VoyForums
[ Show ]
Support VoyForums
[ Shrink ]
VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1[2]3456 ]


[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 14:14:49 04/23/03 Wed
Author: dqfan
Subject: Re: Ghosts - ch.40
In reply to: dqfan 's message, "Re: Ghosts - ch.38 & 39" on 14:07:56 04/23/03 Wed

CHAPTER FORTY Thursday about noon


It took just over an hour for Charity's bail hearing to reach its expected conclusion. Leroy testified that new evidence had come to light: Gus was now the prime suspect in Stanley's murder, and a warrant had been issued for his arrest.

With that matter concluded, the judge saw no reason why Charity shouldn't be remanded into Peter's custody - upon payment of her sizeable bond and the guarantee that she wouldn't leave town until the attempted murder charge against her was resolved, of course.

Indifferent to her newfound freedom, Charity had all she could do to keep a civil tongue as she joined Peter and Ivy in the cab ride over to the hospital. Reggie's "courtesy briefing" last night had left her fuming…filled with more questions than answers…plus a healthy dose of abject terror, courtesy of her intution - and Grandpa Zack.

Peter had to be out of his mind if he thought that this little plan of his was going to work! Even she - a Lawson through and through - would never have attempted anything quite so foolhardy, ridiculous, and frighteningly dangerous. Peter was playing with Ben's life. He was playing with all their lives. And there wasn't a chance in Hell Charity was going to play along.

Amidst all her doubts, Charity still found it impossible to take her eyes off Ivy. If Peter's theories were correct, then this girl was, indeed, her long lost relative - ready to maim, kill, and utterly destroy lives, just to exact revenge.

But, for what? Money? Ivy could have had that, for heaven's sake! And an invitation to Charity's Thanksgiving table, too, if that's what she'd wanted. There would have been no end to Charity's largesse, if Ivy had just introduced herself plainly right from the start...

Frustrated, Charity began to fear that, perhaps, she really was growing old, because, frankly, all she wanted to do was throttle Peter AND Ivy - both - relatives new and old be damned!

Painfully, Peter sat sandwiched between Charity and Ivy as the unspoken tension mounted. He could just imagine the murderous thoughts they were each thinking…about the other - and about him.

He could tell Charity was furious. Peter knew his aunt well enough to read her body language like a book. Her hands were resting, innocently enough, in her lap; but, each hand was grasping the opposite wrist, and her left index finger was tapping the inside of her right arm. Ever since he was a little boy, Peter had watched Charity rein herself in this way whenever she had the uncontrollable urge to land a left hook to someone's jaw.

Worried, Peter found himself rubbing his jaw just thinking about it.

And Ivy… Although Peter now had the embarrassing honor of knowing Ivy's body more intimately than he would have liked, he found her body language impossible to decipher. She seemed relaxed enough, looking out the cab window, toward the hospital. But, she was awfully quiet. And, for someone as perpetually talkative as Ivy, that made Peter very, very, nervous.

Almost as if she had read Peter's mind, Ivy perked up suddenly as they approached the hospital. "I called ahead, Mrs. Reardon, and the nurses said he's in stable condition. Room 523…"

"Thank you, Ivy." Charity somehow managed to say it without choking.

Swiftly, Peter paid the cab driver. As they entered the lobby, Peter checked the direction signs. "The elevator's down the hall…"

"You go on up," Ivy said, pointing to the florist. "I'd like to buy him some flowers."

Peter was about to object when Charity unexpectedly interrupted. "Fine. We'll see you there," she nodded, watching as Ivy approached the saleslady.

"Why'd you do that?" Peter whispered angrily.

"Because we need to talk…" Charity insisted as they walked toward the elevator.

"We don't need to talk, we need to stick to the plan," Peter grumbled, his blood pressure rising.

"What's happened?" Charity sensed it instantly in Peter's tone. "Something's gone wrong already, hasn't it?"

"I can't find Sophie," Peter told her, keeping his voice low as they stood with all the other patients and visitors in the hospital's elevator bay.

