One Last Scream. Kevin O'Brien
heart ached for him. “I can drive Amelia over,” she said finally. “It’s no problem, Mr. McMillan. But if I insist on taking her to your house, she’s bound to figure out something’s wrong. Would you like me to tell her what happened?”
She could hear him sigh on the other end of the line. “Yes. Thank you, Karen. Thank you very much.”
When she clicked off the phone, Karen could hear Jessie talking to Amelia: “You sit tight, hon. She’ll be with you in a jiff. Rufus, get down!”
Pulling the dog by his collar, Jessie lumbered back into the kitchen and gave her a wary look. “Whew,” she whispered. “That poor girl has the fidgets something fierce. She’s practically bouncing off the walls in there. I think she’s been crying, too.”
Karen took hold of her arm. “Jess, do we still have some of Dad’s sedatives?”
“You mean those light blue pills that made him a little dopey?”
Karen nodded. “Yes, the diazepam, for anxiety.” It was times like this Karen wished she were a psychiatrist rather than just a therapist. Then she could have the proper medications on hand, instead of making do with some secondhand sedatives that were probably beyond their expiration date. “Amelia’s going to need something to calm her down. Do we still have those pills?”
Jessie nodded. “On the crap shelf in the linen closet. I’ve been bugging you to let me clean that out. Good thing you never listen to a word I say. I’ll get them.” Jessie headed up the back stairs.
Karen went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water for Amelia. She gave Rufus a stern look. “Stay,” she said. Then she took a deep breath and started toward her office at the front of the house.
The room used to be her father’s study, and had always been one of Karen’s favorite spots in the house. It was very comfy, with a fireplace and built-in bookshelves. But Amelia didn’t appear at all comfortable. Dressed in jeans, a black top, and a bulky cardigan, she nervously paced in front of the sofa. Her wavy black hair was a windblown mess. Jessie was right. It looked as if she’d been crying.
She rushed to Karen and threw her arms around her. Karen wasn’t in the habit of hugging her patients. But she held onto Amelia and gently patted her on the back.
“Where were you?” Karen asked, finally pulling away a little. “I thought you were going to wait for me here.”
Tugging at a strand of hair, Amelia looked down at the floor and shrugged. “Well, I waited for Jessie, like you said to. But after about ten minutes, I got kind of anxious. So I just drove around for a while.”
Karen bit her lip. “You, um, you didn’t by any chance track me down at the Sandpoint View Convalescent Home? I thought I saw you there about twenty-five minutes ago.”
“I have no idea where that even is,” Amelia replied, wide-eyed. “What are you talking about?”
Karen shook her head. “Never mind. It’s my mistake. Here, I got you some water. Sit down, try to relax.”
“I can’t sit down,” Amelia said, pacing again. “I have a feeling something’s happened to my parents.”
“I understand,” Karen said. “I just got off the phone with your uncle. He called. He was worried about you. He told me that…” She hesitated.
Amelia stopped pacing, and turned to stare at her.
Jessie came to the door with the diazepam and handed the bottle to Karen.
“Thanks, Jessie,” Karen said. “Could you close the door, please?”
Jessie slid shut the big, bulky pocket door that came out of the wall. Karen shook two pills into her hand. “Amelia, I want you to take these. They’re like Valium. They’ll chill you out a little.”
But Amelia didn’t move. She just kept staring at Karen. Tears welled in her eyes. “You want me to take a sedative? What did Uncle George tell you?”
“Take the pills, Amelia.”
“Oh, my God,” she said, wincing. A shaky hand went over her mouth. She sank down on the sofa. “Then it’s true. Aunt Ina…my Mom and Dad…they’re all dead, aren’t they?”
Karen swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m so sorry….”
Chapter Six
No one said anything in the car while Karen drove across the West Seattle Bridge toward Amelia’s uncle’s house. Amelia sat on the passenger side, pensively gazing out her window. Jessie was in back with a grocery bag full of food from Karen’s fridge. She’d insisted on fixing dinner for Amelia’s uncle and his family.
A bit taken aback by the idea, Karen had wondered out loud if they’d be intruding on the family’s grief.
“Nonsense, they gotta eat, don’t they?” Jessie had replied while loading up the grocery bag. “You have all the fixings here for chicken tetrazzini—chicken, noodles, Parmesan cheese, sour cream. I’ll whip up the casserole, stick it in the oven, and then you and I can beat a path out of there if it looks like we’re wearing out our welcome.”
Amelia had been inconsolable, sobbing hysterically for twenty minutes until the diazepam had kicked in. She finally slumped back on Karen’s sofa. “I should go see Uncle George,” she murmured, wiping her eyes. “Poor Jody and Steph…”
Sitting beside her on the couch, Karen handed her another Kleenex. “Your uncle asked me to drive you over. I said I’d be glad to.”
Amelia nodded. “Thanks.”
Biting her lip, Karen studied her for a moment. “You—you still haven’t asked how it happened.”
Silent, Amelia stared down at the wadded-up Kleenex in her hand.
“Your Uncle George said you had some kind of premonition.”
Amelia shrugged helplessly. “It was just a feeling—an awful, awful feeling that something was wrong.”
Karen’s heart was breaking for her. “Honey, there’s no easy way to tell you this. They haven’t confirmed it. But it’s possible your dad shot your mom and your aunt, and then he killed himself. They don’t know for sure yet.”
Amelia said nothing. She merely gave out an exhausted sigh, and closed her eyes.
Karen stroked her arm. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
While they’d gotten ready to leave, Amelia had just sat quietly on the sofa. Her voice hadn’t even cracked when she’d left Shane a phone message, explaining she was spending the night at her uncle’s house. She’d told him he could pick up his car at Karen’s. She’d said nothing about her parents’ deaths. “I’ll call you later tonight,” she’d finished up listlessly.
Once they’d climbed inside Karen’s Jetta, Amelia had suggested they take Highway 99 to the West Seattle Bridge. But after that, she hadn’t said anything else.
Karen took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at her now. She was still staring out at the Seattle waterfront and skyline. There was a tiny, sad smile on her face.
“How are you doing, Amelia?” she asked.
She kept gazing out the window at the view from the bridge. “I was thinking about all the trips we took here to Aunt Ina and Uncle George’s house—the Christmases, Thanks-givings, and birthdays. It’s a long drive down from Bellingham, almost two hours.” She traced a horizontal line on the window with her finger. “This bridge was always the landmark, the sign we were almost there. I remember when we were kids, Collin and I used to get so excited crossing this bridge. We loved going to Ina and George’s.” She let out a little laugh. “Last Thanksgiving on our way here, I noticed Collin had way too much product in his hair. He had his window open, but his hair didn’t budge an inch. I could have broken off a piece