Low Pressure

“I’m gonna mess you up, pretty boy. Then I’m going to cut her head off.”

Dent bared his teeth. “I’ll kill you first.”

“Drop it!”

The order must’ve come from one of the cops. Dent didn’t turn his head, but Strickland looked in that direction, and Dent used that momentary distraction to flip the knife away and, with his free hand, give the man’s Adam’s apple a hard chop. “That’s for my plane, you son of a bitch.”

Strickland, stunned and suddenly breathless, tried to suck in air. Dent squeezed his wrist so hard he released the knife and it clattered to the floor. Then four police officers swarmed them.

But, even gasping for breath, Strickland wasn’t going down easily or quietly. Dent fought his way past the policemen trying to subdue him and bolted up the staircase to where Bellamy was weakly crawling up the steps.

Panicked, he bent over her. “Are you hurt? Did he cut you?”

“No. Olivia.” Using handfuls of his wet clothing, she climbed up him until she was on her feet. “Up there. Help me.”

He put his arm around her waist and practically carried her up the remaining stairs and along the dark hallway to a bedroom.

The moment he saw Olivia Lyston on her bed, ghostly pale, lying in an ocean of blood, he knew she was dead.

A few minutes later, EMTs confirmed it.

Ray Strickland’s bellowed invectives against Bellamy and Dent echoed through the house. It took several officers to restrain him, and all the while he was hollering about injustice. But he bawled like a baby when his hands were secured behind him and he was led outside to the waiting squad car.

“I gotta kill them because it was on account of them that Allen died,” he blubbered. Bellamy heard him ask one of the arresting officers if he could have Susan’s panties back. “My brother told me to keep them.”

She and Dent were questioned separately, and the investigating officers, Nagle and Abbott among them, began linking together the bizarre chain of events. Dent’s Vette was towed away as evidence.

“I’m sorry,” she told him as they watched the tow truck’s taillights leave through the gate. “First your airplane, now your car.”

He shrugged. “They can’t bleed.”

She turned her face up to him.

“When I got here, the cops told me that a woman inside the house was bleeding out.”

“I’d called nine-one-one for Olivia.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that.” He placed his hand on the back of her head, pressed her face against his chest, and kissed the crown of her head.

“I can’t believe she killed Susan,” she whispered. “All these years…”

“Yeah,” he said on a soft exhale. Then, in an even quieter voice, “Steven’s here.”

Austin police had found him and William at the airport, where they were waiting for a flight that had been delayed due to the weather. One of the officers had called Nagle, who’d handed over his cell phone to Bellamy, who’d had the unwelcome task of telling Steven about his mother’s suicide.

For a long time he’d said nothing, then, “We’ll be there soon.”

Now, as he and William entered through the front door, she went to embrace him. It was evident that he’d been crying. Given the way he and Olivia had parted, Bellamy knew he would bear responsibility for her taking her own life.

He allowed her to hold him close for several moments before easing away. “We heard about Strickland from the policemen who drove us here. Are you all right?”

“Bruised, but otherwise okay. Dent got here just in time.”

He looked at Dent. “Thank you. Truly.”

Dent acknowledged the thanks with a nod.

Coming back to Bellamy, Steven asked, “Where is she?”