Brink of Death (Paperback)

Chapter One

A sudden howl swoops over us-a monstrous, black-winged bird, hurling blasts of air against our faces. I cringe, digging fingers into Vic's arms. His skin shimmers ... breaks apart ... evaporates. I am left alone, helpless. The bird beats away to hang in the air. Its curved beak opens as it glares at me, its eyes cold and obsidian. I swivel away, hands shielding my head. The monster screeches, screeches ...

Wails ripped the night. My eyes flew open, mind hovering between dream and reality. The manic bird, the feel of Vic's arms-so vivid one second ago-faded into oblivion. But the screeching remained. Slowly the sounds registered.

Sirens.

I turned my head to check the digital clock, a superstitious voice within whispering that the hour would make a difference. Sirens at noon could spell tragedy. Sirens after midnight ... madness.

In my defense, I don't think I was fully awake.

The numbers glowed red in the darkness. Twelve-fifty, past the bewitching hour.

The sirens grew closer, one falling as another rose, yowling like wounded beasts. The final lingering shrouds of my dream dropped away. I pushed up on my elbows, veins pulsing, senses alert.

They were coming up Barrister Court.

I hauled myself from bed, tapped the base of my touch-sensitive lamp twice. It flicked on to medium power. The sirens writhed in my ears like hissing snakes. Red and blue lights flashed through the sheers on my window, tainting them the colors of blood and water. Surely the bearers of these sirens had taken a wrong turn. My father's house-I still couldn't think of it as my own-lay at the left end of the cul-de-sac, bordered by forest. Where could the sirens be going?

I raked back the sheers. Two black-and-white Sheriff's Department patrol cars and an ambulance careened to a halt outside the Willits' house across the wide street. The Willits. What could be happening at the Willits'? I shook my head to clear it. In the next instant I found myself jerking open a dresser drawer, pulling out jeans and a T-shirt. I threw them on with barely a thought, fingers trembling.

All sirens fell away. The ensuing silence was deafening. Car doors slammed, voices intermingled. For a moment I felt frozen, watching the scene. Then before I knew it, my feet were racing out of the bedroom and down the hall toward Kelly. At her door I tried to gather myself, force calmness into my expression, knowing that I failed miserably. I crossed the threshold of my twelve-year-old daughter's room.

"Mom!" Kelly sat up in bed, clutching the covers, her voice pinched and trembling. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, honey." I hurried to hug her. "They've stopped at Erin's house. You stay-"

"Erin!" The name burst from Kelly's mouth, and her eyes teared up. Erin was her new best friend-the girl who'd reached out to her when we moved to Grove Landing one month ago. Kelly sprang from her bed. "I have to go see-"

"No, Kelly." I placed firm hands on her shoulders, speaking rapidly. "Stay here. We can't get in the way. Just let me see what's going on first."

I heard bare feet ascending the massive curved wooden staircase that ended not far down the hall. My younger sister, Jenna, materialized in the doorway, clad in her cotton summer pajamas. A second later the thud of Stephen's feet echoed in the great room, one floor below. The feet trotted across the hardwood floor before I could stop my son. The front door opened and banged shut.

I slipped past my sister, knowing I had to stop Stephen from getting in the way of the officials dealing with whatever nightmare had befallen the Willits. A fifteen-year-old with a mind of his own would hardly be welcome. "Jenna, will you stay with Kelly? I'm going to see what's happening."

"Yeah, sure. Go."

I scurried down the stairs, fear for the Willits mingling with a selfish fear for myself. Traces of my dream snagged against my memory, like gauze over splintered wood. Vic making promises ... then disappearing. For the millionth time I wished him back, despite all he'd done. I wasn't made to be without him. To raise two kids alone. Always so many crises to handle, and goodness knows I wasn't good at coping with any of them.

The soles of my feet smacked against the oak steps. How much faster I moved than the first time I'd descended that staircase, when I was sure I'd fall right through it. It was custom-made and ridiculously expensive, each polished step seeming to float with no backing, connected only by gnarled, thick logs on either side, and similarly sized handrails. By the time it reached the second floor, fourteen feet down, it turned one hundred eighty degrees. Certainly not the kind of stairs for small children. But perfect and fitting for my father's executive mansion of a log home.