"What do you mean you can't find her?" Charity said a little too loudly, causing everyone to stare.

"Where is she?" Charity demanded, pulling Peter off to one side while the "down" elevator unloaded its passengers and continued on its way to the below ground surgical floors - one through three. As was so often the case with highrises, the hospital's street entrance lobby was, inexplicably, the fourth floor.

"I don't know," Peter growled, hating this entire conversation. "I lost her."

"You lost her?" Charity was astounded. "Where, exactly, did you misplace her?"

Cringing, Peter counted to ten. First Reggie and now Charity… Did they really think he needed any more glib reminders of the mess his life was in?

"You know," he snapped in a rage, "All I want to do is get this over with so I can find her. Is that too much to ask?"

"Over with?" Charity whispered, incensed. "Peter, you're talking about Ben's life!"

"And maybe Sophie's, too…" he reminded her ominously, as the "up" elevator finally arrived.

Peter's words gave Charity pause. As angry as she was that Peter had concocted this scheme without her approval, he was obviously at his wits' end. Perhaps, he was right. Perhaps, now wasn't the time for recriminations.

Instead, she would offer him her advice, her insight, and her unfailing good judgment - as any mother would.

Waiting patiently as the passengers exited first, Charity sighed and volunteered what she considered to be her first helpful observation…

"For one flight up, we could have taken the stairs."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Speedily, Ivy had done just that, purchasing the first bouquet of flowers she could find, and then making her way up the stairs to the fifth floor - but to room 532.

In an effort to buy herself some time, Ivy had directed Peter and Charity to the wrong room - 523 instead of 532. Once inside Ben's room, room 532, Ivy grabbed a pair of hospital gloves from the standard-issue box on the shelf and set about her mission.

As directed, she plunged the syringe directly into Ben's heart. Then, her hands shaking slightly, she placed the empty vial on the floor beside his bed.

She'd never actually killed anyone before and the ease with which she'd done it gave Ivy a small twinge of guilt. Especially since, Ben's only crime was falling in love with a Lawson - just as Lila had.

Preferring not to watch as Ben took his last breath, Ivy threw her latex gloves in the trash and departed as quickly, and as quietly, as she'd arrived.

^^^^^^^^^^

"Here it is," Peter checked the room numbers. "523."

Charity peeked inside. "It's empty," she said, perplexed.

"Excuse me," Peter stopped a nurse on her way by. "We're looking for Sheriff Ben Reardon's room?"

"Down the hallway, turn left, third door on your right, room 532," the nurse detailed precisely before returning to her station.

"532?" Charity looked at Peter suspiciously.

"You don't think…"

^^^^^^^^^

"Where are they?" Gus slammed his fist on Reggie's concierge desk, demanding answers.

"Gus! You're back!" Reggie expressed only mild surprise as he calmly directed a young couple toward the spa and an older gentleman toward the casino.

"Where the Hell are they?" Gus repeated, lowering his voice and forcing a smile for his customers.

"Did you find Sophie?" Reggie wasn't about to tip his hand without a little more assurance that Gus was on their side.

"Maybe…" Gus hedged cautiously. "I left her at the airport last night and I think she flew back here this morning."

Reggie's expression was more puzzled than usual. "Out and back in less than a day? Why would she do that?" he wondered aloud.

"That's what I need to ask Peter!" Annoyed, Gus grabbed Reggie by the collar. "So, are you going to tell me where he is or do I have to call Bruno and have him reconstruct your face?"

"No need to get huffy." Defiantly, Reggie squirmed from Gus' stronghold to dutifully answer his ringing telephone. "Oh, you're welcome, Mrs. Carson. The Sahara Sands is at your service 24 hours a day…"

Gus had the distinct feeling he'd entered the twilight zone and Reggie was the doorkeeper. "Didn't I fire you?" he growled.

"I knew you didn't mean it," Reggie smiled affably, pocketing a large tip from a grateful highroller who happened to be passing by.

