Miss You Mad: a psychological romance novel (21 page)

William wasn't sure whether or not he should keep out at her and warn her. After all, she had made her choice. She must have been aware of the cost of that choice. It was one that would eventually drive her mad and send her into the deep the way it had Ophelia. Bad choices. So many bad choices.

He held his breath and waited until she went back into the other room. William exhaled with a hiss. It wouldn't be long before she would have to add wood to the fire and find him here. He needed to act fast.

William gripped his knapsack, swallowed, and forged into the room.

A teapot squatted on the table. Its blue pottery lid rested next to it and two tea bags hugged each other on the inside. A matching blue sugar bowl sat between two tea cups. Two. That meant company. Insensitive, doting Howard. The setting was absolutely perfect. It couldn't have been more perfect if he had written it into a novel. She would serve that bastard tea, and she would no doubt heap a ton of sugar into both cups. But not if she already had sugar in her own.

He listened. Hannah still sang from the other room; there were no footsteps, so William supposed she returned to wiping down the windows.

He grabbed the sugar bowl from the table and poured the contents into a pocket in his knapsack. Then reaching into the belly of the bag, he took out the package of rat poisoning and filled the sugar bowl to the halfway mark. He sighed. There was nothing for it now. She had made her choice and it wasn't a good one. He had to save her from herself.

He just hoped the bastard Howard poured plenty of sugar into his own tea.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, William went out the same door he came in. And as quickly and quietly as he could, rushed to the bushes on the perimeter of sand opposite the kitchen door. It wasn't a same hiding place, but it afforded perfect view of the tiny window and the table that sat next to it.

He was still appearing at the window when he heard a sound on the other side of the house. At first he thought it was a stray cat moving to the bushes, but then he noticed something more distressing. It was a woman who stepped onto the small patch of grass that surrounded the house. He caught his breath when she tapped on the door and went inside.

Mother. It couldn't be. And yet there she was as plain as the light could show her standing in the kitchen, talking to Hannah.

Could it be that the other cup, the second cup, was for her and not for Howard. No. He refused to believe that. The cup had to be for Howard. He just had to wait for the bastard to appear. But he didn't. He never so much as darkened the door, and yet there are those two women sat sipping from their cups and chatting away.

Half an hour must have gone by before he couldn't stand anymore. By that time he had broken into a sweat that chilled his body.

William squeezed his eyes shut. He stood.

Sit down.

Giving his head a fierce shake, William charged through the bushes and into the tall grass that surrounded the cottage.

He didn't bother to knock. Slamming open the door, he caught his mother sipping from the blue pottery mug. Hannah's face looked at once surprised, then afraid. William didn't care.

"Did you use sugar?" he asked his mother.

Mother furrowed her brow. Hannah bolted to her feet.

"William," she said. "How did you find me?"

William rushed the table, ignoring Hannah, stopping with his hand clutched on Mother's.

"Did you use the sugar?" he demanded.

Mother stammered. "Some."

Hannah tried to push him out the door, babbling about the damned restraining order.

"The sugar," he said again. "Did she put any in?"

"Yes. Four teaspoons," Hannah said. "Now get the fuck out."

William clawed at his eyes.

Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I'll have't.

Mother put down her cup. "It wasn't getting sweet enough."

From the gaps between his fingers, William saw Hannah go for the stove and pick up the poker attached to the side.

"Get the fuck out or I will club you."

No, no, the drink, the drink,

Mother doubled over with a squeal, clutching her stomach.

"No. Oh no. Mother. Not again."

He caught Hannah's eye.

"Help me. Help. The sugar is poisoned."

I had thought the car ahead of me looked familiar; when I turned on to Helen Lucy Road, it turned ahead of me. Howard, had to be. Lucky enough, but what was he doing here, he was supposed to be on a plane back to Toronto. Not that it mattered. For now he might prove useful, especially if Hannah's stalker had found her.

Not that I expected to stalker to be at her house. He may have traced her to Yarmouth, but the address Gina had given him for the Grand Hotel. Still, it couldn't hurt to warn her.

Howard got out of his car at about the same time I got out of my BMW. I slammed my door; he left his ajar while he reached in and pulled out a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. I fumed.

He didn't bother to wait for me; instead, he picked his way through the over growth and headed for the back door. I started to run. I'd be damned if he'd get there alone to offer a house-warming gift while I came empty handed. I drew up behind him.

"Good idea, Howard," I said through clenched teeth.

He ignored me.

I took two quick steps and ended up ahead of him just as we had made it to the corner of the house. A weird sound, a sound like someone had dropped a wet and heavy lobster trap onto a wooden floor, stopped me dead in my tracks. Next I knew, the small door had been thrown open and Hannah came running out. Her hair caught the breeze and stretched behind her like a veil. I called out to her.

"I need your phone. 911," she yelled back at me. "Poison."

I sprinted to the front door and peered in. In those few seconds, I could see some woman lay on the floor, and that a man hunched over her, sobbing over and over again, "Not again. Oh, mother. Not again."

Something tingled at the base of my spine. It wriggled its way up to the middle of my back and found its way to my brain stem. Both of these people looked familiar. Howard drew up behind me.

The man hunched over the woman turned and looked at me. "Help me," he said. "It's not like the first time. She's healthy now. She doesn't need me to release her."

I'd know that face anywhere. In fact, I'd know that smell. He was the weirdo from the bank. He was the weirdo who wanted Hannah's address. And good God, the woman that lay on the floor was Belle. Dear sweet Jesus, he'd killed her.

