Sleeping Beauty (18 page)

“Okay. I'll be at the office if you need me. And think twice before you accept Miles's dinner invitation.”

“Jerry. You've been great. But you don't have to baby-sit me. I'm twenty-two and I've been taking care of myself for a while.”

Jerry's neck flushed. “Point taken. I just want what's best for you.”

M
iles had chosen an upscale restaurant loaded with glass and chrome and he was waiting in a quiet corner booth when Ashley arrived. He wore a tan suit, an Oxford blue shirt, and a striped tie. Ashley wore the suit she'd worn to court, because it was the only nice outfit she owned.

Miles stood when the maitre d' showed her to the booth.

“I'm so glad you agreed to have dinner,” he said as she sat down. “Do you want a cocktail or some wine? They have a very good cellar here.”

“Wine is okay.”

Miles told the waiter what he wanted while Ashley busied herself with the menu. As soon as the waiter left, Miles stared at her. The examination made Ashley uncomfortable. Miles noticed. He smiled.

“Sorry, but I can't help myself. This idea that you might be my niece is very strange.”

“No stranger than the idea that Casey might be my mother.”

“I was so relieved to see you in court today and to know that you were safe. There were times on my book tour when I would be giving a reading and I'd look around the audience, hoping you'd be somewhere in the back. I really worried about you.”

Ashley felt guilty because she had thought very little about Miles over the years.

“Congratulations on your book.”

“Have you read it?” Miles asked expectantly.

“No.”

Miles's smile sagged for a moment.

“It would have been too painful,” Ashley said, hoping that this explanation would ease his disappointment.

“I understand. It was very hard for me to write
Sleeping Beauty
, but I felt that it had to be done.”

The waiter came for their orders.

“Were you always interested in writing?” Ashley asked as soon as the waiter left.

“I dabbled a bit in college, but I never actually tried to write a book before I started
Sleeping Beauty.
”

“Then what made you do it?”

“After Maxfield escaped, my father and I were inundated with calls from movie producers, television shows, and literary agents who wanted to cash in on our tragedy. I got rid of most of them, but Andrea Winsenberg and I hit it off. She gave me the idea of writing a book that would preserve Casey's memory. She wanted one of the writers she represents to ghostwrite it for me.” Miles smiled. “Andrea thought I was nuts to try it myself.”

“It's certainly been a huge success.”

“I'd trade the money and the fame for Casey's recovery.”

“Is there any possibility that will happen?”

“No.” Miles looked grim. “Look, I don't want to talk about Casey's situation. I'd much rather hear about your adventures. But we do have to get this out of the way. I don't know if you're really Casey's daughter….”

“But you knew that Casey became pregnant the summer my father dated her,” Ashley interrupted.

“Yes,” Miles answered cautiously.

“I know you and two men beat my father because you were angry that he made Casey pregnant.”

Miles eyes dropped to the tablecloth. “We all do things that we're not proud of. I was very young when I attacked Norman. I've always regretted what I did.” He looked up at Ashley. “But I did it for Casey. I love her, Ashley. If you really want to help her, you'll let her go.”

“You mean, I'll bow out and let you take her off life support?”

“Yes. I understand why you'd want to keep Casey alive. My God, you thought you'd lost your mother. Now you have this bomb dropped on you. But keeping Casey alive is wrong. You'd know that if you saw her.”

Miles paused. He took a deep breath. “Casey and I are very close. I love her very much, but I've come to accept the fact that she died in the boathouse along with Terri.” He shook his head. “What you'll see if you visit the nursing home isn't Casey. It's a corpse, a shell that was once a vibrant woman. Her spirit has left her, Ashley. Everything that made her human is gone.”

“Your father didn't give up hope.”

“My father never let anything go. He was never around when Casey and I were growing up but he tried to control every aspect of our lives.”

“You sound bitter.”

“I am bitter. You have no idea what it was like for us.”

“Didn't your mother…?”

“Our mother was a drunk. If she showed the slightest gumption Henry beat it out of her. She was lucky to die young.”

Ashley could not hide her shock. Miles noticed.

“You only knew Henry after he found God, the benevolent version. The man Casey and I knew was like the wrathful God of the Old Testament. He was never wrong and he always believed he could get what he wanted through sheer willpower. Henry fooled himself into believing that Casey would wake up from her coma like Sleeping Beauty. But the children's fable and his dream are both fairy tales.”

