The Chase: A Novel (24 page)

Rachel and Sarah turned to leave, Rachel fighting the urge to cry for Sarah and Harry and stunned that her sister had come to her senses. As they headed toward the path that would take them back to the house, they heard Harry say angrily, “Now look at what you’ve done!”

Rachel cast one last glance over her shoulder. Harry faced Lionel, his face etched with anger.

“I am going to hunt a deer,” Lionel said. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and disappeared into the woods.

The doe was grazing quietly by a small pond in the glade they had passed earlier. Lionel froze, becoming as still as a statue, standing behind a thick tree. The doe continued to graze, unaware of his presence. He was upwind, he knew.

The doe reminded him of Rachel. As he stared at it, he saw his cousin instead, with her wide, honest eyes—eyes that looked at him and could not hide their confusion and mistrust. Lionel smiled to himself and slowly lifted the rifle.

How innocent and good she was. How pure and kind. She was also so beautiful, far more so than her older sister, who was nothing but a whore. Lionel had stayed up most of last night thinking about Rachel. He found her purity fascinating; he could sense when purity was genuine and sincere. What made a human being so holy? So worthy? What life experiences had she had to be so kind and caring, so compassionate? What was her motivation? Was it God? Or did she seek to please her father? It was very curious, very interesting.

Rachel would hate it if he killed the doe. He had been somewhat amazed by her reaction to the death of Ellen’s swan.

Thinking about his stepmother brought disgust. Lionel sighted down the scope of the rifle. Now he saw Ellen there instead of the doe. His blood thrummed in his veins. He would not grieve if his stepmother met with an accident. It would be a case of good riddance. Of course, she wasn’t the doe now trapped in his sights. And that was too bad—the doe would have to do.

He began to squeeze the trigger. And then Rachel said, as if she stood beside him,
You’re not going to hunt deer, are you?

The doe lifted its head, listening intently, as if suddenly aware of an intruder.

Lionel did not move.

But someone was crashing through the woods. And just before Lionel pulled the trigger, the doe leaped away to safety. It disappeared in the woods on the other side of the glade.

Lionel lowered the gun, staring in the direction the doe had gone. He knew who was in the woods. Harry had interfered with his kill.

Harry, who was always so good, so perfect, the perfect student, the adored son, the heir apparent—the Prince Charming. Harry, his brother, whom he truly despised.

Lionel closed his eyes, overcome by intense and debilitating hatred. When he had gained control of himself, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed back into the woods. For how much longer should he put up with his perfect brother?

Lionel began to track the doe. He had never been able to understand what Harry’s allure was. Clearly, Sarah was smitten with him. He had seen his stepmother eye him as well. Even Rachel seemed fond of Harry already. And Harry had dozens of male friends, all of whom adored him.

And somehow, Harry had known he was the one who had wrung the swan’s neck. Lionel considered the notion. It wasn’t the first time that Harry had overstepped his bounds. Harry knew too much about him, and Harry was in his way.

The woods were dark now, and damp, the scent of rot and decay potent. He found the odors in the heart of the woods as attractive as they were repugnant. But then, life seemed divided into polarities: good and evil, light and dark, truth and lies. Extremes of nature faced him at every turn, it seemed.

Like Rachel and Sarah. Like him and his brother.

Lionel smiled a little. Except his nature was hardly evil. Or did planning the murder of one’s brother constitute “evil”? Perhaps it did—by society’s definition of the word. But society was a bunch of fools. And it had never mattered to him what others thought. Except, of course, for Father.

Something moved in the woods ahead of him. Lionel paused, fighting a surge of anger. He had learned years ago that he was more effective without any emotions at all.

Today was the day, he decided. He had waited patiently for the perfect opportunity, and now he had it. He would forget about the doe. And then he imagined Rachel’s reaction when she learned of Harry’s fate.

Soundlessly, Lionel moved through a pair of trees, raising the rifle to his shoulder. It was a shame that he would never be able to tell her the truth.

The doe did not stand on the deer trail ahead of him. His brother did.