I threw myself at him. I'm sure we only scuffled for a few moments, but it felt like hours. He was strong. Stronger than I thought. And it's strange how even while you're fighting for your life, odd things pop into your mind. Things like, serves me right for wanting to die, and why isn't Howard helping me.

I managed to bang his head into the floor enough times that he finally went limp. His hands fell from my throat and landed on each side of his head. I sat back on my haunches and let go a long hard breath. I dared take a peek at Howard.

While I felt sick, Howard showed no emotion. My God, he'd just witnessed me kill a man and he still held onto the flowers and wine as if he were ready to offer them to me.

I raked my hair with a trembling hand. "Tell Hannah to call the police too."

Howard licked his lips. "Maybe you'd better wait."

"But he's dead."

"One down; one to go."

Odd thing for him to say, but I suppose shock can do that. But shock or no, if I'd killed the man, we'd need more than just an ambulance. First we'd need the police, then I'd need to find a lawyer. With shaking legs, I stumbled out the door and headed to my car. I saw Hannah's retreating back as she ran toward Belle's house, and I imagined the cell reception had crapped out on her. Someone had to tend to Belle while I got Hannah to phone the police too. That someone would have to be Howard.

"Can you do something for her," I asked him and he nodded..

"Good, " I said. "I might have a First Aid kit back here." I rummaged about the back of my BMW, wondering what the hell I'd do with a kit when the woman had been poisoned. Did I think I could rub a little salve on her boo boo? Even as I did so, the hairs on my neck tickled my collar.

"I'm freaking out, Colonel old man," I said to the bank as my hands flew about the back seat.

"Shit happens," said a masculine voice from behind. I wheeled around, afraid it was the stalker, relieved to find Howard.

I sighed. "It's only you. Shouldn't you be tending to Belle?"

"No sense. She's dead."

That was that. I couldn't have kept my stomach contents if I'd tried. I clung to my car door, retching onto the ground and heaving at the smell of it.

"You were lucky the guy didn't kill you," Howard said.

I coughed and spit the sour saliva that collected in my mouth onto the ground.

"Yeah, lucky me."

"Maybe not so lucky."

I looked up at him. His face was like a cold stone. I didn't like the way he stood, I didn't like the way his hands clenched at his sides. He was giving me the creeps. The index card system in my brain started flipping all by itself. It stopped here and there at various cards. One card read, "it doubled after that." Another, written in capital letters, said, "they were written as if he actually knew me." Still another, the last one, had the words typed neatly across card, "others came in from different accounts. He must have a ton of hot mail accounts, because I didn't always know it was from him."

Things began to fit. Even as Howard stood there clenching and unclenching his hands, I started to understand that Hannah had two stalkers; one who loved her from afar, and one who loved her from so damn near he could reach out and touch her. My mouth dried up.

Howard made the first move. He lunged for me with his hands stretched for my throat. All I could figure was that he wanted to get rid of me, and that he could easily say that the stalker and I had fought--because we had--and that we ended up killing each other. Oh, it was too perfect. I'd be damned if I'd fall into his little scheme.

His hands gripped my throat and tried to squeeze the life out of it. But I'd have none of it. I hadn't taken my own life weeks ago, and I'd be damned if someone else would take it now.

Like I said in the beginning, time is MackIntosh toffee. Cold, it breaks off in chunks, big, small, definite chunks. Warm, it pulls apart in thick, gooey strands. For me, dying was warm toffee. Lots of things go through your mind when you think you're dying. And here I was experiencing it for the second time in one day and the third in one week. Hannah came to mind, of course. And with thoughts of her came the will to live. Come right down to it, I guess I had been struggling toward the light all along. But the light wasn't one at the end of a long, dark tunnel but at the beginning. It was a blinding light, the will to live. Like Dad's lobster boat light shining down on black water, it illuminated one small spot and left dark everything else. I didn't care what it took, I would be around to enjoy laying down with Hannah many, many more times.

I reached for the colonel. Good old colonel. He fit in my hand perfectly. As Howard and I fell onto the ground, and rolled about, I tried my damnedest to end up on top. The colonel cast a long narrow shadow onto Howard's face that grew fatter and rounder and fatter and rounder until there was no shadow, only hard white plastic. Red fluid dribbled out from beneath the colonel's body and for the second time in one day, hands fell from my throat.

I wanted desperately to be sick. I wanted to strip down to nothing and scream at heaven at the unfairness of it all. I wanted to sob. I wanted to curl into a small ball and pretend I was a rock in my garden and nothing else, not a man, not a person, just a rock without feeling, without life.

I stumbled back to the house. Stepping over the two inert forms, I fell into a chair and poked fingers into the corners of my eyes. I realized that I hadn't yet phoned the police. I didn't think it would matter. The ambulance would be here soon enough and all hell would break loose.

I spied the teapot. Might as well have a cup of tea; it might actually be the last cup I'd have as a free man. Despite the fact that both had been self-defense, how would I ever explain two murders? I picked up a half empty cup from the table and poured the liquid into the other cup. Because I liked my tea sweet, I put in lots of sugar, and then poured the still hot water into the mug and took a grateful sip.

I grimaced because even after four teaspoons of sugar it wasn't sweet, but I drank it just the same. Hannah's shadow fell across the open door just as I was draining the last bit.

"What took a so long?" I asked her.

"Couldn't find the phone. Is she okay?" Her face looked so hopeful I hated to have to tell her the truth.

I shook my head.

"Oh no," she said and hugged herself. I watched her deflate like a balloon as she collapsed into the other chair. I noticed she leaned away from the stalker.

"No worries. He's dead too," I said, surprised at how calm I sounded. Neither one of us moved. We just stared at each other until sirens sliced the air.