The Blackstone Chronicles - By John Saul Page 0,58
up here—
Both of them froze as they heard footsteps.
Footsteps from above. “He’s on the third floor,” Celeste whispered. “What are we going to do? Did he take Mother up there?”
“The basement,” Andrew told her. “Come on. We’ve got to find her and get out of here!”
Half pulling and half supporting Celeste, Andrew led her downstairs, then into the kitchen. When they were at the door to the basement, he held her by the shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. “I’m going to go down and see if I can find your mother. If you hear your father coming down, go outside.” Fishing in his pocket, he found his car keys. “My car’s in the driveway. I’ll try to catch up with you, but if I can’t, take the car and get away.”
Celeste shook her head. “No. I won’t leave you and Mother with him.”
Andrew started to argue with her, then changed his mind, knowing it would be useless. “I’ll get back as soon as I can.” Leaving her standing in the kitchen, he raced down the stairs.
He found Madeline in the laundry room. Her dress was soaked with blood, and she lay on the floor, her wrists and ankles bound with duct tape. Another piece sealed her mouth.
Her eyes were closed and she lay still, and for a moment Andrew was afraid she might be dead. But when he knelt down and pressed a finger against her bloody neck, he felt a pulse. Ripping the duct tape from her mouth, he lifted her in his arms and started up the stairs. A moment later he emerged into the kitchen. Celeste, her face ashen, lurched toward him.
“Mama?” she gasped, unconsciously using a word that hadn’t crossed her lips since she was a child. Her eyes flicked to Andrew’s. “Is she—” Her voice failed her and she left the question unspoken.
“She’s alive,” Andrew said. “We’ve got to get her to the hospital.”
With Madeline in his arms, he followed Celeste through the dining room and parlor, and into the entry hall. Celeste was just opening the front door when there was a roar of rage from the stairs.
“Bastard!” Jules bellowed. “How dare you come here?” He was standing halfway up the stairs, the knife clutched in one hand, and what looked like some kind of necklace dangling from the other. His face was twitching, and his eyes, burning like coals, seemed to have sunk deep into his head.
For one brief instant Andrew was frozen in place, but then he met Jules Hartwick’s insane gaze. “I’m taking them away from here, Mr. Hartwick,” he said very quietly. “Don’t try to stop me.”
“Traitor,” Jules Hartwick snarled. “Fornicator. Adulterer. I should kill all of you. And I could, Andrew. I could kill you as easily as I cut the whore’s throat.” He started down the stairs, moving slowly, his eyes never leaving Andrew.
Celeste, still at the door, stared in horror at her father. There was nothing left of the man she’d known only yesterday. The person who was advancing toward her now, spittle drooling from one corner of his mouth, his hair matted to his scalp, his eyes glittering insanely, bore no resemblance to her father at all. “Hurry, Andrew,” she said. “Please.”
Pulling the front door open, she stumbled out into the snow and ran for Andrew’s car. Andrew, still carrying Madeline’s unconscious body, strode out onto the porch, then turned back to look at Jules once again. He was at the foot of the stairs now, and starting toward the door.
Wordlessly, Andrew turned and hurried out into the night. By the time Andrew got to the car, Jules had emerged onto the porch. “Liars!” he shouted. “Prevaricators! I’ll kill you all! I swear, I’ll kill you all!”
As Andrew laid Madeline on the backseat, then slid into the front seat next to Celeste, Jules stumbled down the driveway toward them, bellowing curses, the butcher knife held high. Celeste put the car in gear and began backing out of the driveway. Jules lunged toward the car, but it was too late. He sprawled out onto the driveway, facedown, then pulled himself to his knees.
“Celeste, wait,” Andrew said as Jules stared mindlessly into the glare of the headlights. “Maybe we’d better help him. Maybe—”
But Celeste kept her foot on the accelerator, backing the car out of the driveway, then slewing it around so it was pointed downhill. “No,” she said as she started down the steep slope. “That’s not Daddy. That’s not anyone I know.”