Miles paused again. “It kills me to see her wasting away, Ashley. I want her to die with some dignity. I want Casey to be able to rest in peace.”

“I can see how painful this is for you, Miles, but I thought I lost my family. Then, a few days ago, Jerry Philips showed up and told me that my real mother is still alive. I can't just condemn her to death. What about the new drug? Isn't Casey in a clinical trial?”

“That drug is never going to work. Even if it wakes her up, there's no guarantee that she'll be in possession of her mental faculties. She'd probably be a vegetable.”

Miles took a deep breath. “I didn't want to bring this up, but I feel I must. You won't want to hear this but it's the truth. Casey doesn't deserve your loyalty. She never wanted you. Do you know how I found out she was pregnant?”

“No.”

“She wanted an abortion and she knew that one of my fraternity brothers had arranged one for his girlfriend. Then Henry found out. I think a servant may have said something. We had a family meeting. Casey was evasive until Henry threatened to disinherit her. That's when she told us that Norman was the father.”

Miles took a drink of his wine. Then he looked across the table at Ashley.

“She wanted Henry's money but she never wanted you. That's the truth. You don't owe her a thing.”

Ashley found it hard to speak. “How…how did she feel about my father?”

“She was slumming. When she got tired of him she dumped him without a second thought. Look, Ashley, I love my sister—we're blood—but Casey has never been a nice person. She was always self-centered and self-destructive. She would have made a terrible mother. You know about her marriage to Coleman?”

Ashley nodded.

“That's typical of the way she's lived her life. After Father made her the dean of the Academy she was more careful, until that fiasco. She was always promiscuous and emotionally unstable. She used drugs. She even tried suicide once.”

“No.”

“She was irresponsible, Ashley. She bounced from project to project. She'd get wrapped up in something, pour herself into it, then drop it as soon as she got bored. That's what she did with your father.”

“She seemed to do a good job at the school,” Ashley said, wanting to defend Casey but suddenly realizing that she was totally devoid of any facts to muster on her behalf. Casey may have given birth to her, but she knew almost nothing about the dean.

“This is typical. Father gave her the position at the school in a last-ditch
attempt to help her make something of herself, and I have to admit that she did a great job at first. She was always very bright and she was well educated, but I really doubted that she'd be able to stick with it. But she did. She liked the challenge and the responsibility. The Academy was very important to Henry and she knew that he was placing a lot of trust in her. He didn't do that often.

“Then she went to a convention in Las Vegas and married that piece of trash on a whim.” Miles looked down and shook his head in wonder. “Do you have any idea the harm that can be suffered by a school like the Academy if there's even a whiff of scandal? Her marriage to that cheap crook had the potential to be a disaster.”

It must have occurred to Miles that he was getting angrier as he spoke, because he checked himself and took a deep breath.

“There's nothing to be gained by keeping Casey alive,” Miles said. “She didn't care about you, she didn't care about anyone except herself and me. She did love me. Now I've got to pay back that love by ending her living death.”

Ashley shook her head. “I can't give up on the possibility that she might come back. I'm sorry.”

Miles features softened. “Look, Ashley, you shouldn't be burdened with the added worries you'd have if you had to care for Casey. These past few years must have been tough. I imagine you haven't been able to work much, and you don't even have a high school diploma, do you?”

“No.”

“You should be trying to get your life back together. You should be in school. I could help you. Maybe find you a job with Van Meter Industries while you get your GED. Then I could help you with college tuition. We are family. We shouldn't be adversaries. We should be helping each other.”

Ashley wasn't certain what to make of Miles's offer. She hoped that it wasn't an attempt to buy her off.

“Would you help me even if I continued to oppose you?” Ashley asked.

Miles looked sad. “This isn't a bribe, Ashley. I'm trying to get you to
realize that Casey is not coming back. I want what's best for both of you, and you should be making up for the time you've lost.”

“Thank you, Miles. Let me think about what you've said. I'll visit Casey tomorrow. Maybe seeing her will help me decide what to do.”

Miles saw the waiter arriving with their meals. “Fair enough,” he said. “I promise not to mention the guardianship again.”

Over dinner, Miles told her a series of fascinating stories about his book tour. Ashley drank a little too much wine and found herself laughing hysterically when Miles recounted a bizarre negotiation with a pair of unscrupulous movie producers who claimed to have Tom Cruise and Jennifer Lopez lined up to play Joshua Maxfield and Casey.

