Envy

Chapter 35

Noah, fresh off a chartered boat from the mainland, entered Terry’s Bar and Grill with a condescending attitude that immediately catapulted him to the top of the endangered species list.

The locals disliked nonislanders in general, but they particularly disliked any who looked down their noses at them. They despised Noah Reed on sight. In fact, he might not have been allowed to tie up his boat at the dock if Parker hadn’t spread word around that he was expecting a citified visitor from up north. If anybody spotted such a person, he was to be directed to Terry’s, where Parker would be waiting.

Noah approached the bar and addressed Terry with a rude, “Hey!”

Terry, who happened to be uncapping a longneck at the time, sent the bottle of beer sliding down the bar toward one of his regulars, ignoring Noah.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

Terry shifted a gnawed matchstick from one corner of his mouth to the other. “I heard ya. People wanna talk to me, they talk to me proper, else they’re likely to disappear. Now get the fuck outta my place.”

“I think you’ve already worn out your welcome, Noah.” At the sound of his voice, Noah spun around. Parker grinned up at him. “Record time, too.”

Noah gave Parker and his wheelchair a long, slow once-over. “She told me you were a cripple.”

Terry produced a baseball bat from beneath the bar. One of the regulars reached for the sheathed knife attached to his belt. Others merely glowered.

“She told me you were a prick,” Parker returned, keeping his smile in place. “But then I already knew that.”

Noah laughed. “Right back to our usual banter, aren’t we? I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.”

“Funny. I haven’t missed it at all. Want a beer?”

Noah glanced at Terry. “I think I’ll pass.”

Parker motioned with his head for Noah to follow him outside. “I’ll settle up with you later, Terry.”

“No problem.”

Every eye in the bar was on them as they left through the screen door and went out into the sweltering heat.

“You’ve got nerve, Noah. I’ll give you that.”

Noah scoffed. “Coming to see you?”

“No. Going into Terry’s bar wearing those loafers.” He looked down at Noah’s Gucci shoes with the gold trademark on the vamp. “Very fancy.”

Noah ignored the dig and slipped off his jacket. “Lovely climate,” he said sarcastically.

“Sorta reminiscent of Key West.”

Noah never faltered, but he didn’t take the bait, either. Parker led him to the Gator. “Climb in.”

“How quaint.” He settled into the bright yellow seat. “You don’t see many of these on Park Avenue.”

Using his arms, Parker raised himself into the driver’s seat, then reached down for his wheelchair, folded it, and placed it in the trailer. As he clicked on the ignition, he said, “Noah, you’ve grown into a regular Yankee snob.”

“You’ve just grown old.”

“Pain and suffering will do that to you.”

For the next five minutes, they rode in silence. Noah showed a marked lack of interest in the island. He kept his eyes on the narrow road ahead, never once commenting on the scenery or even looking at it. Parker, on the other hand, returned the waves of people they happened to pass along the way.

After one lady called out a greeting from her front porch, Noah turned to him. “What are you, the local celebrity?”

“Only cripple on the island.”

“I see.”

“And the only professional writer they know.”

“You haven’t sold this book of yours yet.”

“No, but the Mackensie Roone books sell like rubbers in a whorehouse.”

Finally. He’d finally gotten an honest reaction out of Noah. He laughed at his stunned expression. “You didn’t know? Well… surprise!”

With an aplomb that Parker remembered, Noah recovered quickly. “So that’s how you afford the lovely home and loyal valet that my wife mentioned.”

Parker was quick to catch Noah’s possessive reference to Maris, but he didn’t address it. “I’m trying to make the house a home. It still needs a lot of work. And my loyal valet up and quit on me this week.”

“How come?”

“He thinks I’m a rotten person and said he wanted no part of me.”

“You call that loyal?”

“Oh, he’ll be back.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Fairly sure, yes.”

The sun had sunk below the tree line by the time they reached the derelict cotton gin. The gathering dusk made it appear even more forlorn than it did in full daylight. Its enshrouding vines seemed to be hugging it tighter, as though to protect it from the onset of darkness.

