The War Gate (40 page)

“Then what am I supposed to do? I’m not making any guarantees either.”

“You’re here to serve as a witness. You must assimilate everything you see, then devise a solution. None of it will make sense at first. It will not be as you thought.”

“You mean I have to witness a murder—the death of my mother’s husband—while doing nothing to stop it?”

“That part is written in your lifeline. You will reach for the courage when the time comes.”

“Why can’t you just tell me what happens? How could you put me through this, expecting me to come out of it unaffected?”

“I cannot order you to walk the path, nor reveal its turns. I can point out the direction. I can subject you to this because I love you. To answer your next question—you are Avalon-Avy Labrador. You are not half of anything—you are more than the whole.”

Avy blinked. She had no idea he could read her mind like a comic book.

She sat in silence, trying to put it all together. The worst-case scenario was that he was using her, lying to her in an attempt to correct some cosmic wreck he'd created. She wondered if she was sitting next to the greatest “congod” that ever existed. Or by using all of his charm, had he enlisted her into some evil cult bent on changing human history? The other side of the equation bespoke of a heroic task reserved specifically for her. The requirement demanded that she witness something terrible then put it back on the best possible path. Was she really some kind of half-assed angel? Avy would bet he heard that because he was smiling.

Janus stood up, whisking grass from his pants. She feared that he would be seen, but he didn’t seem concerned. Of course. What an idiot she was. Janus had been here before.

He put a gentle hand on the side of her cheek, looking at her with consoling eyes. “The time draws near, daughter. Your first words to me were about your heart almost stopping when I frightened you. You would be wise to remember that thirty-two years from now you almost stopped the heart of someone else. Someone who loves you beyond measure. I expect you will do the right thing.”

“Are you talking about Sebastian, Father?”

Janus smiled, turned around, then walked through the wall, leaving her staring at a patch of stucco that had turned to a shimmering liquid. Next she heard the sound of an engine, then a driveway gate opening. She peered around the bush.

A black Mercedes rolled down the driveway and pulled up in front of the house. Drake Labrador emerged from it. A very young, long-haired, hippy-looking Drake. He bent over for something in the back seat, then straightened, holding a large cardboard box. He rang the bell at the front door. A tall, blond woman answered. Avalon Labrador. They disappeared inside. A female squeal of delight came from behind the closed door. Avy supposed it was the champagne being presented to her mother that caused the happy outburst—the same champagne that would be laced with drugs, destined to course through her veins later.

Avy moved along the outer wall in the fading light, finding a path to the side of the house. She came to a small side door that held a single pane of glass. She looked inside, knowing it was the pantry that led off from the kitchen. It was the perfect location from which to listen to conversation in the kitchen area.

She summoned the emotion, then stepped through to the other side.

The pantry had a small walk-in closet. It was the ideal place to hide in or step through to a different room if someone approached in her direction. Cooking smells were already wafting through the air. Drake’s voice boomed a moment later.

“Hey! What say I put these babies on to chill?”

“By all means,” said Avalon. “Roederer Cristal deserves to be kept refrigerated. What a wonderful gift. You shouldn’t have.”

“Nonsense, it’s a special occasion.”

Yeah, it was a special occasion, thought Avy. The occasion when Drake would stab his loving brother through the heart. Trying to wrest hold of her anger seemed almost impossible, knowing that if she stepped through a door right now with such raging thoughts she would fly like a missile into the future. She had to study this scene with analytical precision, making note of everything said while watching it unfold. All the events that would happen in this house up until the time the police arrived had to be witnessed—cataloged. It could take several jumps back to repeat the visit in case she missed something.

The pantry shelves contained a variety of canned goods, including a stainless steel one gallon can that sat at the perfect angle to reflect anyone in the kitchen. Though the image was somewhat blurred, she could see her mother at the sink shaking out a strainer. Drake stood a few feet away, watching her mother. There would be ample warning if someone approached the pantry.

“If you would just point me to the champagne glasses,” said Drake. “At least we can set them out.”

“I’ve got them,” said Avalon, reaching for a cupboard.