"They're at St. Elizabeth's Hospital," he added, before Gus could threaten any further, and entirely unnecessary, bodily harm. "Peter, Ivy and Charity. Charity wanted to see Ben the minute she got out of jail."

"You couldn't have said that ten minutes ago?" Gus shook his head, turning for the door.

"Anger management, that's what you need," Reggie replied blithely. "Or maybe some meditative yoga at the spa… I'll arrange it with Miguel…"

"Don't worry about a thing here!" he yelled with supreme confidence.

"I've got everything under control…"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

As fast as she could, Ivy dashed back to the elevator bay, exiting just as Peter and Charity rounded the corner, returning from their wild goose chase.

"Ivy!" Glacing toward Ben's room, Peter wondered if she'd managed to reach him already.

"You gave us the wrong room number…" Charity couldn't keep the accusation from her voice.

"Did I?" Ivy replied, cool as a cucumber.

Peter nodded. "Ben's in 532, not 523…"

"Oops," Ivy shrugged becomingly. "Must be my dyslexia again…"

"Shall we go?" Charity was less than amused.

"Why don't you go on in, Mrs. Reardon," Ivy suggested slyly. "I'd like a word alone with Peter if you don't mind."

What Ivy really wanted, of course, was for Charity to be alone with Ben…for her to be the only person in the room when he died from an unexplained drug overdose, the lethal syringe lying there…in plain view.

Peter and Charity exchanged a brief, knowing look. Apparently, Ivy's plan was already underway. Hopefully, Peter's was, too.

"I'll see you soon…" Charity nodded, giving Peter a weak smile.

Had everything gone as Peter hoped? What if she entered that room to discover Ben dead…really dead?

There was only one way to find out…

Peter watched as Charity headed slowly and deliberately into Ben's room. If this didn't work, he'd have no one to blame but himself.

"For once in your life, please, Aunt C., trust me," he prayed.

Then, Peter turned toward Ivy and asked attentively, "So, what did you want to talk about?"

As Ivy stalled with meaningless smalltalk about where she thought they should go to dinner that night, Peter kept studiously to his own agenda.

Silently, he counted to himself. "One, Two, Three, Four, Five…Okay, c'mon, Aunt C., wait five seconds, and then…"

Charity's ear-piercing scream shattered the air. Peter and Ivy took one look at each other and then raced frantically into Ben's room.

There, they found Charity, in shock, standing over Ben's body, the syringe in her hand, the vital signs on his monitor all flat.

"The syringe was on the floor…I just picked it up…" Charity mumbled, in what she considered to be the finest acting job of her life.

"My God, she killed him!" Ivy blurted, ostensibly horrified by the scene before her.

"You wish…" Peter confronted Ivy head on, snatching her roughly by the wrist.

"What are you doing? Let go of me!" Ivy screamed, as Ben's doctor entered the room immediately, as planned. "Doctor, Mrs. Reardon just killed her husband! Call the police!"

"That won't be necessary, Miss…" Suddenly, Lieutenant Harry O'Neil, of the Las Vegas County police department's detective division, stepped out from behind Ben's bathroom door.

"Did you see her?" Peter asked the detective anxiously.

"Yes, Sir…" Detective O'Neil replied, satisfied beyond a doubt.

"I had a clear view from the bathroom. You were right," he said, shaking his head at Ivy's arrogance, "she never even bothered to look."

"He's lying!" Ivy shouted, squirming in Peter's grasp as she noticed the lieutenant's badge and realized her mistake. "He probably knows the Reardons personally. He's protecting her!"

"Actually, Miss," the detective explained calmly. "I did have the pleasure of meeting Ben Reardon once at a law enforcement convention, and he is one of the finest men I've ever had the opportunity of knowin'."

"Arresting his wife was one of the toughest things I ever had t'do," he said, tipping his head to Charity in apology. "Which is why, I agreed to hide in this bathroom for most of the morning, just waiting for you to make your move," he winced with a smile.

