Sandman (36 page)

Then another shot rang out, and Jenny saw that Kim was still firing, advancing on Jack with the pistol clamped grimly in both hands. Framed in the lazy oval of the slicker’s hood, her face was an animate sculpture of anguish and fury.

“Leave her alone,”
she screamed and put a bullet in Jack’s spine.

She stood over him now, the gun aimed at his head. Coarse tremors ran through Jack’s body. His gaze fell beseechingly on Jenny.

“LEAVE HER A—”

Jenny shouted, “Kim,
no
,” and ran toward her shattered family. “Honey, don’t do it...”

She reached the platform of rock, Jack lying stricken at her feet, and put her hands over Kim’s, trying to coax the gun free. Kim’s arms were like iron bars, the gun welded in her grasp. Jenny could hardly believe the child’s strength.

“Kim, please, give me the gun.”

Something boiled in Kim’s eyes, flint hard and implacable, and Jenny was certain she’d pull the trigger...

Then her gaze met Jenny’s and that savage strength simply dropped out of her. She let her mother take the gun and stepped away.

Jenny picked up the silenced Glock and tucked it under her arm.

“Jenny,” Jack said. “My legs...”

“I know,” Jenny said. “Don’t worry, Jack. It’s almost over now.” She looked at Kim and said, “Which way is the path?” Kim pointed. “All right, I want you to go to the path and wait for me there.”

Kim looked at her sadly. “But, Mom...”

“Just do it, Kim. Please.”

Kim stared at her a moment, that hardness coming back into her eyes, then she turned and walked into the bush, pulling her hood up.

When Kim was out of sight, Jenny released the magazine from the Colt and thumbed out the last few rounds, tossing them as far as she could into the bush. There was a single round in the chamber now, and Jenny left it where it was.

Trembling with shock, Jack said, “The little. bitch must have got me in the spine. My legs, I can’t feel them...”

Jenny said, “She’s not a bitch,” and pressed the Colt into Jack’s hand. “You’re paralyzed, Jack. If you survive, you’re going to prison for the rest of your life. You’ll be defenseless. Do you know what they do to child killers in federal prison?”

Standing at his feet, she aimed the Glock at his face, her finger on the trigger. “There’s a lesson here, Jack. I hope you can pick up on it. I hope you can accomplish that much.”

Then she turned her back on him and started away.

Behind her, Jack raised the pistol, aiming it at her back.

* * *

When the shot cracked the still air Kim gasped and started running, cursing herself for leaving her mother alone with him. It was the Colt, she recognized its sharp report.

An exposed root caught her toe and she fell, skidding down a wet grade, scraping the palms of her hands. She got up and heard someone moving toward her through the trees. She picked up a stout branch, ready to fight...and saw her mother step out of the bush onto the path, shivering, naked under the thin nightie, Jack’s gun in her hand. When she saw Kim she did her best to smile. Kim dropped the branch and ran to her in tears. “Oh, Mom, I thought he...”

“Shh,” Jenny said, holding her daughter in her arms. “It’s over now, baby. It’s over.”

“Is he...?”

“He’s gone, sweetheart. He took his own life.”

Kim looked into her mother’s eyes. “Why did you stop me back there? He could have killed you.”

“Because I didn’t want this on your conscience.”

Kim was quiet a moment, thoughtful, then she said, “We better get back. Richard needs our help.”

Tears swam in Jenny’s eyes. “Richard?”

Kim nodded. “He’s going to be all right, I think.”

They’d gone only a few yards when a voice said,
“Freeze,”
and Jenny saw five men in SWAT gear converging on them with their weapons raised. She could hear a helicopter now, swooping by in the distance.

“The gun, Mrs. Fallon,” one of the men said. “Drop it.”

Jenny tossed the gun into a clump of dead ferns. Until that moment she hadn’t realized she still had it. The nearest officer stepped up and retrieved it. The others scanned the bush.

“My name’s Baker,” the man said. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Yes. We’re fine.”

“Your forehead is bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

Baker nodded. “Where is he?”

Jenny pointed. “Back there. He’s dead.”

Two members of the team broke off and ran toward Jack’s body. Baker touched Jenny’s arm.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you back to the house.”

* * *

Richard had already been taken by ambulance from the scene, but Fransen told them the paramedics said he was going to be fine.

“What about Nina and the boys?” Jenny said. She sat on the porch steps with Kim, huddled under a rain jacket one of the SWAT guys had given her. Mercifully, someone had taken Peach and her tiny casket away. “He said he went to Nina’s.”

“They’re fine,” Fransen said. “The boys were on a sleep-over and Nina was at the movies with her mother. Just dumb luck they were out.” He butted his cigarette on one of the stone steps. “Her sister didn’t make out so well, though, I’m afraid.”

Jenny held Fransen’s gaze, then turned to Kim. “Honey, go inside and put on some dry clothes. I’ll be along in a minute.”