This was the moment he had waited years for. Lionel froze, and images tumbled through his mind swiftly, a kaleidoscope of the past. Harry and their father in earnest debate, as they had been about to engage in last evening at supper; returning from the hunt, muddy and happy and arm in arm; or discussing affairs of estate in the study, privately—fervently. Harry and Sarah, entwined and kissing shamelessly. Ellen, hungrily gazing after Harry. Rachel, looking at his brother with obvious admiration in her eyes.

Lionel realized he was sighting through the scope of the rifle. Excitement surged through his veins.
This was it, then.
He was a perfect marksman, but now he was trembling ever so slightly. Father would be destroyed by Harry’s death. Elation surged in his chest even though he tried to breathe deeply and calm himself—he must not think of Father or Rachel or anyone now. He must think only of the kill.

He squeezed the trigger slowly—the way Harry had instructed Sarah just a few minutes ago.

The rifle boomed. It jerked in his hands, an event that had not happened in years. And because he was shaking, the shot hit Harry in the back, just off center, instead of in the back of his head, where death would have been instantaneous.

Still, Harry crashed to the ground, face first, where he lay unmoving.

Lionel stepped back behind the pair of trees, stunned.
Good God.
He had just executed his deepest, darkest fantasy—he had shot his brother.

The elation began. Lionel fought it.

Harry moaned. The sound was weak and pitiful.

He was alive.

It wasn’t too late, Lionel could go to him, claim it was an accident, and help him to survive.

Lionel moved around the tree and stared. Harry was clawing the earth. A red blossom was spreading rapidly from the hole in his back, staining his tweed coat almost black. Lionel realized his heart was thundering in his breast. He had only minutes in which to decide whether to grant life or dispense death.

The power of it was fantastic.

Harry began crawling forward. His moan sounded again. And this time, Lionel thought he heard the whispered word “Help.”

“Help me. Please.”

He had done it.
The disbelief was fading; reality and comprehension were setting in. And euphoria. For he had decided.
Harry would die.

He had planned a hunting accident like this for years, and he had a plausible story. He had hit the doe, but she had run off, and he assumed he had grazed her. When they found Harry, they would quickly realize Lionel had shot his brother instead of the deer, thinking him to be the doe. Lionel almost smiled, except he was too giddy to do so.

He had the perfect story.

All of his problems were over.

Except for Father, that is.

Harry continued to crawl on his belly through the woods. Lionel wondered what he thought to do. He would never make it back to the house. Besides, the river was ahead—he was going in the wrong direction. How stupid the effort was. Why not just die in peace?

Harry paused, a soblike moan escaping him. He was covered in blood. He could not have much longer to live.

Curious, Lionel couldn’t help peering more closely at him, wondering what he would do next.

Harry turned his head. Their gazes met.

“Lionel,” he cried in a hoarse whisper. “Lionel.”

Lionel did not move.

The comprehension came then, and Harry’s eyes filled with shock. “Lionel! Help me!” Blood spewed from his mouth.

Lionel turned and melted into the woods.

Sarah was walking so quickly that she was outpacing Rachel. Rachel broke into a run and caught up with her. “Sarah, I am sorry,” she said, and she meant it.

“No, you’re not.” Sarah had tears in her eyes. “You’re jealous, aren’t you? That’s what this is about!”

“I’m not jealous!” Rachel gasped. “I just don’t want you to get hurt! Or even Harry.”

Sarah ducked her head, continuing to walk rapidly through the woods. A gunshot sounded somewhere behind them, not that far away. Both girls flinched. “What difference does it make if we’re Jews? Who cares? Harry doesn’t care!” Sarah said.

“But his father cares, and you know it. And our father cares very much about our religion. Poor Papa. He has been through so much. I hate to see him go through more tragedy. Sarah, it’s best for everyone—you, Harry, Papa, Elgin—if you forget all about Harry.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sarah said, and she broke into a run.

Rachel paused and watched her sister disappear as the trail curved away. She rubbed her temples. Life could be so unfair. “Why, God?” she whispered. “They are perfect for each other in almost every way. Why do this to them?” She wiped a touch of moisture from her own eyes. “Why take Mama?” she had to add. Rachel sighed. She really didn’t expect an answer, not even one from herself.