Miles asked her about her years abroad. Ashley told him about her travels but was sober enough to keep any important details from him. By the end of the meal, she'd forgotten the serious way the evening started.

Miles waited outside with Ashley while the valet got their cars. When she was about to leave, he gave her a hug and a brotherly kiss on her cheek. A light rain was falling, with more and heavier rain forecast for the next day. Ashley switched on her wipers and concentrated on the road. Occasionally, she glanced in her rearview mirror. A pair of headlights shone in it. She paid no attention to them, because the things that Miles had said about Casey over dinner distracted her.

Was Casey Van Meter really as cold, calculating, and insensitive as Miles claimed? Had Norman meant so little to her? Had getting rid of her own child meant so little to her? If she was this uncaring, how would she react to Ashley if she did survive her coma?

Ashley knew that Terri had loved her unconditionally. There had never been a moment when she doubted that love. So who was really her mother? Did giving birth make you a mother in any but the technical sense? Was Terri, who raised her, loved her, and cared for her any less her mother simply because she had not borne Ashley?

Ashley turned onto a side street and noticed that the headlights in her mirror were still behind her. Alarm chased away her thoughts about Casey. She decided to make a few random turns to see if the car stayed with her. It did. She tried to convince herself that no one was following
her, but it was too much of a coincidence that the other car was driving a random route that mirrored hers. She made a sudden U-turn. Her tires squealed on the wet pavement. As she drove past the other car, she stared at the driver's window, but the rain streaks and the darkness obscured the driver's face.

Ashley drove fast until she was certain that she'd lost her tail. Then she headed to her apartment as quickly as she could. Her heart was racing, and it didn't slow down until she was inside, behind locked doors. She rushed to her window before turning on the lights and studied the street below for any sign that someone was watching her apartment. There was no one standing in the rain, and there were no suspicious cars.

As Ashley got ready for bed, she tried to remember everything she could about the ride home. By the time she fell asleep, she half-believed that the tail had been a figment of her imagination.

I
t was raining when Ashley woke up. She dressed in sweats, dark glasses, and a hooded windbreaker, and walked two blocks to a local coffee shop for breakfast. After breakfast, she planned to go to Sunny Rest and visit Casey Van Meter.

The coffee shop sold
The Oregonian.
She picked up a copy and slid into a booth. The waitress took her order, and she opened the paper. Her face stared back at her from the front page. It was an old photo, taken when she was in high school. She glanced around to see if anyone was staring at her, but no one in the restaurant seemed to have made the connection between the blond athlete in the newspaper and the dark-haired woman in the rear booth.

MISSING WITNESS RETURNS TO BATTLE FOR
SLEEPING BEAUTY
'S
$40,000,000
FORTUNE,
the headline screamed. Ashley blinked and reread the figure. The byline of the article belonged to the woman who had tried to interview her at the courthouse. According to the story, which summarized the hearing, rehashed the murder case, and recapped Miles's rise to literary fame, the person who was appointed Casey's guardian would control a fortune estimated at forty million dollars. Jerry Philips had never mentioned that little bit of trivia. Forty million! Ashley couldn't imagine that much money. She'd been living in low-rent apartments and getting by on baguettes, cheese, and cheap wine. Forty million dollars was caviar, penthouses, and yachts.

Ashley gulped down her breakfast and went back to her apartment. As she showered and changed, she wondered what she would be allowed to do with Casey's money if the court appointed her as the dean's conservator and guardian. Jerry had told her that she could use Casey's money to pay for her care at the nursing home, but he hadn't told her anything else about a guardian's powers. Would she have to decide how to invest Casey's money? Would she be able to use the money for her own needs? Ashley decided that she needed to know the answers to these questions. And she needed to know one other answer. If she was Casey's daughter, and Casey died, would she inherit some of Casey's fortune? If she was an heir to millions, how could she put herself in a position to decide whether Casey lived or died?

 

Ashley drove through suburban Portland in the pouring rain to the Sunny Rest retirement community. The complex was surrounded by housing developments and shopping centers. It was large, and a road ran through it. On one side of the road were independent-living apartments for retirees who could still take care of themselves. The sprawling one-story complex across from the apartments was for assisted living.