When Kim was gone, Jenny returned her attention to Fransen. “I want to put this behind me, Detective. As quickly as I can. In order to do that, I need to know what he did to Claudia.”

“Mrs. Fallon, I don’t think—”

“It’s Jenny. Please, call me Jenny.” She looked into Fransen’s eyes. “I don’t want to read about this in the tabloids or see it on TV. I want to hear it now, from you. All of it. I can deal with it now. Please, Detective Fransen.”

Fransen nodded. “He tortured her, Jenny. Broke her fingers, pulled out some of her teeth, hacked off one of her ears with a pair of scissors. When that didn’t do it, he used her soldering iron on her. Burned about sixty holes into her, then used it on her eyes. But she didn’t tell him where they were. The kids were only a block away. The ballsy dame didn’t tell him. So he doused her with gasoline and lit a match.”

“Thank you,” Jenny said, shivering, unable even now to fathom that the horrors he was describing were inflicted by the man whose bed she had shared for so many years. “I knew Claudia,” she said. “She was a wonderful person. She loved her family very much.”

Jenny tried to stand but faltered. Fransen lent her a hand. She said, “Can someone take us to the hospital? We’d like to be there for Richard.”

“Get dressed,” Fransen said. “I’ll take you there myself.”

FALL
, JENNY THOUGHT, A CHILL darting through her. She sat in a rocker on the back porch, watching the men close the pool. What a ball they’d had in that thing. It was hard to believe a year had passed since Jack’s death.

The baby kicked her under the ribs. It hurt.

“You’re ready, little man. Aren’t you.” She glanced at her watch and began to rock. “Your daddy and big sister should be home any minute now.”

During her last ultrasound the technician asked her if she wanted to know the baby’s sex and Jenny said yes. Richard agreed. They went out afterwards and blew a king’s ransom on goodies for the nursery. The only sticking point for Jenny was that she had no idea what to call him. She and Jack had pored over books full of baby names, and somehow, perhaps because of the repeated disappointments of those days, the process had lost it’s joy for her. She explained this to Richard, who solved the dilemma with customary efficiency.

“We’ll call him Stephen, then.”

“Why Stephen?” Jenny said.

“Because it’s a strong name. Hard to tease a kid over. Because the only kid in grade school who could draw better than me was a Stephen, and I thought he was some cool. Because I can think of a dozen other accomplished people named Stephen. How do you feel about it?”

“I like it,” Jenny said now, patting her belly.

Then she gasped and leaned forward in her chair. She was having a contraction.

Oh, my.

She heard a door open inside, then Kim appeared, flushed and out breath. “Mom, I sold another drawing. The Luna moth. I got two hundred
dollars
for it.”

Jenny gave her daughter a smile that was two parts grimace. “That’s great, sweetheart.” Richard had sectioned off a corner of the gallery and advertised a showing of Kim’s drawings under the name Kimberly Kale. More than half her stuff had sold on the first night. “Where’s Richard?”

“Mom, are you okay?”

Richard thumped onto the porch in the long overcoat he wore to hide the brace on his right knee. The left was completely prosthetic. He bent to peck her on the cheek.

“Hi, babe. Look what came in the mail.”

He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a fuzzy orange kitten no bigger than his palm. It mewled softly, blinking against the daylight. Richard handed it to Jenny.

“Oh, Richard, she’s beautiful.”

“He,” Richard said, watching the kitten press it’s wet nose into Jenny’s neck. “I thought we’d call him Fang.”

Jenny handed the kitten to Kim and put her hand out to Richard. Her face was tight with pain, but her eyes were calm.

“It’s time,” she said, rising. “Time to go meet our son.”

––––––––

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Sean Costello is a practicing physician who lives and works in Sudbury, Ontario, his home since 1981.

For information on previous and upcoming titles, visit the author’s website at www.seancostello.net

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Did you love
Sandman
? Then you should read
The Cartoonist
by Sean Costello!

Imagine this: You and two of your best friends have just been accepted into medical school, a coveted payoff after years of hard work and self-sacrifice. So you go on a road trip together, have a few drinks, a final fling before the long academic haul ahead. Young and bright, you feel the future surge beneath you like a sleek stallion, under your full control.

But a series of small lapses ends in tragedy and suddenly you're confronted with a terrible decision: Do you take responsbility for what you've done and risk losing everything? Or flee into the night unseen, with only God and your conscience as your jury?

Sixteen years ago, Scott Bowman faced this decision . . .

Now a successful psychiatrist with a loving family, Scott endures a judgement more terrible than any god or man could conceive. An ancient, derelict appears in his practice, an apparently senile old man with a remarkable artistic talent. Otherwise disconnected from the world around him, this strange little man quickly demonstrates an ability to foretell events through his drawings.

But before long Scott has to wonder: is this eldritch prophet predicting events? Or shaping them?