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Chapter 16
It was getting dark, and the little parking lot near Kelly’s house was not too well lit.
Pearl told his people to hide in the bushes around the house; he took the usual
path, himself.
He almost ran into a man who was busy with Kelly’s car.
“Hey fella,” Pearl said casually, “what are you doing with the car?”
The man turned, and Pearl saw the features his friend an artist had drawn for him,
the features that were chasing Mason in his nightmares.
He recoiled instinctively – and by this managed to evade a hook.
“Hey mister,” Pearl protested louder, “all I did was asking; now what do you think--”
The Indian took two steps back as Pearl did, too, and then, gracious like a cat, the
Indian jumped back into the bushes.
Pearl’s people did earn their money. A little noise, and the Indian was on the
ground, immobilized and breathing heavily.
Pearl gave him but a quick glance. “Call the police,” he ordered.
The car interested him more. He looked into the engine, and then squatted and
looked under the car. “And – call 911, too,” he added slowly. “It’s explosive, I think.”
*
“Elena!” Mason called. No answer again.
His heart was pounding loudly.
It was getting dark, and as there was no one on deck Mason risked getting down.
The promised dinner, and candles, and flowers – and there she was, sipping
champagne.
“Good night, Mason,” she said with a smile. “Join me, will you?”
Mason sat down. At least this time he’d got her riddle right; what next?
“What do you want, Elena?” he said in a reserved tone.
“A true gentleman!! A little more champagne, please, and why don’t you bathe
these strawberries in whipped cream.”
He added some champagne into her goblet. “You know it’s not what I asked you.”
She lifted her chin in a manner that seemed familiar to him. Of course: it was his
father’s manner. Their father’s, that is.
“What is it you want, Mason?” she asked softly.
“What do I want? … I want a happy, quiet, safe life for myself and for those ones I
love.”
“Eden and Kelly,” she prompted sadly.
“Right; aren’t they my sisters? And for you, too; aren’t you my sister.”
There was no surprise on Elena’s part. “I knew you’d figured it out somehow,” she
admitted. “It was not too hard, I think; as long as you have money to pay there’s
little left that’s impossible to have done... All's about money...”
Mason just did not buy it: so many times had he been accused of mercenariness
while he was just crying out for love. Enough to know that Elena was being
insincere.
“Yes, I found out,” he agreed. “So, you’re my sister. And I want to be your brother
and your friend.”
She laughed. “No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You know I’m evil incarnate, and you want me out of your life – out of your –
happy, quiet and safe life.”
“My life’s never been like this; never happy and quiet enough,” Mason said,
suddenly feeling calm and in control; maybe that was because Elena was sad
rather than frantic. “But why add to the misfortunes of life?”
“Why, indeed,” Elena echoed softly. She paused. “You’re not drinking anything,
Mason.”
“No. I do not want to.”
“Do you know the Indian who’d been torturing you was working for me?” Elena
said assessing the light color of the champagne against the candle light.
There was a silence. “I suspected it could have been this way,” Mason said quietly,
at last.
“And that he reported to me every day if you had signed the papers, and what he
had done to you, and what he was planning to do to you?”
“I – I’m not sure,” Mason mastered.
“Want a proof?”
She took out a sheet of paper – a will signed by Mason Capwell. According to this
paper, all his belongings were to be inherited by ‘his sister Elena.’
Mason looked at the paper carefully. He had never seen it; but he had not seen the
papers he was signing when they finally made him do it. For all he could tell, the
signature was really his hand.
“It’s not a fake, Mason,” said Elena with a smile.
“But you did not carry your plan out,” said he handing her the paper. “Not till the
end.”
“No. You hate me?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m aghast this could have been planned and done by my own sister, and it hurts
me to think of it. I do not hate you,” Mason said.
It was a strange talk, he thought. A starry night, a romantically decorated yacht,
these candles, and this quiet talk about hair-raising things between brother and
sister. Life was strange.
“Life – gets – too complicated at times,” Elena said thoughtfully.
“I think you need help, Elena. Let me help you.”
“The way you helped your other sister when you got her into Dr Rawlings’ clinic?”
Her lips curved; it made her not so beautiful.
“It’s not fair, Elena,” Mason reproached her gently. He knew too well what she was
doing, just because it was something he always did: snapping out when someone
got too close.
“Have a drink with me. It’s not poisoned, I swear.”
“You know I have a drinking problem. I do not want to drink away everything that
matters to me.”
“I hate you, Mason,” said Elena, almost helplessly. “I hate you, and Eden, and Kelly.
I hate Jeffrey, and I hate Ted. I hate Sophia, and Cruz, and all of you Capwells.”
“What about Mother and Father?” Mason asked cautiously.
“I hate them – as much as I love them.”
“Sounds familiar,” Mason smirked.
“I hate you, Mason.”
“Okay; do.”
“I hate you.”
“I don’t hate you back.”
He was looking at her, in this strange dim light the candles gave, and wondered
how alike they were; he saw a distorted copy of himself, of what he could have
become if he had let hate, not love, prevailed in him.
