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Eyes of Glass - Hearts of Stone

Chapter Twenty

Karen faltered in her attack when a spreading pool of blood poured over the top of her shoes. Lori dropped to her knees, watching Ralph McBride twitch spasmodically. A distant siren wailed, although she couldn't be certain of its destination. Help would be late in coming in any event.

She was mistaken about that. She should have guessed that Trent would be lurking nearby. A screaming patrol car pulled to the curb within seconds. She expected to be able to rise to her feet and deal with him as always, but her legs refused to support her.

Karen swept her up like a doll and wailed at the top of her lungs. Lori thought it amusing and would have preferred to be in Trent’s arms. The murmur of a crowd filled the air, and she couldn't imagine where they had all come from so quickly. Her entire body jerked in nervous reaction to each slam of a car door.

"Is she hurt?" Trent Scarelli called from nearby with suppressed urgency.

"I don’t know!” Karen shook her like a rag doll being inspected for damage. "She saved my life! I didn't see the gun! My God, the man had a gun!"

Trent turned away. Karen hurried behind the deputy and put Lori in the front seat of his car.

Trent’s breath warmed her neck. "You're bleeding. Superficial cuts, as far as I can see. Maybe we can deal with this ourselves."

The door slammed and sealed her away from the noise and confusion. She held up her bloody hands and saw a small shard of glass protruding from the base of her right thumb. If she had wounds elsewhere, she couldn't feel them. She felt no inclination to search for more.

Trent circled the car and leaped behind the wheel. The patrol car surged ahead quietly, a far cry from her own noisy little Volkswagen. They were soon rolling across the railroad tracks and turning at the highway. Trent reached down and shut off the siren. Silence rang in her ears.

"How are we doing?" he said.

Lori thought it would be polite to reply. She couldn't for the life of her gather the energy, but she rolled her head to one side and studied him, puzzled by his behavior. He had haunted Sorrel during the course of the summer, even before all the trouble started with Ruben and Ralph and the breakup of her marriage. He had been around since the beginning of her bad dreams for secret reasons of his own.

"Am I going to jail?" she said when she felt certain she could speak without stuttering incoherently.

"You're going to the hospital first. We'll talk about jail later."

"My children," she said. She had sacrificed her children for Karen’s life. The thought startled her, and her thoughts flew apart like a flock of scattered birds. Her next clear memory was of being manhandled onto a stretcher and roughly transferred to a hard bed in a bright and cold room. They cut away at her clothing and hustled about like bickering predators worrying a kill.

A middle-aged woman in white smiled down at her. "Nicked a vein. Wasn't as bad as it looked. Keep it covered and have your own doctor look at it in a day or two."

Lori wet her lips in confusion. "Who, me?"

The nurse smiled tolerantly. "On the calf of your leg. You have minor cuts elsewhere, but nothing that required stitches. Do you have someone to call for a change of clothing?"

"I just want to go home."

"I'll take care of it," Trent said from nearby.

"Rest for a few minutes," the nurse told her. "Give the sedatives a chance to wear off."

Curtains were yanked closed and Lori was left alone. She slept for a time and stared at the ceiling later in the afternoon, awake and clear-headed at long last. She sat up and found her clothing neatly piled on a nearby stand. The bloodied leg of her slacks had been slit up one side and her blouse was spotted with blood. She removed the universally despised hospital gown that failed to cover her backside and hurriedly dressed.

Trent paced the hall outside her cubicle. She startled him when he turned and found her blocking his way. "I'm told they're fairly certain they've got you sewed back together in one piece,” he said with a tentative smile. “You said you wanted to go home? If so, I’m driving."

"Yes, please," she said calmly, but inwardly wrought with anxiety.

She managed to walk a straight line with Trent holding her arm. She ignored curious eyes weighing upon her in the corridor and paused at the nurse's station to sign release papers without hearing anything said to her.

Trent put his arm around her on the ride down the elevator, but she hurried ahead in the lobby, eager to be free of the hospital and the threat of confinement. Outside, the sun was going down and the afternoon warm and ominously quiet.

Trent’s car waited at the entrance, sleek and black and ominous looking with its lights and insignia. He helped her buckle her seat belt, and drove at a leisurely pace through the outskirts of Clayton. He didn't speak until they were on the county road leading back to Sorrel. "I was told to bring you back in if you acted too spacey. How are you feeling?"

