Second Child Part 17

Standing over her bed, the dreaded restraints held in her hands.

The machete kept moving, rising and falling, as Melissa slashed away at the hateful images.

Then, as suddenly as the rage had built up inside her, it was gone.

She dropped the machete to the ground and stood panting for a moment as she stared at the destruction she'd caused. And then she heard Tag's voice behind her.

"Feel better?"

She blinked, and turned around to face him. Her arms were sore from swinging the blade and she was sweating all over.

But she felt better.

The anger-the simmering fury that had threatened to overwhelm her only a few minutes before-was gone. A crooked grin spread across her face. "That's weird," she breathed. She was silent for a moment. "But it felt good. Really good."

An hour later, his match with Teri over and Teri herself already involved in another-this time with Brett Van Arsdale-Charles sank down at a table on the terrace and gratefully took a sip of the drink Phyllis had ordered for him. "I guess I'm not as young as I used to be," he said, finally catching his breath. "Whoever taught her how to play did a good job."

Phyllis, watching Teri volley with Brett, smiled happily. "She's wonderful, isn't she? And isn't this nice, finally being able to spend a Sunday morning at the club while our daughter plays tennis with her friends?"

Charles's eyes narrowed. His voice took on a hard edge. "In case you've forgotten," he said, dropping his voice so only Phyllis could hear it, "our "our daughter went home in tears, thanks to you. Just once in a while you could give her a break." daughter went home in tears, thanks to you. Just once in a while you could give her a break."

Phyllis's smile froze on her lips. "I'm just trying to do what's right for her," she countered. "You're not helping her by constantly letting her win." She paused for a moment, waving to Kay Fielding, who nodded back at her, then returned her attention to her husband. "She's not stupid, you know-she knows exactly what you're doing, and all it does is undermine her self-confidence even more."

Charles took another sip of his drink while he considered his wife's words. Was she right? Was Was he spoiling Melissa? Probably he was-after all, during the summers, he only got to see her on weekends, and even when they were in the city he was often so busy he only had an hour or so a day for her. he spoiling Melissa? Probably he was-after all, during the summers, he only got to see her on weekends, and even when they were in the city he was often so busy he only had an hour or so a day for her.

And he still remembered what Burt Andrews had told him two years ago, when Melissa's sleepwalking had first manifested itself. The morning that Cora had found her in the little room in the attic, sound asleep, with no memory of how she'd gotten there, neither he nor Phyllis had had any idea of what to do. But at last he'd called their family doctor in the city, who had immediately recommended a psychiatrist in Portland. And Andrews, if nothing else, had at least eased their worries.

Sleepwalking, he'd told them, was not in and of itself a terribly serious problem. He'd suggested a light restraint-just something strong enough to wake Melissa up when she started to leave her bed at night.

But most of Andrews's advice had been directed at Charles himself: "You have to be careful, Mr. Holloway. All fathers have a tendency to spoil their daughters, and since you gave Teri up to her mother, you're going to have a very strong tendency to over-indulge Melissa. It's simply a matter of guilt."

"But I don't feel guilty," Charles had replied. "I gave up Teri because it was best for her. It was either that or drag her through the courts for G.o.d-only-knows how long."

"I'm not arguing that," the doctor had interrupted. "I'm sure you did exactly the right thing. But I'm afraid guilt isn't rational, and no matter how logical your actions were, you're going to have to guard against spoiling Melissa to compensate for your subconscious feelings that you abandoned Teri. It puts both Melissa and your wife in a difficult position. Phyllis becomes cast as the disciplinarian, and Melissa gets mixed messages from her parents, and becomes confused. And out of the confusion..." His voice had trailed off, leaving the thought hanging, but Charles had understood it perfectly well.

Whatever Melissa's problems were, the root of them lay within himself.

And Andrews, he supposed now, was probably right. But still...

"I guess I just don't see how humiliating her in public is going to help," he began. Before he could go on, Phyllis cut him off.

"And I don't see how airing our dirty laundry at the club is going to help anything at all," she said, her voice brittle.

Charles's eyes fixed coldly on his wife, and when he spoke, his voice had a note to it that told her she had pushed him far enough. "Then don't do it," he said. "If you can't bring yourself to let Melissa have some fun at tennis-no matter how poorly she plays-then don't play with her at all."

Phyllis's jaw set angrily, but she said nothing, and for the next half hour the two of them sat at their table, nodding to the people who pa.s.sed by, talking briefly with Marty and Paula Barnstable when they paused on their way to brunch.

To each other, they spoke not another word.

"Ready to go home?" Charles asked Teri after she'd finally lost her match with Brett and joined them at the table.

Teri's brows rose questioningly. "I thought we were staying for brunch."