It was getting dark, and the little parking lot near Kelly’s house was not too well lit.
Pearl told his people to hide in the bushes around the house; he took the usual
path, himself.
He almost ran into a man who was busy with Kelly’s car.
“Hey fella,” Pearl said casually, “what are you doing with the car?”
The man turned, and Pearl saw the features his friend an artist had drawn for him,
the features that were chasing Mason in his nightmares.
He recoiled instinctively – and by this managed to evade a hook.
“Hey mister,” Pearl protested louder, “all I did was asking; now what do you think--”
The Indian took two steps back as Pearl did, too, and then, gracious like a cat, the
Indian jumped back into the bushes.
Pearl’s people did earn their money. A little noise, and the Indian was on the
ground, immobilized and breathing heavily.
Pearl gave him but a quick glance. “Call the police,” he ordered.
The car interested him more. He looked into the engine, and then squatted and
looked under the car. “And – call 911, too,” he added slowly. “It’s explosive, I think.”
*
“Elena!” Mason called. No answer again.
His heart was pounding loudly.
It was getting dark, and as there was no one on deck Mason risked getting down.
The promised dinner, and candles, and flowers – and there she was, sipping
champagne.
“Good night, Mason,” she said with a smile. “Join me, will you?”
Mason sat down. At least this time he’d got her riddle right; what next?
“What do you want, Elena?” he said in a reserved tone.
“A true gentleman!! A little more champagne, please, and why don’t you bathe
these strawberries in whipped cream.”
He added some champagne into her goblet. “You know it’s not what I asked you.”
She lifted her chin in a manner that seemed familiar to him. Of course: it was his
father’s manner. Their father’s, that is.
“What is it you want, Mason?” she asked softly.
“What do I want? … I want a happy, quiet, safe life for myself and for those ones I
love.”
“Eden and Kelly,” she prompted sadly.
“Right; aren’t they my sisters? And for you, too; aren’t you my sister.”
There was no surprise on Elena’s part. “I knew you’d figured it out somehow,” she
admitted. “It was not too hard, I think; as long as you have money to pay there’s
little left that’s impossible to have done... All's about money...”
Mason just did not buy it: so many times had he been accused of mercenariness
while he was just crying out for love. Enough to know that Elena was being
insincere.
“Yes, I found out,” he agreed. “So, you’re my sister. And I want to be your brother
and your friend.”
She laughed. “No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You know I’m evil incarnate, and you want me out of your life – out of your –
happy, quiet and safe life.”
“My life’s never been like this; never happy and quiet enough,” Mason said,
suddenly feeling calm and in control; maybe that was because Elena was sad
rather than frantic. “But why add to the misfortunes of life?”
“Why, indeed,” Elena echoed softly. She paused. “You’re not drinking anything,
Mason.”
“No. I do not want to.”
“Do you know the Indian who’d been torturing you was working for me?” Elena
said assessing the light color of the champagne against the candle light.
There was a silence. “I suspected it could have been this way,” Mason said quietly,
at last.
“And that he reported to me every day if you had signed the papers, and what he
had done to you, and what he was planning to do to you?”
“I – I’m not sure,” Mason mastered.
“Want a proof?”
She took out a sheet of paper – a will signed by Mason Capwell. According to this
paper, all his belongings were to be inherited by ‘his sister Elena.’
Mason looked at the paper carefully. He had never seen it; but he had not seen the
papers he was signing when they finally made him do it. For all he could tell, the
signature was really his hand.
“It’s not a fake, Mason,” said Elena with a smile.
“But you did not carry your plan out,” said he handing her the paper. “Not till the
end.”
“No. You hate me?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m aghast this could have been planned and done by my own sister, and it hurts
me to think of it. I do not hate you,” Mason said.
It was a strange talk, he thought. A starry night, a romantically decorated yacht,
these candles, and this quiet talk about hair-raising things between brother and
sister. Life was strange.
“Life – gets – too complicated at times,” Elena said thoughtfully.
“I think you need help, Elena. Let me help you.”
“The way you helped your other sister when you got her into Dr Rawlings’ clinic?”
Her lips curved; it made her not so beautiful.
“It’s not fair, Elena,” Mason reproached her gently. He knew too well what she was
doing, just because it was something he always did: snapping out when someone
got too close.
“Have a drink with me. It’s not poisoned, I swear.”
“You know I have a drinking problem. I do not want to drink away everything that
matters to me.”
“I hate you, Mason,” said Elena, almost helplessly. “I hate you, and Eden, and Kelly.
I hate Jeffrey, and I hate Ted. I hate Sophia, and Cruz, and all of you Capwells.”
“What about Mother and Father?” Mason asked cautiously.
“I hate them – as much as I love them.”
“Sounds familiar,” Mason smirked.
“I hate you, Mason.”
“Okay; do.”
“I hate you.”
“I don’t hate you back.”
He was looking at her, in this strange dim light the candles gave, and wondered
how alike they were; he saw a distorted copy of himself, of what he could have
become if he had let hate, not love, prevailed in him.
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