She had no desire to go back to the house. It was only midday, and dinner would not be for another few hours. Besides, Papa would want to know why Sarah was crying. Rachel would never lie, not to him or anyone, and she did not want to tell him what was really happening between Sarah and Harry.

The woods were thinner where she stood. Through the trees, she saw the river flowing, and on the opposite bank there was a wide-open sweep of hilly ground and the ruins of the castle. Rachel wondered if she could somehow cross the river. Maybe she would wander alongside it and find a bridge. Exploring Rhuddlan Castle would be the perfect antidote for her somber mood.

Rachel threaded her way through the waving birch trees, which were dappled with bright sunlight. The river ahead was slow and sluggish, but the landscape beyond was breathtaking, especially with the castle perched on the hill just above it. Rachel decided she would ask her uncle about its history. It would surely be fascinating.

Rachel left the edge of trees behind her, beginning to step down the embankment. But it was damp and slick, and she had to pause or lose her balance. She reached down and steadied herself.

And when she looked up, she saw the body floating past her.

Rachel cried out, realizing that Harry was floating down the river. It took her a moment to react. “Harry!” she shouted.

Rachel scrambled down the bank, using both hands, trying to understand why he was drifting in the current facedown and not swimming to shore.
As if he was hurt.
She reached the soft mud by the water’s edge and righted herself. Harry floated past her, and his motionless form filled her with terror.

No
.

Rachel ran along the river, screaming his name. And now she realized that a bloody wake was trailing behind him.

And he was motionless.

No
.

Rachel screamed, rushing into the water. It was frigidly cold, shocking her, as she plunged in to her waist, her shoulders. Her chin. But then the water leveled off, and using her arms to help her move, as if she were swimming, she managed to catch Harry’s foot.

“Harry!” She was sobbing. “Harry!” She reeled him in.

As her arms went around him, she rolled him over onto his back, and she saw that he was dead.

PART THREE

THE CHASE

CHAPTER 10

Huge weights were pressing down on her. Her limbs and torso, every inch of her, felt heavy, paralyzed, useless. And there was so much blackness. It enveloped her; it was everywhere.

A man spoke to her.

She struggled to rise up through the heavy layers of darkness. It seemed an impossible feat.

“Claire?”

Claire blinked and was blinded by a light that seemed to be shining right into her eyes. She realized that someone was holding her hand. The cobwebs shifted. An image of a big black steel barrel filled her mind. Claire was awake and fully cognizant. Her head was hurting her. “Ian!”

He pushed a wisp of her hair from her face. “You’re fine. It’s just a graze on the side of your head. Can you understand me?”

Images of that terrifying car chase, and worse, the chase on foot through the river and the ruins at Rhuddlan, assailed her. Claire met Ian’s gaze.
“Someone tried to kill me.”

“I know. I was there. Or don’t you remember?”

Claire’s heart was going wild. She tried to sit up. In that instant, all she could remember was facing the gunman as he pulled the trigger. “What’s happening?” she asked fearfully. She realized she was in a hospital room, and that she was woozy from whatever painkillers she was on.

“Take it easy, Claire,” Ian said as she tried to sit up. He helped her, propping more pillows behind her. Her bed was curtained off from whoever else was present in the room. She could not tell what time of day it was; the light inside the curtained-off cubicle was a sickly shade of yellow, although far too bright. “There’s a policeman outside. But he won’t come back.”

Suddenly exhausted, she sank back against the pillows. “This can’t be happening. What
is
happening, Ian?” She stopped. Their gazes locked.
“Elgin.”

He was grim, but he smiled a little at her. “Yeah.”

Claire stared at him. But it was not Ian she saw. Instead, she saw the gunman with his impossibly cold eyes, regarding her as he aimed his gun. She would never forget the moment he had pulled the trigger. Her heart had literally stopped.

And that had been the exact moment that he had been knocked down, tackled from behind by Ian.

“What happened?” she asked. “The last thing I remember is seeing you hit him from behind and being shot. I must have blacked out.”