Ashley found a spot in the last row of Sunny Rest's large parking lot. She dashed through the rain and was drenched by the time she made it through the front door. Water ran off her windbreaker onto the tile floor, and her pants were spotted and stained by the rain. When she finally paid attention to her surroundings, she felt queasy. The hospital smell had something to do with it, but most of her discomfort was caused by the stares of the elderly people in the lobby. Some of them pushed walkers in front of them, others sat in wheelchairs. They were all frail; their veins were blue streaks under waxy, parchment-thin skin, their hair was white and sparse. Some of the residents stared at her with great intensity. Ashley had the eerie impression that their lives were so uneventful that her visit was seen as a major event. Several of the residents seemed lost in their own worlds, heads bobbing to a voice only they heard, or talking incoherently to someone only they could see.

Ashley was halfway to the reception desk when a woman wheeled over and smiled radiantly.

“Hello,” the woman said excitedly. “Are you Carmen? Have you come to visit me?”

A nurse hurried over and took hold of the wheelchair. She smiled apologetically at Ashley.

“Betty, this young lady isn't Carmen. Carmen visits on Saturday.”

The nurse turned the wheelchair so Betty could not see Ashley. She kept up a steady patter as she wheeled her charge away. The receptionist gave Ashley directions to the wing where Casey was staying. To get there, Ashley had to walk by Betty again. The old woman looked up and smiled.

“Are you Carmen? Have you come to visit me?”

Ashley suppressed a shudder as she walked down a corridor lined with other chairs occupied by more elderly residents. The smell of disinfectant was strong, and the odd behavior of some of the residents unsettling. Ashley knew that she would be old someday, and she hoped that she would not end up in a place like this.

A young nurse was at a station at the end of the corridor. Ashley introduced herself and asked to speak to Stanley Linscott, Casey Van Meter's treating physician.

“Dr. Linscott isn't in today,” the nurse told her.

“Is there someone else I can talk to about Ms. Van Meter?”

The nurse suddenly looked wary. “You'll need to talk to Ann Rostow. She's the administrator. I'll call her.”

Ashley took a seat at the nurse's station. A few minutes later, a slender woman with short gray hair and glasses appeared at the end of the corridor. She was wearing a tan pants suit and a beige blouse. Her walk was energetic and she looked crisp and efficient.

Ashley stood up. The woman stopped in front of her.

“I'm Ann Rostow. I understand that you have some questions about Casey Van Meter.”

“Yes. I wanted to see her and I'd like an update about her condition.”

“Why?”

“I may be her daughter.”

“Is your name Ashley Spencer?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you might come here.”

Ashley's brow furrowed.

“I read the story in the paper this morning,” Rostow explained. “It said that you were claiming to be Ms. Van Meter's daughter. Can I see some identification?”

Ashley handed Rostow her driver's license. The administrator examined it, then handed it back.

“We have to be careful with Ms. Van Meter,” Rostow said. “Reporters are always trying to get information about her. We had some calling this morning. When she first came here, a television crew from one of those tabloid shows tried to sneak in through the kitchen.”

“Ms. Rostow, can I see her? I'll only stay a minute. If she is my mother…. I only knew her for a while, five years ago. I just….”

“This must be very hard for you.”

“It is. It's very confusing. There's going to be a DNA test to settle the maternity issue but, from what I've learned, she probably is my mother. I just want to see her.”

“You just want to look in?”

“Yes. It would mean a lot to me.”

“All right. Follow me.”

Rostow led Ashley through a set of swinging metal doors and halfway down the next corridor. She stopped in front of one of the rooms and opened the door. Ashley hesitated on the threshold before stepping inside. The walls were painted a sterile tan and there were no pictures on them. A sink was affixed to one wall. Over it was a mirror. Facing the sink was a hospital bed with the side rails up. Ashley forced herself to look at the woman who was lying in it. An IV drip was taped to her forearm. At the far side of the bed a gastric tube disappeared under the blankets. The tube was connected to a pump, which was turned on when Casey was fed.

Ashley expected to see a wasted, shrunken, corpse-like creature that no longer resembled a human being. What she saw was less horrifying but much sadder. Casey had only lost ten pounds during her years of unconsciousness, because she was fed and hydrated regularly. If Ashley had walked into the room by mistake, she might have thought the dean
was just sleeping. On closer inspection, Ashley saw why Miles had given up hope. She remembered the animated, dynamic woman who'd shown her and her mother around the Academy campus. That woman had been so energetic, so full of life. Casey Van Meter's body was a shell devoid of life, a cruel façade. Her face was pale, and her skin looked unhealthy, her muscle tone was gone, and her arms were flabby. She had aged badly, and her lustrous, blond hair had gone gray. There was no light in her eyes.