Charles smiled sympathetically. "I know, but don't you think we ought to go see how Melissa's doing?"

Phyllis stirred in her chair, her head turning almost imperceptibly toward her husband. "Why don't you go?" she suggested. "Teri and I can stay here, and perhaps Melissa might feel like coming back with you."

"No," Charles said, his tone once more conveying that he would stand for no argument. "I can't imagine she'd want to come back here today, and I don't blame her. So if you're finished with your drink..." He let his voice trail off, signed the check, and rose to his feet.

Phyllis, on the verge of arguing, suddenly changed her mind, but did her best to smile at Teri. "When your father makes up his mind," she said, not quite bringing off her attempt to make light of their quarrel, "it just doesn't do any good to argue with him."

Ignoring his wife's comment, Charles strode across the terrace, Teri hurrying after him. Phyllis, seething silently, followed more slowly, deliberately taking her time.

Ten minutes later, as they climbed up the gentle rise from the beach to the edge of the lawn, Phyllis came to a sudden halt. On the lawn in front of the house, Melissa and Tag were engaged in a playful wrestling match, with Blackie doing his best to join in.

"Melissa!" Phyllis called, the sharpness in her voice instantly bringing her daughter to her feet. "How many times have I told you you're too old for that sort of thing? You're a teenager now, and I expect you to act like one." She strode across the lawn, but as she approached Melissa, Blackie put himself between the two of them, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

Phyllis stopped short, glaring at the dog, then turned her anger toward Tag. "This is the last time I'm going to tell you, Tag. If you can't keep that dog under control, I'm going to get rid of it. And as for you, young lady," she went on, refocusing on Melissa, her eyes raking the gra.s.s stains on her daughter's white shorts and blouse, "I want you to get upstairs right now and get yourself cleaned up. Those clothes you're wearing are brand new, and I'll be surprised if they're not ruined."

Her happiness while playing with Tag having evaporated like dew in the morning sun, Melissa turned and fled into the house.

"Very good, Phyllis," Charles said tightly before he hurried after his younger daughter. "At this rate, we should have her back to Dr. Andrews before the end of the summer."

CHAPTER 14.

Teri lay restlessly on her bed. A book was propped on her lap, but she was no longer even trying to concentrate on its pages. Instead, her mind kept replaying the scene after dinner, when her father had left to go back to the city for the week.

Once again she'd stood silently to one side while he gathered Melissa into his arms, whispering into her ear, making plans with her for the next weekend. Finally, glancing at his watch, he'd turned to Teri, giving her a quick hug.

"Take care of Melissa for me?" he'd asked.

Take care of Melissa! What was she? A baby-sitter? Wasn't it bad enough that Melissa had thrown one of her tantrums at the club and ruined brunch for everyone? But she'd given her father her sweetest smile and promised to take care of her half sister. "We'll have a great time," she'd said. "Maybe I'll even give her some tennis lessons."

That, she reflected now, would be a real thrill. She could picture herself, standing in the center of the private court behind the swimming pool, lobbing one easy shot after another to Melissa and keeping up a steady stream of encouragement, no matter how clumsy her half sister might be.

"Good, Melissa! That's a lot better!"

"Great shot, Melissa! Right past me."

The whole idea of it made her want to throw up, but she could do it-she would would do it, if she had to. do it, if she had to.

Just as long as Melissa kept thinking of her as her best friend.

And by the time Melissa caught on, if she ever did, it would be too late.

Far too late.

She shifted on the narrow bed, her hips aching slightly from the too-hard mattress, and an image of Melissa flashed into her mind, lying in her own oversized bed in the huge room next door.

My room, Teri thought. My room, in my house, with my father.

But not for long.

She got out of bed, pulling on her bathrobe as she moved restlessly to the open window. Outside, a thin layer of fog was drifting in from the sea--no more than a gentle swirl of mist that eddied around the treetops, blurring their forms just enough to give them an eerie, ghostly look.

D'Arcy weather, Teri thought to herself. Just the kind of night when a ghost would be wandering around the beach.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a nearly inaudible whining sound, followed by a faint scratching noise.

Blackie.

It had to be the dog, sniffing around the back door, trying to sneak into the house again.

Maybe she should let him in. She could bring him upstairs and slip him into Melissa's room.

And in the morning...

Her mind shifted gears as another idea came to her. She thought about it for a few seconds, playing it out.

It would work.

She went to the highboy next to her closet door and opened the top drawer, feeling around until her hands closed on the string of pearls her father had sent her for Christmas last year, the string of pearls identical to the ones in Melissa's own drawer. Slipping them into the pocket of her robe, she went into the bathroom, listening for a few seconds at the closed door to Melissa's room.

She opened the door a crack, peering inside.

Yes.

It was going to be all right.