Avy assumed Tom was seated at the dining room table. After a moment, she heard him announce something topical having to do with politics. He had to be reading the newspaper. The casual chat continued between the three. Soon the oven door creaked open, followed by the clatter of dinnerware. The reflections on the can disappeared. The next voice was that of her mother proclaiming that one of the candles wouldn’t light. Forks scraped on china. The first interesting topic of conversation concerned the recent construction of a new Japanese electronics plant headed by Cyberflow—the reason for the celebration.

An hour passed before the plates were pushed back. Compliments about the cuisine rang out from the men. Drake offered to clear the table, insisting that Avalon remain seated. He announced that the time for a toast had arrived. Avy picked up Drake’s reflection when he entered the kitchen, stacked the dinner plates, then opened the refrigerator to retrieve the champagne. He called out, telling the others not to move since he had a surprise for them.

It happened fast. Drake produced something from his pocket that he added to one of the glasses. The motion confirmed what Avy already knew. One of the drinks would be spiked—her mother’s.

When Drake returned to the table, he made an elaborate presentation of the first toast. More toasts followed. An hour of business-related talk passed before they had consumed both bottles.

Avy felt her legs going numb, having had to stand in one position without making a sound. She massaged her legs, waiting for what she knew would happen next. A short time later, her mother’s speech grew think, almost slurred. She complained of a “fatigue headache.” The drug-laced champagne had done its work. The socializing lasted for another ten minutes before Tom excused himself, explaining that he would see his wife to bed. He told Drake he could stick around if he wanted. Avy heard two bodies plodding up the carpeted staircase to the second-story bedroom, where Avalon was reportedly found that night. What Avy expected to happen next, did not—the front door opened, then closed. A moment later, a car in the driveway started.

Avy trotted to the living room window, peeked through a slit in the curtain. Drake pulled up to the security gate, activated the button, then drove off into the night. On his way out, he had turned the porch light off.

That was not supposed to happen. Unless he had to pick something up then come back? She waited at the window for any sign of the returning black Mercedes. It was a long wait. Forty-five minutes later, it drove back through the gate and parked in front of the house. The outline of a small figure dressed in a dark jogging suit and wearing a woolen cap emerged from the vehicle. Avy held her breath while she tried to identify the person. She stiffened in shock when she saw who it was.

Elizabeth Labrador.

Lizzy crept across the driveway toward the front porch. In a state of panic, Avy leapt from the window and ran to the pantry just as the front door opened. In quick succession, the living room light went out, followed by the dining room light. Soft footsteps entered the kitchen. A drawer slid open, a utensil pinged. Lizzy flicked the kitchen light off when she left.

Avy made silent steps across the kitchen floor, waited a beat, then watched the shadowy figure pad up the staircase. Avy followed in a low crouch, making sure to keep her distance from the other woman who might turn around at any moment.

Trying to keep the outrage from boiling to the surface seemed impossible. To think that she had been wrong all along about the true culprit threatened to addle her senses. For some incomprehensible reason, the woman whom she had called “mom” for eighteen years had taken her husband’s place to perform the deed. The reason for it was so elusive that, at first, Avy refused to believe it. Yet she watched Lizzy make a trip to the hallway bathroom, then exit with a washcloth to stand in front of the master bedroom door.

What was amazing was how fit her mother looked, even with most of her features covered up. Lizzy had always portrayed a docile, even meek exterior. When in reality she had been a chameleon, very capable of cold-blooded murder. She’d also had the perfect alibi—she’d been home, nowhere near Tom’s property. The real actress in the Labrador household had been the matriarch, Elizabeth Labrador.

Avy resisted the overwhelming urge to jump the woman right then, but something told her that Lizzy might win in a physical confrontation. The woman looked pumped up like a wild animal, ready to tangle with anyone. Avy remembered what Janus had told her to do—observe and memorize the events, which meant watching this horrendous play unfold. It was necessary to dissect each inflection, every movement. Although she could not believe any merciful God could ask her to do such a thing, she knew she had to see this to the end.