Ashley fought the impulse to bolt from the room and forced herself to walk closer to the bed. She stared down, heartbroken. She had no urge to touch her mother. Casey Van Meter elicited no feelings of love. She just made Ashley feel uncomfortable.

When she thought she'd been in the room a decent amount of time, Ashley turned to Ann Rostow.

“Thank you. I think I'll go now.”

“The first time you see someone in her condition, it can be very unsettling, especially if it's someone you're close to.”

“We weren't close. She gave me away without a second thought when I was born. I knew her as the dean at the school I attended and nothing more.”

“But she may still be your mother,” Rostow said softly.

Ashley nodded.

“Then you can come back and visit anytime.”

“Thank you. I mentioned a DNA test. If we need a sample of Casey's blood….”

“I'll need a court order, but it shouldn't be a problem.”

“One more thing, Ms. Rostow. Do the doctors think she'll get better?”

“I've sat in on meetings when Mr. Van Meter asked that very question. Dr. Linscott always answered that the odds on a full recovery for Ms. Van Meter were very long.”

 

Ann Rostow walked Ashley back to the lobby. Outside, the rain was cascading down in heavy sheets and bouncing off the asphalt. Ashley pulled up the hood on her windbreaker, ducked her head, and ran
across the street, keeping her eyes on the pavement, preoccupied by thoughts of her brief visit with the dean. Now she understood what Miles had been trying to tell her. Casey was not the strong, determined woman who had stood up to Randy Coleman at the Academy pool. She was one of the living dead. If some miracle of God or science did bring her back to this world, there was no assurance that she would not end up as pathetic and helpless as the ghost people who moved through the halls of Sunny Rest. Logic told Ashley that she should back off and let Casey rest in peace, but something inside her clung to the hope that Casey was still fighting, that she could save her mother.

Ashley spotted her rental car. She fished out her keys and made a dash for it. Rain was dancing on the roof and the windshield. She leaned down to unlock the door and saw the reflection of a man. Rain poured down from the roof across the driver's window distorting his features, and a hood partially hid his face, but there was no mistaking the knife he was holding.

Ashley swiveled and lashed out with her foot as if she was powering a shot on goal. The man was turned sideways and she struck his thigh. He grunted, stumbled back a few steps and his knees buckled. Ashley ran. Feet pounded the pavement behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, Ashley saw a dark blur shoot out from between two cars. Then she heard the sound of bodies crashing to the asphalt. Before she could look back, a shape materialized in front of her. She threw a punch at a hooded, black rain slicker and connected. The apparition staggered. She swung again and strong arms grabbed her.

“I'm a cop, Miss Spencer,” a male voice shouted. “We've got him.”

Ashley froze and looked at the man who was holding her. She could see part of a uniform under the rain gear. Behind her, over the rain, she heard shouts of “Freeze, police.”

“Let's go back,” the officer said. She hesitated. “It's okay. You're safe. He's down. I can see a crowd a few rows back, and they're our men.”

The officer led Ashley through the rows of cars toward several policemen in plain clothes. They were surrounding two men in dark clothes who were sprawled on the pavement face down, with their hands clasped
behind their necks. A knife lay between them on the waterlogged ground. When Ashley arrived, a detective holding a see-through evidence bag was stooping for it.

Larry Birch walked over to Ashley. Rain was cascading down his face but he was smiling.

“It's a good thing we had you under surveillance,” he said.

Ashley was shivering, and it wasn't from the rain. “Who are they?” Ashley asked, her eyes riveted on the prisoners.

“We'll soon find out.”

Birch signaled to one of the officers. “Cuff them then get them on their feet.”

Several officers kept guns trained on the captives while other officers snapped on handcuffs and helped the men to their feet. Ashley stared at the two prisoners. Their hoods had fallen back to reveal their faces.

“Ashley,” Randy Coleman shouted. “Tell these cops to get these cuffs off of me. I just saved your life.”

The other man said nothing. He just stared at Ashley. She stared back until it dawned on her that she knew him. Then she looked away quickly and took a step back.

Rain cascaded off his shaved head and ran down the length of his thick, jet-black beard. His eye color was different, too. Probably contacts. But there was no doubt that the police had captured Joshua Maxfield.