Noah assessed the dilapidated building. “I can see what you mean by the place still needing a lot of work.”

Parker reached into the trailer for his wheelchair and swung it to the ground. “It’s not the homestead, but it’s an interesting building. As long as you’re here, you might just as well get a taste of local history.”

He wheeled his chair into the gin, leaving Noah no choice except to follow. Inside, waning sunlight squeezed through the cracks in the walls. The holes in the ceiling projected miniature disks of light onto the floor. They looked like scattered coins. Otherwise, the interior was gloomy with deep shadows. The air was so heavy and still it almost required conscious thought to inhale it.

Like a tour guide with a rehearsed spiel, Parker pointed out certain aspects of the gin and related some of its history and fact-based legends, as he had related them to Maris, including the failed plan to convert to steam power.

Noah tired of the monologue and interrupted Parker in midsentence. “I read your book.”

Parker slowly brought his wheelchair around to face him. “Of course you did, Noah. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t. When did you receive it?”

“This morning.”

“Quick response. Every anxious writer’s dream.”

“I only had to read the first few pages to realize where the plot was going. It’s very good writing, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“I chartered a private jet to ensure the shortest trip possible. On the flight, I scanned the remainder of the manuscript.”

“But you already know the story.”

“I know it’ll never see print.”

Parker shrugged goofily. “Just goes to show how wrong a person can be. Here I was thinking that maybe, after all these years, you’d be ready to relieve your conscience.”

“Cut the bullshit, Parker.” Noah’s voice cracked across the stillness like a whip. “I assume this Envy is the manuscript that Maris has been raving about?”

“The very one. She’s read every word. Several times. Likes the story. Loves the concept, the dynamic of the competitive friends. Says the characters are vividly drawn. Thinks Roark is a prince and Todd is… well, not a prince.”

“She’s easily impressed by melodrama.”

“Wrong. She’s a good editor.”

“A schoolgirl playing dress-up.”

“She’s a classy lady.”

“Jesus.” Noah snickered. “You’ve fucked her, haven’t you?”

Parker clenched his jaw and refused to answer, which caused Noah to laugh.

“Ah, Parker, Parker. Your hair is graying and your face has more lines than a road map. But some things haven’t changed. You’re still the chivalrous lover who never kisses and tells.”

He shook his head with amusement. “You always did have a soft spot for the ladies. Of course, I know why you had a burning desire to get Maris in bed. You wanted to cuckold me. You went to a hell of a lot of trouble to do it, so I hope you weren’t too disappointed. She’s not exactly a firecracker in the sack, is she?”

He looked pointedly at Parker’s lap. “Or maybe you’re pitifully grateful for any kind of sexual activity. Even Maris’s stilted efforts.” Thoughtfully, he scratched the side of his nose. “She does have that luxuriant bush, though. If you left the lights on, I’m sure you noticed.”

Parker wished very badly to kill him then. He wanted to watch him die, slowly and in agony and feeling the flames of hell licking at his ankles.

Seemingly oblivious to the murderous impulses he was fostering, Noah continued nonchalantly. “Not that I’m complaining about Maris, you understand. She’s certainly proved herself useful.”

“In the furtherance of your career.”

“That’s right.” He took a step closer. “And you must know, Parker, that I won’t let anything or anyone rob me of all that I’ve achieved. This book of yours will never be published.”

“Actually, Noah, I didn’t write it for publication. I wrote it for myself.”

“As a cathartic autobiography?”

“No.”

“As a ticket to fuck my wife?”

“No.”

“You’re stretching my patience, Parker.”

“I wrote it to get you here, on my turf, so that I could be watching your face when you die, just like you were watching me from the pilot’s wheel of the boat that night.”

Noah snorted. “What? You’re going to run me down with your wheelchair?”

Parker merely smiled and withdrew a small transistor from his shirt pocket.

“Oh, I see, you’re going to beat me to death with a remote control.”

“I own this building,” Parker said conversationally. “I like it. Good atmosphere. But some folks think it’s a hazard to kids who might wander in here. That abandoned well and all.” He hitched his thumb in that direction. “So I’ve decided to do my fellow islanders a favor and destroy it.”