Hitting the bottom of the steps, I ran across the great room to the front door-a good thirty-five feet. At the entryway I stopped to slide into the open-back shoes I'd left there, then flung myself outside.

Barrister Court is the width of two normal streets, designed for use by both cars and the private planes owned by each of the twenty-four homeowners of Grove Landing sky park. Across the street and down, I caught sight of the Willits' next-door neighbors, Al and Sandy Edinberger, emerging from their house. Other figures ran up the road, but I couldn't make out who they were. Radios crackled from the patrol cars. The flashing lights pulsed against trees, the road, the frightened faces of the Edinbergers as they cut across their yard toward the scene. A new siren wailed up the street, another patrol car carving out a parking place behind the ambulance. A deputy sheriff sprang from the car practically before the engine died. He headed for a rubbernecking Stephen, a few feet from the Willits' front yard.

"Back, please!" He held up both hands.

"Stephen," I called as I trotted down the front walk, "come here!" My voice sounded weak. Stephen ignored me. No surprise there.

Al Edinberger met me in the middle of the street. "What happened?"

I shook my head.

The memory hit then, clear and cold as ice water in my face. Erin at our house that afternoon, hanging out with Kelly: "My dad's gonna fly the plane to San Diego around two. Wanna come with me to say goodbye to him?"

Dave Willit was gone. Erin and her mom were alone in their house.

I brought a hand to my mouth, thoughts swirling as I surveyed the scene. Sweet Erin. And Lisa, so kind, so accepting of me and my motley crew. She had a manner about her that drew me in-an openness, a sense of embracing life as if each moment held new wonder. Lisa had brought over cookies as we were still unpacking, Dave and Erin trailing behind. She oohed and aahed over the house, noting with a pixie expression that she'd wanted for so long to take a peek inside once it was completed. Yet her words seemed void of the implication that my father had been less than neighborly to not invite her over, and she wouldn't hear of my apologies on his behalf.

The medical team and two sheriff's deputies had disappeared into the Willits' wood-shingle house. The paramedics carried a gurney. A tense silence fell over our street, punctuated only by the disembodied voices from the radios and nervous whispers among gathering neighbors. Had I slipped into some Outer Limits episode, where characters wait in a time warp for gruesome news?

I shifted from foot to foot. Stephen huffed. Shadowy figures moved across the windows of the Willits' lighted kitchen. None of them looked like they could belong to Lisa or Erin. More cars drove up, more figures of authority raked a look at the house, then strode up its steps. Three men in plain clothes, two dressed in jeans, as if they'd been pulled from bed. And a woman with short, curly, graying hair who looked to be in her fifties, in civilian slacks and shirt but sporting a vest with "Chaplain" on the back. A badge hung from a cord around her neck.

The deputy sheriff securing the area told us to retreat to our side of the street, out of the way of the responding vehicles.

"What's going on?" Al Edinberger demanded.

"We're not sure yet, sir. We have to finish checking things out."

Al shook his head and muttered under his breath. Stephen and I exchanged a grim glance.

I rubbed my arms. The July day had been hot, hot, but nighttime brought a chill to the air. The ebony sky, pocked with stars, hung low and threatening, a witch's face thrust toward earth to observe human tragedy with sneering delight. I fidgeted, tapping knuckles against my chin. Kelly and Jenna appeared at my side, dressed but without shoes. Kelly was crying. I put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close. As each minute ticked by, I knew with more certainty that something terrible had happened.

Think good thoughts, think good thoughts.

The night's events held an irony I couldn't deny. I'd moved from the San Francisco Bay Area to Grove Landing, northeast of Redding, California, to get away from the traffic, the crime, sirens in the night. Yet in all my years there, never had something like this happened on the very street where I lived.