Using great stealth, Lizzy stepped into the bedroom. When Avy crept up to the doorframe, she found Lizzy already standing at the side of the large queen-sized bed. The couple lay sprawled on their backs, illuminated by a dim table lamp. Avy kept just a slice of her face exposed, with the rest of her body well behind the wall. She watched with trepidation, her heart thrumming in her chest. The temptation to look away was overpowering—to tear her eyes from the scene that was certain to come.

Lizzy cocked the knife overhead, then struck hard. Tom’s eyes flicked open, his body convulsing with the shock. His mouth twisted once. One of his hands went up in a reflexive spasm for a moment, clawed at the air, then fell to his side. Tom died in an instant, his eyes wide open, mouth agape. The bed had rocked once. Avalon slept on in the drug-induced coma.

Avy caught a sob in her throat, forced it down. She began to tremble with violent shudders. A few seconds passed before she realized she had bitten through her lip, drawing blood. She had never witnessed anything so terrible in all her life. It was all she could do to keep from crying out in pain—crying out for Tom.

Lizzy rolled the body to the edge of the bed, then slid it to the floor. She used vicious overhand strokes to plunge the knife into the upper part of the body. She hissed with each downward swing. One violent downward thrust knocked the wool cap from her head, but she continued making savage strokes, the knife catching in her hair. Senseless overkill. But it was designed to appear like an act of murderous passion.

During one swift backstroke, a gleaming object flew up into the air from Lizzy’s wrist. It landed on top of the ceiling fan casing. The woman, so engrossed in the butchering frenzy, hadn’t noticed she had lost something from her person.

After seventeen stab wounds, Lizzy was finished. She used the washcloth to mop the blood from the body, then moved to the opposite side of the bed. She flipped the washcloth several times, splattering Avalon’s face then her nightgown. Using the cloth as a blotter, she smudged the drugged woman’s neck, shoulders, and legs with blood. After wiping the knife, Lizzy pressed it into the other’s limp hand, making sure the prints transferred.

Certain that Lizzy would be exiting, Avy hurried down the hallway and into a spare bedroom. When she heard thumping sounds, Avy chanced a look around the corner. The top of Tom’s head disappeared down the staircase, striking each step, evidence of the body being pulled. Avy followed, watching the horrid event unfold. Once outside, Lizzy lifted the body into the trunk space of the Chevy Suburban. Having taken the keys from Avalon’s purse on the dining room table, Lizzy started the vehicle, then drove off the property.

Avy watched the taillights disappear from the front window. She used her sleeve to cuff the tears from her face. The scene she had just witnessed would sear her memory like a branding iron. She wondered how anyone could be expected to live a normal, well-adjusted life after seeing such a thing. This had to be what war was like. Death, heaped upon mountains of heartache—it was the absolute worst that life had to offer.

Avy staggered upstairs in a daze, averting her eyes from blood-smeared carpet. When she reached the side of her mother’s bed, she watched her for a long time, the slow rhythmic rise of her breasts. Her mother looked so beautiful, so serene, but so blissful and unaware of how her life would change in the coming hours. She wanted to kiss her mother’s sweet face. To hold her in her arms, but she knew that it might be tampering somehow, contaminating the scene. Her imprint was not allowed in this timeframe.

Avy picked up a pocket mirror from her mother’s dresser, then stepped up on a chair. She held the mirror over the top of the ceiling fan, angling it for the proper vision. Amazed, she saw a gold bracelet sitting on top of the case. Tiny inscriptions could be seen on the piece, even through the blood spatter. There was also a shock of torn red hair caught in the clamshell links. Lizzy’s hair.

This was it.
This was the evidence.

She reached for it, then stayed her hand. The evidence could not be fresh. This had happened over three decades ago. The DNA traces would have to be that old. She stepped off the stool, wiped her prints from the mirror, then replaced it where she had found it.

When she returned to the living room, she sat on the couch. She propped the curtain open. It would be sometime later before Lizzy returned, tossed the keys on the bed, and swapped out vehicles. Then she would drive home, leaving no trace that she had ever been on the property. Except one. Before the break of dawn, Avalon Labrador would be arrested on suspicion of homicide and taken into custody. The innocent woman, still suffering from the effects of the drug, would have no idea what had happened. The perfect crime had been committed, or so it seemed. End of story.