Once again Phyllis had left Melissa's bed restraints off, and Melissa was curled up on her side, her head sunk deep into her pillow. Teri could even hear the steady rhythms of her breath as she slept. Satisfied, she closed the door again, then moved silently back into her own room, locking the bathroom door behind her. She switched off the lamp on her nightstand before going to the door, opening it a crack, and pausing to listen once more.

The house was silent.

Teri opened her door wider, slipped out into the hall and pulled the door closed. Carefully, she inserted the old-fashioned key into the lock, wincing at the distinct click the bolt made as it slid in. The hall was lit only by the small night-light at the head of the stairs, but Teri made her way easily through the gloom and a few seconds later was at the foot of the main staircase. She crossed the foyer and went through the dining room and the butler's pantry to the kitchen.

Blackie's snuffling and whining at the door was louder now, and when he scratched at the door, the rasping of his claws seemed oddly amplified.

Teri moved toward the door, and for a moment Blackie's whining grew eager as he heard the approaching footsteps. But when Teri opened the door, the whine turned into a low growl.

"It's me, Blackie," Teri whispered, holding the door wide open. "Don't you want to come inside?"

Blackie, his tail dropped low to the ground, backed away a couple of feet, and once more a growl rumbled softly in his throat.

Teri stepped outside onto the back porch and stooped down, holding her hand out to the big dog. Blackie hesitated, as if confused by the gesture, but then stretched his neck out to sniff suspiciously at Teri's fingers.

"Good dog," Teri whispered. "See? It's only me. You don't have to be frightened." She rose up from her crouch and moved closer to the dog, but Blackie backed warily away from her, For a moment Teri considered trying to grab his collar, but then changed her mind. If the dog got frightened and ran off into the woods or down to the beach, she'd never find him.

An idea came to her. "Stay," she whispered. "Stay there!"

Blackie hesitated a moment, his eyes riveted to her, then sank down onto his haunches. Leaving the kitchen door open an inch or two, Teri went back inside and searched in the cupboards until she found a box of Milk Bones. Taking one of them, she went back to the door.

Blackie was exactly as she'd left him.

"Here," she whispered. "Do you want this?"

Blackie's head stretched forward and he whined pleadingly, but when Teri reached out to him, he shied away once more, slinking down the steps and a few yards out onto the lawn. But as Teri spoke to him again, he turned back.

"Come on, don't you want a cookie? Don't you see what Teri has for the nice doggie?"

Once again the whine rose in Blackie's throat, and this time, as Teri moved closer to him, he held his ground. His head came up and he stretched his neck out to take the treat.

As she gave Blackie the Milk Bone with her left hand, the fingers of her right hand slipped through his collar. "Good," she said. "That's a very good dog."

Blackie, munching happily on the Milk Bone, wagged his tail.

While he chewed, Teri used her left hand to untie the thick terry-cloth belt of her robe and pull it free from its loops.

As Blackie finished the Milk Bone, licking the last crumbs from the closely-cropped lawn, she slipped the belt around his neck.

"That's right," she crooned softly. "That's such a good dog."

The belt was all the way around Blackie's neck now, and finally Teri released her grip on his collar to take the other end of the belt.

Blackie looked up expectantly, hoping for another treat.

And Teri, with a sudden jerk, pulled the terry-cloth belt tight around his neck.

The big dog's eyes jerked wide open as his breath was suddenly cut off. He tried to twist free from the noose, but Teri stood straight up, lifting the Labrador half off the ground, his forequarters suspended helplessly from the knotted belt. His legs lashed out, kicking wildly as he searched for something to brace himself against, and then his lips curled back as he bared his fangs. His hind legs, still touching the ground, clawed helplessly at the lawn as he tried to free himself from his tormentor, but as Teri began jerking on the belt, yanking it first one way and then the other, he lost what little traction he had.

The struggle went on, eerily silent in the darkness of the foggy night, and for a moment Teri thought she might lose her grip on the belt.

But then, with a sharp snap, the battle came to an abrupt end.

Blackie's body, sixty pounds of violently thrashing bone and muscle, suddenly went limp as his neck broke, severing his spinal cord.

Teri held on to the belt for a few more seconds, until she was certain the dog was dead. Then, half carrying Blackie's corpse and half dragging it, she went back into the house and started up the servants' stairs.

At first Melissa didn't know what the sounds were; didn't even know when she'd first become aware of them. She was sitting alone in the featureless white room, a room that sometimes seemed so immense she could barely see the walls that surrounded her. But at other times those same walls seemed to press in on her with a terrifying closeness that made her feel as if she were suffocating.

She didn't know why she was in the white room or how long she'd been there.

But she knew it was some kind of punishment, some kind of penance she was required to suffer for some crime she couldn't even remember having committed.