Someone inside the Willits' house opened the door. I stared up into the entryway, trying in vain to perceive what lay beyond. Kelly dug her fingers into my arm, rising on her toes, neck craned. In the froth of light just inside the door, two paramedics appeared, carrying the gurney. As they crossed the porch, I frowned, willing my eyes to discern who lay upon it. I caught sight of white-blond hair, too light to be Lisa's. "It's Erin." The whispered words felt dry upon my tongue. The chaplain woman followed the gurney through the door. She took a few catch-up steps and drew near its side, taking Erin's hand. The group faced a long flight of stairs. Like many of the other homes in Grove Landing, the Willits' main level rose above a large garage with ceiling high enough to hangar an airplane.

"Erin!" Kelly cried. But her friend was unable to hear. Before I could stop her, Kelly broke away, bounding across the street toward the Willits' lawn. She hit the grass and nearly tripped, swaying into the deputy sheriff. He caught her, soothing, "Hey, hey, it's all right. You've got to stay back now."

"She's my friend, she's my friend," Kelly protested, struggling. I ran to her side, pulling her away, apologies spilling from my mouth even as my eyes remained locked on Erin's pitiful figure being brought down the stairs.

"Keep her back, all right?" The deputy sheriff meant business.

"I'm sorry, I know she shouldn't-"

"Erin!" Kelly's cry tumbled through the night.

The rear paramedic stepped off the final stair onto the front walk.

"Almost there now, we're almost there," the chaplain told Erin. My jaw hung askew as I watched them make their way toward the ambulance. When they were no more than a car's length away, Erin turned her head to focus empty eyes upon Kelly.

"Erin, are you okay? What happened?"

Erin blinked, then let go of the woman's hand, her arms lifting toward Kelly like weakened magnets. Kelly rushed past the deputy sheriff and he let her go. I could see the trembling in Erin's limbs. Kelly reached for Erin's hands, grasping them hard in her fright. Erin's mouth creaked open but no sound came.

Think good thoughts, think good thoughts.

But my mind raced down terrifying paths, imagining, filling in the blanks. There were so many cars. Where was Lisa?

"Erin?" Kelly bent to hug her friend, then pulled back to study her.

Erin's cloudy gaze traveled over Kelly's face. I could almost feel the wrenching of the young girl's mind. The answer finally came, words like parchment paper, thin and dry and wrinkled at the edges.

"My mom ... my mom ..."

Something about the sound of her own voice, perhaps the words yet unspoken, broke through Erin's shock. Her mouth mushed into a wailing cry, her brows knitting. Her keen rose in the eerie night as her hands covered her eyes. Kelly leaned over to hug her again, the two girls' sobs intertwining until I could not tell where one's ended and the other's began.

The chaplain rubbed Erin's leg. She turned to me, her eyes full of empathy, then exchanged a glance with the deputy sheriff. He motioned for me to join them.

"I'm Gerri Carson," the woman said, "with the sheriff's chaplaincy program. You're a friend of Erin's family?"

"A neighbor." I pointed toward our house across the street. "Annie Kingston. What happened?"

She looked again to the deputy sheriff, as if asking him to answer.

"Erin needs to go to the hospital and have a bump on her head examined," he explained. "She's probably okay, but she fell and blacked out for a moment. When she woke up, she called 911."

I fought for understanding. "And Lisa?"

He took a deep breath. "An intruder got in the house. They struggled. She ... didn't make it."

I stared at him, my mind going numb. "Lisa's dead?"

"I'm so sorry," Gerri said.

The words made no sense. This was simply not possible. Not here, not tonight, not someone I knew. "How can you be sure? I mean, maybe she's not really ... maybe she just ..."

Gerri's hands gripped my own, steadying me. A moment passed before she answered. "I understand."

I closed my eyes, tried to regulate my breathing.

"The detectives and paramedics did all they could for Mrs. Willit, Annie. But she could not be revived."

I turned away, the news wriggling through my stomach like an eel. Bending over the gurney, I tried to hug both girls at once. Erin let go of Kelly and clung to me, as if my very motherhood could bring back what had been ripped away from her.

"Would you like to ride with me to the hospital?" Gerri's voice remained calm. "You could be a comfort to Erin."

I thought of the ambulance. Such a frightening journey for a young girl. "Can I ride with her instead?"

Gerri hesitated.

"There's not much room in there," the deputy sheriff put in.

Continues...