There was nothing worse than a bathroom stakeout…

"Funny thing, I found these gloves in the trash…" Proudly, Detective O'Neil displayed a plastic evidence bag in which he'd confiscated Ivy's discarded latex gloves.

"You set me up!" Ivy hissed at Peter. "This will never hold up in court!"

"Sure it will…" Peter bragged, as he savored this next moment. "But, just in case, we made sure to get it all on videotape - right, Detective?"

"Pretty as a picture…" Confidently, the policeman reached into one of the decorative floral arrangements beside Ben's bed. A tiny videocamera set to record had been whirring away the entire time.

"You let me kill him? Just to save her?" Ivy railed at Peter, still not understanding fully the lengths to which she'd been tricked.

"You think she loves you?" Ivy shrieked, close to losing all sense of reality. "She can't love you! She couldn't possibly care about anything or anyone! She's a Lawson!"

"I care about a great many people, Ivy…including you," Charity said softly, only provoking Ivy's rage even further.

"Liar!" Only Peter's firm hold on Ivy kept her from physically attacking Charity. "Her husband's dead! And she hasn't even shed a tear!"

At that moment, Ben's doctor recalibrated the machines beside Ben's bed and the comforting, steady beat of Ben's heart could be heard throughout the room. Charity's sigh of relief was just as audible.

"That monitor was givin' me a headache," the detective shrugged with a wink, having shut it off after Ivy left, just as the doctor had instructed him.

"How's he doin', Doc?" Peter asked, just to be sure.

The doctor smiled warmly at both Peter and Charity. "A little saline never hurt anybody…"

"Saline?" Ivy couldn't believe what she was hearing. "But that syringe had…"

"Saline," Peter repeated succinctly. "I substituted it for the lethal one you had in your purse."

Remembering that he still had that syringe with him in his jacket, Peter lifted it gingerly from his pocket.

"You should probably bag this, too," Peter said, as he began to hand it over to the detective.

Livid, Ivy lunged at Peter, catching him by surprise. Desperately, they struggled, as Ivy set upon a last, violent, attempt to seize the syringe.

"Peter!" Charity shouted, fearing for his life, and unable to see anything but Peter and Ivy, locked in a deadly clutch.

Almost as quickly as Detective O'Neil could pull his gun and yell, "FREEZE," it happened…

Peter's color paled as he gazed into Ivy's eyes, the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

Helpless, he felt her go limp, then slump to the floor, the deadly syringe plunged firmly in her arm.

"Ivy!" Charity watched, horrified, as Ivy collapsed in shock.

Stricken with guilt, Peter knelt beside Ivy and pulled the syringe from her arm. "I didn't mean to…"

With great compassion, the detective took the syringe from Peter's hand. "It was an accident, Son…"

"Can you help her?" Stricken, Peter turned to the doctor, who had called for a crash cart, the moment he saw Ivy fall.

"I'll do my best…" the doctor promised. Quickly, he injected Ivy with a stimulant and lifted her onto the arriving stretcher.

"Peter…" Ivy murmured, fading in and out of consciousness.

"Right here." Peter held Ivy's hand. It was cold as ice. He'd never killed anyone before and he prayed he hadn't now.

"If I die…" Ivy could barely speak.

"Sssh, don't…" Peter whispered, expecting a deathbed confession of regret and remorse.

But hatred had consumed Ivy's heart. There was no remorse - or regret - only unfinished business. Even as she faced death, Ivy held the trump card and she reveled in it. Peter would feel the pain she was feeling right now…he would know her heartache. And he would pray for her survival.

As the doctor approached her with an oxygen mask and Charity and Peter hung on her every word, Ivy drifted into unconsciousness with a bitter smile on her face and a final, stunning promise.

"Sophie dies, too…"

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]


Replies:



Post a message:
This forum requires an account to post.
[ Create Account ]
[ Login ]
[ Contact Forum Admin ]


Forum timezone: GMT-8
VF Version: 3.00b, ConfDB:
Before posting please read our privacy policy.
VoyForums(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems.
Copyright © 1998-2019 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.