McDonald recoiled from this, astonished. Theyd had their fights, but shed never come on like this. He stared at her in stupefaction; then his face went rapidly from pink to red, and he heaved himself up, a sheet of water rolling out of the tub and onto the floor.
You bitch, he bellowed. Im gonna beat your ass…
He was fast on his feet for a fat man, but she was ready for it. She was several steps out into the bedroom, heading for the stairs, before he was out of the tub. Once he was angry enough, she knew, hed keep coming, and he was angry enough. She ran down the stairsthe alcohol still a warm glow in her stomach, but not yet reaching toward her headpunched her sisters number on the speed-dial, listened, prayed shed answer. In any case, Helen had an answering machine, which would do almost as well… she could hear McDonald thundering down the stairs, two rings, threeand then Helen: Hello?
Helen, she screamed. Wilson is coming, Wilson
Get the fuck away from there, McDonald shouted. His face was twisted, purple, all the pent-up rage of the day now flowing out toward her. Shed never seen his face like this, not even at the beginning of the worst of the beatings shed taken from him. But she gave him the finger and he ran toward her and when he was close enough, she swung the phone at his head like a hammer. He deflected it with his forearm, then grabbed it, but she held on, screaming, Let me go, Wilson, let me go, while he shouted, Let go of the fuckin phone. ..
He was trying to twist the phone free, and when she held on, he stepped back and slapped her hard, knocking her down. She went facedown, slamming hard into the floor, closing her eyes just an instant before impact, deliberately letting her head snap forward; felt the crunch of her nose, the taste of blood in her nose and mouth.
Oh, Christ… She tried to get up and McDonald kicked her and she went down again, and he was shouting into the phone, You keep your nose out of this, Helen, this is between Audrey and me, if you stick your nose into this Ill kick your ass too…
Audrey launched herself toward the living room, blood streaming from her nose; the blood left long trails across the gray tile floor and onto the rug. McDonald had hung up the phone, and was coming: she got to her feet, spotted the crystal golf trophy, picked it up and threw it at his head. He ducked, and it bounced off a bookshelf, and he turned and tried to catch it as it bounced across the floor; it was unbroken until the last bounce, when it hit the tile of the kitchen and an arm shattered.
McDonald groaned and picked up the biggest chunk of it and began blubbering: You fuckin broke it, you broke my golf man…
He came after her hard then, with a balled fist. She screamed at him, Wilson, dont, but he clubbed her with a balled fist, and she crashed into the music stand on the Steinway; more blood spattered across the music books, and she went down again.
Get up! he screamed. Get the fuck up…
Instead, she tried crawling under the piano, where she wrapped her arms around the pedal mechanism: and a very small part of her mind assessed the damage she had taken, and was pleased.
Get out here, McDonald screamed. Hed fallen to his hands and knees, the golf trophy set to one side, and grabbed her ankle and pulled. She hugged the pedal housing, kicking at his face; he dug his fingernails into the skin of her leg, holding on, pulling, and she jerked her leg up sharply and kicked again, connecting with his hands.
You fuckin bitch! he screamed, and he pivoted and began kicking her legs with his heavy bare feet, the kicks landing on her calves and thighs. She abandoned the pedals, crawled toward the other side, where a row of silk plants lined the edge of a low window. Behind her, she left tracesof blood; when she kicked his hands off her legs, hed peeled two-inch strips of skin away and her legs were bleeding profusely; and she was still bleeding from her nose, blowing bubbles of blood out on the beige carpet.
Oh no you dont, McDonald said, as she crawled toward the plants. He stood up and lurched to the far side of the piano, kicked one of the fake plants out of the way, and stooped over to meet her.
But shed already reversed herself and squirted out the other side of the piano; she spotted the broken golf trophy on the floor, picked it up, and turned to face him.
This what you want to do, Wilson? she shrieked. She hit herself in the face with the trophy, and the edge of it cut her cheek from the corner of her left eye almost to her jawline. McDonald had been trying to get across the jumble of plants; now he stumbled, stopped.
What the hell are you doing?
Im beating myself up, so you wont have to do it, she screamed. Here, Ill do it again, and she hit herself again, slashing back at her skull with the broken edge. This drew real blood, and McDonald gawked at her.
Now, she said, more quietly, you take your turn… And she pitched the trophy at him, hitting him square in the chest.
McDonald, reflexes working, trapped the trophy against his chest, still gawking at the bloody hulk of the woman ten feet away. Audrey turned and ran toward the back bedroom, and McDonald, carrying the trophy in one hand, drunk but struggling now for self-control, said, Jesus Christ, Audrey, I knew you were fuckin nuts, but what the hell is this?
Audrey pushed back out of the bedroom, carrying Granddads favorite twelve-gauge. She looked like a nightmare from a horror film, blood matting her hair, running down her cheek into her blouse, bubbling from her nose over her lips and chin down her neckline, and running from her legs down to her feet; shed left a row of bloody footprints into and out of the bedroom.
You loser, she said, through the dripping blood. A sad look came over McDonalds bully face as he looked into the muzzle of the gun: I was afraid youd killed all those people; but I didnt want to know, he said.
Well, now you do, she said.
You dont have to kill me.
Wilson, that goddamned Davenport is snuffling around after you, and hes going to get you. He already knows about some of the other killings, and once he has those figured outyoud cave in like a house of cards. My problem is, you might still be able to prove you were out of town for a couple of the killings. And Ill tell you what, Wilson, after all the shit I put up with married to a goddamn loser… The booze was beginning to have an effect, and she blinked once, twice, almost lost her line of thought. After all that shit, I couldnt stand going to jail for it.
You dont have to, he said, hastily. He took a step back. You gotta think about this.
I have thought about it, she said. I would have had to do it sooner or later anyway.
You goddamn hillbilly, he said, taking another step back.
You… She couldnt think of an answer to that, so she fired the shotgun, the load of buckshot blowing straight through the broken golf trophy McDonald had moved up over his chest, through an inch of yellow fat, and into McDonalds heart. He wasnt blown backward, the way people hit with shotguns were in the movies; he simply took another step back, tried to say something else, and then toppled.
Audrey checked to make sure he was dead, and then called 911.
I killed my husband, she choked; and she really choked, because she had loved him, more or less. I shot my husband, she moaned. Send somebody…
And when they said they would, she dropped the phone, tossed the gun at McDonalds sightless body, and staggered into the kitchen for another drink.
NINETEEN
LUCAS WOKE IN FULL LIGHT, WITH THE PHONE RINGING again. He hopped out of bed, nearly stumbled on cramped legs, lurched through the bedroom door to the study, picked up the extension on the sixth or seventh ring and said, Yeah?