The Fury - Jason Pinter [97]
Bernita's your woman.
The Fury
281
I bolted out of Clarence's apartment, the diamond
earring still in my hand. The footsteps behind me said
that Clarence was right on my heels. And I didn't think
he was going to argue with me anymore.
The stairs disappeared under me two at a time, and
I used the railing on each landing to swing onto the next
set, trying desperately to keep ahead of Clarence. I
didn't know how we'd fare in a fight, but I was sure that
if we made enough noise one of the tenants surely
would call the cops. And I didn't have time for that. I
needed to know. Needed to see.
Safely stored.
As I hit the first-floor landing, I felt Clarence's fist
grab a chunk of my shirt. I pulled away, but not before
it ripped a sizable hole in the collar. I turned around, saw
Clarence behind me and shoved him as hard as I could.
It wasn't meant to hurt him, merely to buy me some
time, and to that extent it worked. Clarence fell back
about eight feet, tripping over the foot of the stairwell
and falling to the ground. Cursing like a maniac, I was
sprinting down the corridor before he could get himself
up.
I found Bernita's door. Knocked twice fast. I said,
"Bernita, it's Henry. You have my bag."
I saw Clarence on his feet, running toward me. I
only had seconds.
Then the door opened in front of me, and Bernita was
there in her pink bathrobe, the cigarette still in her
mouth. She was holding my bag in one hand, out
stretched, expecting me to take it then leave. When she
saw the rip in my shirt and Clarence barreling down the
hall, her eyes grew wide. She immediately tried to slam
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the door shut. Instead, I wriggled past her into the apart
ment, the door slamming shut where I'd just been
standing.
"Get the fuck out of my house!" she screamed,
slapping at me with both her hands, the cigarette still
miraculously dangling from her lip.
Then I heard a small, frightened voice from the
farthest room down the corridor.
"Bernita, is everything okay?"
I stared at Bernita for a second, then sprinted down
the hall. It was the last door on the right. Without hesi
tating, I barged in, the door swinging open and
smacking against the wall where it hit a doorstop and
swung back at me. I stopped it with my foot, then stood
there.
I heard two people breathing behind me. Bernita and
Clarence. But I didn't care about them; all I cared about
was the woman sitting on the bed mere feet from me.
Her hands were on her knees. Back ramrod straight.
Her eyes were wide, terrified, as though she'd been ex
pecting this moment for a long time and knew she could
only avoid it for so long. Then that terrified look turned
to anger, then confusion.
"Who...who are you?" she asked.
"Ms. Gaines," I said. "My name is Henry Parker. I'm
James Parker's other son."
30
The apartment was silent for what seemed like ages.
Helen Gaines sat there on the bed, unbelieving, her
mouth in a silent O. I couldn't tell what she was
thinking, if she knew who I was, or if I'd even existed.
Since she'd left Bend before I was even born, there was
a chance she didn't know about me. Didn't know that
James Parker had another son. Or that Stephen Gaines
had a brother.
But there was a glimmer of recognition there as she
searched for a reaction. Perhaps Stephen had mentioned
me the night he died. Maybe Helen knew there was
another son.
Clarence Willingham's hand was on my back, but
there was no force to it. As if he himself wanted to
know just what was going on. When he'd first opened
the door to his apartment building, I assumed Clarence's
paranoia was due to the high, not wanting to get caught.
The dead bolts on his door, they were protecting a man
whose father had been gunned down mercilessly. He
grew up in fear, and now he was protecting Helen
Gaines. But why? How did they even know each other?
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And how did Helen end up here, of all places, after
fleeing Blue Mountain Lake?
Bernita had stopped screaming. Perhaps because
they were both curious. Or perhaps