ isn’t right, is it? So I brought her inside, and I kept her there for a while, with the others. Then I thought I killed her—I left her here to die, you know, with the rest of ’em, when I moved out of this house. But she didn’t die. How do you figure she got away? I almost fell over when I saw her come through that bedroom door last night—”

Emily turns her head toward Molly, shackled to the wall, looking exactly like Carleen in that dress, those earrings, that hairband.

This time, Rory doesn’t hesitate.

She writhes out of Emily’s grasp, and, once again, they’re scuffling on the floor, fighting for the knife, each one’s hands wrapped around the handle, vying for control.

As she struggles with Emily, she’s vaguely aware of noises overhead.

“Help! Help!”

It’s Molly, shrieking.

Rebecca joins in.

“Help! We’re down here! Hurry!”

In a haze, Rory remembers that she’d left the bookcase ajar. Maybe somebody is in the house, and noticed it.

Yes!

She hears pounding footsteps.

“You bitch!” Emily is on top of her, suddenly, and has the knife against Rory’s throat again.

Rory’s hand is closed over Emily’s on the handle, and she’s using every bit of might to keep Emily from pressing that dull blade into her neck again, and she knows she can’t hold on much longer.

Just as her strength is giving out, the footsteps burst into the room.

A moment later there’s a sharp, deafening explosion of sound.

She feels Emily collapse on top of her, erupting into agonized shrieks; she tastes the unmistakable, tinny salt of blood in her mouth.

It takes her a few moments to realize, amidst the commotion in the room, that it’s Emily’s blood; that the sound was a gunshot; that the police have stormed the room.

Emily is pulled off of Rory, still screaming “I’ve been shot! My God, I’ve been shot.”

Dazed, Rory allows Detective Mullen to help her sit up, hears him asking if she’s all right, but can’t muster a reply.

She sees Ozzie, sobbing, cradled in one officer’s arms as another works to release Rebecca from the cuffs around her wrists
.

Molly is waiting her turn, watching Ozzie with concern, and then her worried gaze shifts to Rory.

“Let me help you up. Can you stand?” Detective Mullen asks above Emily’s distraught shrieks and Ozzie’s frightened cries.

Still Rory can’t find her voice.

Her eyes are locked on Molly’s as the detective gently pulls her to her feet, asking if she’s been injured
.

She shakes her head, numb.

“Rory, your neck,” Molly says, tears glistening in her blue eyes. “You’re bleeding. She cut you.”

“Hmm?” She looks down, sees her own blood staining the open collar of her shirt, dripping onto the locket she’s never taken off.

“It doesn’t look like a deep cut. Paramedics are on the way,” Detective Mullen tells her. “They’ll take care of you, Rory. And I’ll need to talk to you, of course . . . but it can wait until later.”

“How . . . how did you know where to find us?”

“Because of Michelle Randall’s cousin, John. He’s an architect. He had taken measurements of the house recently, and knew there must be a hidden room. He thought nothing of it at the time, just left a message for Michelle to call him.”

Rory nods, remembering the phone message in Molly’s handwriting on the kitchen counter.

“Anyway,” Detective Mullen goes on, “John was in New York on business today and didn’t find out what was going on here until a little while ago. When he called his wife and she told him about Molly and Ozzie disappearing from this house, he realized what might be going on and called Michelle and Lou at the hospital right away. Lou knew exactly where the opening would be—he’d noticed one day recently that the bookcase in Ozzie’s room seemed askew, but had been too busy to take a look at it. And Michelle had been hearing strange noises coming from her son’s room.”

“Thank God . . . thank God you got here in time,” Rory tells the detective.

He smiles and touches her arm. “Are you sure you’re okay, Rory?”

She nods, takes a step as he turns away, then stops, her knees wobbling.

“Molly,” she asks her sister, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just shaken up. Rory, if you hadn’t come, she would have—”

“I know.” She heaves a shuddering breath as more footsteps pound down the stairs.

“Ozzie? My God, Ozzie?”

Lou Randall bursts into the room, glances around wildly, spots the little boy, and sobs, “Oh, God. Thank God!” He takes his son from the officer’s outstretched arms, holding him close, saying his name over and over again, as Ozzie whimpers, “Daddy! Daddy!”

Feeling like she’s watching a surreal scene from a movie, Rory looks back at Molly, but her sister is obscured behind the officers who are now working to free her from her bonds.

Across the room, Detective Mullen is winding a makeshift tourniquet around Emily’s bleeding arm, and someone else is reciting the Miranda.