"I don't know why I'm so shaky. I think I passed out on the way in."

"Twice that I noticed. They were going to keep you for observation, but it’s just shock. The recoil of that cannon of yours must have rattled you some. I told them you're a tough cookie and would rest better at home."

"Thank you."

"I've been on the radio most of the afternoon piecing the situation together. I can save you a deposition at the sheriff's office, if you'll talk to me."

"Is he dead?"

"No, but not for lack of trying. He's being transferred to a larger hospital as soon as he can be stabilized. I'm not sure where. Amy's in shock. We left her a few cubicles down from your own. Karen's being questioned. We left your children and the twins with Carol.”

"You won't arrest Karen, will you? It wasn't her fault. She didn't see what had happened. Ralph was trying to kill us all."

"We're not holding either one of you, but like I said, we do need to talk."

Pulling up to the house, the shattered picture window brought tears to her eyes. Wendy and Leslie stormed her as she climbed from the car. Carol waited on the front porch with the twins clutching at her legs.

Trent Scarelli led the way inside. His black boots crunched broken glass. He circled the room and ran his hand across buckshot embedded in the woodwork of the dining room archway.

"How's Ralph?" Carol said boldly.

Trent threw her a look of bemused exasperation. "Aside from a bullet wound in the right hip and shoulder, a shattered pelvis, two broken collar bones, a fractured skull, and severe concussion, he's doing fine."

"Glad to hear it."

Trent's dark eyes settled on Lori. "Dave's not around?"

Lori felt too empty inside to bother with an answer. She turned into the bedroom, intending to lie down for a time before attending the broken glass. She let her shoes dangle over the edge of the bed for fear of contaminating the sheets with slivers of glass.

Wendy sat quietly at her side. "Dave's not coming back," she heard Carol say to Trent from the living room. Lori didn’t have the energy to ask her daughter to keep Leslie from cutting himself on all the broken glass.

"So I gather,” Trent said. “I noticed you were gone the week the Robinson house caught fire."

"That has nothing to do with any of this, Trent Scarelli."

"We heard Ralph made threats. Were those reported to us?"

"He made some of those threats in court," Carol said. "Are you going to accuse Lori or Karen of overreacting?"

Trent chuckled. "Lack of coordination, maybe. Lori's a pretty good shot with that artillery of hers. I'm glad she's on our side. Sheriff Danielson is worried that you may be trying to handle too much on your own."

"The first time we relied on you for help in an emergency was over two years ago when this all began," Carol growled at the man. "Amy lay unconscious on her front lawn for thirty-five minutes before anyone showed up.”

Trent’s voice softened. "I'm sorry. This is not a good time for a third degree."

"Not unless you want your coffee salted in the morning. Give Lori a day or two. She's been through a lot."

"Take care of her," Trent said, and she didn’t hear his voice again. Outside, his car started and drove away.

A moment of silence passed. Carol entered the bedroom. "Is she sleeping?"

"She's awake," Wendy said.

Carol put a hand across Lori’s shoulder. "I'll see to the window, Hon. And don't let that Trent Scarelli get to you. You know as well as I do that he's too much of a hunk to be a real bastard."

Lori hadn't totaled a full night's sleep during the past week. She hadn't slept for eight hours straight in more than two weeks. She doubted if circumstance would let her sleep for any extended period of time ever, but she sank into unconsciousness as soon as someone removed her shoes and stuffed a pillow under her head.

She slept far too soundly to dream. The hypnotic humming of a vacuum cleaner helped. She got up once during the night to visit the adjoining bathroom, delighted that she had not been disturbed for at least those few hours. She was lulled back to sleep by Karen and Carol engaged in a quiet, serious discussion in the living room.

She awoke past noon the following day soaked to the skin in perspiration in the rising heat. She showered, removed her bandages and scowled at the insignificant cuts and bruises. Only the nick on her leg with the stitches deserved a fresh covering. She dressed in a blouse and slacks and braced herself for the ordeal of coping with a ruined house.

She closed the bedroom door behind her, but was stopped at that point by a bout of confusion. She was simply in the wrong house. Not Carol's or Karen's house. The living room was situated much like her own, and it occurred to her that she had slept in her own bedroom, and used her own bath and shower. But there was no broken window in this living room, and the rug and couch looked brand new. She smelled fresh paint and glanced back at the dining room archway to inspect the damage caused by the gunshot. She saw nothing but flawless woodwork.

