Randall only wished that Annie had told him about Maurice’s clumsy advances. He was prepared to take his brother at his word that nothing more had happened. He would have been angry as hell if he’d known, and there would have been no guarantee that the years would have passed any differently, but at least he could have explained Maurice’s behavior to Annie, if not pardoning it.
But that could never happen now. He expected Maurice to be gone by the time he woke, and God help him if he was still here. It wasn’t only what had happened between him and Annie. Maurice thought him capable of killing that young woman, thought he had killed Annie, and there was no coming back from that.
Randall may have been overdrawn in the memory bank, but he knew for a fact he hadn’t killed Grace Harrington, because he hadn’t killed his beloved Annie.
He’d considered telling Laurie that on each of her frequent visits to his place. Sometimes he’d thought it had been what she’d wanted to hear. Something grave had happened between her and David, and Randall sensed she was keen for him and David to be reunited in some way. But that was never likely to happen, and her weekly visits had been one of the few things keeping him alive and he hadn’t wanted to risk that by pleading innocence.
And anyway, in a certain way he was responsible for Annie’s death.
The letters had started to arrive three months before Annie was killed. At first, he’d hidden them from her. The letters had been from his high school girlfriend, Sadie Cornish. The correspondence had started innocuously enough, but by the third letter Sadie had started asking Randall for money. Annie had known about Randall’s high school sweetheart from the beginning of their relationship, and Randall’s guilt at how things had ended between them. Annie had insisted on little during their marriage, complete honesty being the main exception. Sadie had been diagnosed with fibrous dysplasia in the final year of high school. The disorder had reached the bones of her legs, and by the time of graduation she had to use a wheelchair. She had intended to go to Texas State to study medicine, but her parents had decided to move to Corpus Christi and he’d never heard from her again.
At least, they’d never spoken to one another again. It had been difficult, but he’d explained to Annie how badly he felt he’d treated Sadie. He could easily have kept their correspondence going, could have continued to see her, but he’d taken her departure as an opportunity to fully end things between them. Her illness had been difficult to deal with and he’d only been eighteen at the time. He’d told Annie this, shamefaced, but she’d held him and told him to stop beating himself up.
Together, they’d decided to ignore the letters and wait for Sadie to grow tired of bothering him. Randall didn’t owe her anything, and even if they had wanted to, they weren’t in any position to be giving money away.
But guilt had started to eat away at him, and finally he’d succumbed to Sadie’s requests. She’d told him she needed money for medical treatment and he’d begun sending her any spare cash he had and, like a fool, he hadn’t told Annie. He still had the letter that had started everything in motion. It was the last thing Annie had given him, and he retrieved it now from a box under the bed. How stupid he’d been.
Annie had found the letter and that was why they’d argued that day. It hadn’t even been about the money. It had been his betrayal of Annie’s trust that had set her off. It had torn at something deep within her; she was a passionate person, but he’d never seen anything like that kind of rage from her. When he’d tried to restrain her—the last thing he should’ve attempted—she’d lashed out viciously at him, struck the only blow either had ever delivered to the other. It had shocked them both, sent them staggering back from one another. Panting, wide-eyed, Annie had cupped a hand to her own face, as though it were her own flesh she’d raked, and then bolted out into the storm with Herbie on her heels.
It was pointless, retreading the past, but he was helpless to resist it. And it always brought him to the same desolate position: if only he’d confided in her from the start, Annie would never have thrown herself in harm’s way.
And to this, he now added a fresh torment: but for the part he’d played in feeding the monster that first time, would there ever have been this second sacrifice?
It was still dark outside when he heard Maurice leave, the front door rattling shut as Randall zoned in and out of sleep. Maybe he should have left his bed and said goodbye to his brother, for he doubted they would see each other again, but the effort was too great and he had been dreaming of Annie and wanted to return to that blissful state.
When he awoke the second time, light was creeping through the blinds of his bedroom. The details of his dreams lingered just out of memory and when he tried to recall them, they faded altogether. He closed his eyes, wondering if he could fall back to sleep. Something felt off and it took him a few minutes to realize it was the silence. Usually at this time of the morning the birds were at their most vocal, but however hard he strained his ears, Randall couldn’t hear anything besides a low hum. He didn’t understand the science of it, but he knew why the wildlife was silent; they knew better than any weather forecaster what was on the way.
It didn’t make much difference to him. Like a captain on a sinking ship, he was prepared to stay at the house until the very end. He doubted anyone would come for him now. That chance had come and gone yesterday evening. Either he would have to sit this hurricane out or, more likely, he would have to endure the consequences. All of which made it harder to get out of bed.
But some preparations would have to be made. He and Maurice had made a stop at the local supermarket, so provision-wise he was OK. He would spend the morning boarding up the windows and doors, making sure anything that could cause external damage was tied up or stowed away, and then it would become a waiting game.
He pulled on his robe, feeling his age in his creaking bones, and made his way to the living room, where he was surprised to learn that Maurice was still here.
And still more surprised to see that his brother wasn’t alive, and that he had company.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Laurie checked the latest information on the storm as she drank her morning coffee, though all she had to do was look outside. Hurricane Heather may not have fully arrived yet, but her tendrils were already inland, the wind wreaking havoc on the island city.
She tried to call David and Warren but phone coverage was down in vast areas of the island. Sending them both emails on the off chance that they would get through, she changed and made final checks before leaving with the two bags she would take to the shelter that had been arranged at the high school. A harried-looking Remi was waiting outside, fighting against the wind as he got out of his car.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice all but lost in the noise of the brewing storm.
“I’m getting the hell out of Dodge. I’ve been trying to call you all morning but I couldn’t get through.”
Laurie sighed. “Why haven’t you gone already?”
“Thought I’d double-check.”
“You’ve checked, now go.”
“But what about you?”
“I need to check on Warren,” said Laurie, omitting the fact that she also wanted to see David.