Carol entered the dining room from the kitchen munching on a sandwich. "Afternoon, Hon," she said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of food.

A glance at the clock over the television helped explain the mystery. She had slept through a night and an entire morning. "Wendy and Leslie?" she said.

"Staying with Mary Martin. They'll be back before dark."

Lori blinked back tears of gratitude. "How did you manage this?"

Carol threw an arm about her shoulder. "Don't thank me. I ate you out of house and home and I drank every last can of Dave's beer."

Lori stared in astonishment at the new window. "But how did you get it fixed so fast?"

"Greg loaned me enough cash to get someone out here after hours. He says you can reimburse him when you see an insurance check."

Lori studied the mystery of the refurbished rug and couch again.

"Professionally cleaned. Twenty-four-hour-a-day contractors. They were in and out of here before midnight last night. And we had some of the wood trim over the dining room door replaced."

Lori took a seat on the couch. "How's Amy?"

"Back home already, believe it or not. She went into hysterics at first, but when the doctors advised her of Ralph's condition and told her he'll be pooping in a metal pan for at least a year, she snapped right out of it. How about you? We've all been worrying about you."

"I'm fine. What about Karen?"

"Scared to death. Doing a lot of heavy thinking. She thought she was on top of the situation. She didn't realize how close she came to getting herself killed. You were the only one who had a handle on things. You kicked Ralph's ass, and we're all so proud of you."

Lori felt only humiliation for what she had done. "Ralph wouldn't have gone bonkers if it hadn't been for me and Karen getting in his face all the time."

"Sure, and then we'd be going to Amy's funeral instead of hosing his blood down the sewer. Hon, I've taken enough time off work, and you need time alone to get your head screwed on straight. I told the kids to be home by dinner, and I think you've got some macaroni and cheese left, so you can get back to being a housewife again. I've gotta run. Okay?"

She let Carol go. Both Leslie and Wendy acted with a strange reserve when they returned home three quiet hours later. She tried too hard to put the two at ease, smiling and acting too bubbly until Leslie broke down and started crying.

Lori phoned Carol early in the evening and wept gently in nervous reaction to the day’s events. “Do they think I’m going crazy? They act like they're scared of me.”

"Just be your usual self and they'll come around,” Carol said. “It's rough for a kid to discover their half-pint mother’s a Power Ranger."

An unfamiliar tapping sounded at Lori's front door an hour or two after Leslie and Wendy had gone to bed. She hid in the shadows for the first few patient knocks at the screen door. Curiosity overpowered her. Barefoot and dressed in a shapeless robe, she opened the door to the alluring figure of Trent Scarelli.

The deputy gave her an uncertain smile. "I was just getting off work."

Lori stepped outside and closed the door. “I don’t want to wake the children.”

"I just wanted to let you know that I live in Jumer a bit further up the highway, six minutes without breaking the speed limit. I'm available for after hour emergencies."

Despite her reservations, Lori was pleased by the offer. "Thank you for being so considerate."

"I'm sorry we weren't able to help prevent some of the problems you and your friends have had this summer."

"Comes with the territory."

"Pardon?"

"Nobody forced us to move so far from town," Lori said.

"Small towns have their advantages. A low crime rate is usually one of them."

"We've bucked the odds this summer, I think."

"We don't usually have helpful neighbors coming to the defense of battered wives the way you did. If Danielson hadn't snubbed a reporter or two, you'd have your face plastered over the front page of the Gazette. Lori Malcolm, local hero."

"Thank the sheriff for me."

Trent ventured one of his sad smiles. She could tell by his demeanor that he was visiting against his better judgment. In the moment of awkward silence that passed, Lori felt his presence impacting upon her in unexpected ways. A half dozen erotic scenarios ran through her mind. Unsettled by the perversity of her imagination and the unexpected strength of her deprived biological drive, she gazed longingly at him, but with nothing more to say.

Neither did Trent know how to proceed. "I guess it’s late. We'll talk again some other time."

She let him go with a murmur of a farewell, but she allowed herself a vague smile watching him walk to his car. He'd be back.

"Tit for tat, David Malcolm," she said to the stillness. "Just wait and see."

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