He depressed one of the rubberized buttons on the transistor. Out of the shadows in a far corner came a loud pop followed by a spark. Startled, Noah spun around and watched as a flame leaped up against the weathered wood.

Parker gave his chair a hard push toward him. Noah, sensing the motion, turned and lunged at him. Noah’s daily workouts in the gym had kept him trim. His reflexes were good. He landed a couple of good punches.

But Parker’s arm and chest muscles were exceptionally well developed from years of having to rely on them. He staved off many of Noah’s slugs and had enough upper body strength to keep himself in his chair. His real advantage, however, was in knowing how Noah fought. Noah fought dirty. Noah fought to win. And he didn’t care how he won.

When Noah began pushing him backward toward the open well, Parker wasn’t surprised. His efforts became defensive. He took reckless swings that Noah easily dodged. Sensing that Parker was weakening, Noah fought even harder. Parker’s frantic struggling only increased Noah’s determination to defeat him. He came on more ferociously, blindly, the predator moving in for the kill.

Then, at precisely the right instant, Parker jammed down the brake lever of his wheelchair. It bit into the rubber wheel and brought the chair to a jarring stop. Noah hadn’t expected it. Inertia propelled him forward. His Gucci shoes caught the low rim of the well, tripping him. He groped at air. Then he stepped into nothingness.

His startled cry was a hellish echo of Mary Catherine’s scream as she fell backward over the railing of the boat.

Parker’s breathing was harsh and loud. He wiped his bloody nose on his shirtsleeve.

“You son of a bitch!” Noah shouted up at him.

“So the fall didn’t kill you?”

“Motherfucker!”

“You’re a sore loser, Noah. The cripple outsmarted you. Isn’t that what you had in mind for me? To push me down that well? Why do you think I kept referring to it? Foreshadowing, Noah. Any writer worth a damn should have recognized it for what it was.”

“Get me out of here.”

“Ah, don’t be such a crybaby, Noah. It’s not nearly as deep as the Atlantic. To the best of my knowledge there are no saltwater carnivores in there. Don’t know about snakes, though,” he added in an intentional afterthought.

“What are you going to do, flood it with water and let me drown?”

“Give me some credit. All you’d have to do is keep treading water till it got to the top.”

“Then what’s the point?”

Parker set off another of the charges. “There are twelve more like that, Noah. But long before I’ve set all of them off, you’ll already be choking. Smoke inhalation doesn’t have quite the drama of ocean water flooding your lungs, or being eaten by a shark, but it’s pretty damn effective, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ooh, you’re scaring me, Parker. You expect me to believe that you would let me die down here?”

“Why wouldn’t you believe it? I’m a killer. You said so yourself. Remember? Come on, flex the old memory muscles. I’m sure you’ll remember. After all, you must’ve rehearsed that blubbering speech a thousand times. The tears were a convincing touch, I must say. Even I came close to believing you. We were David and Jonathan until that day on the boat. Then I turned devious, lecherous, and murderous. Does that jiggle your memory?”

“I was… I was…”

“You were sentencing me to prison. Since I did the time, I think it’s only fair that I commit the crime.”

Noah was silent for a moment, then said, “I think my ankle’s broken.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

“Listen, Parker, I’m in pain down here.”

“Don’t even go there, Noah.”

“Okay, what I did… it was wrong. I got scared. Froze up. Ran away. Once I realized what I’d done, there was no way out for me but to do what I did. I can understand your carrying a grudge. But you’ve made your point.”

“Like you could have made yours by leaving me in the ocean to die. Wasn’t that enough? Did you have to let Mary Catherine die, too?”

“You won’t get away with this,” Noah said in a new tone of voice.

“Oh, I think I will. You did.”

“People will see the smoke, call the fire department.”

“It’s on the other side of the island. You’ll suffocate before they get here.”

“And you’ll be blamed.”

“I don’t think so. Everyone inside Terry’s heard your cruel remark. They know your wife’s been living under my roof for a couple weeks. They’ll figure you came down here from Yankeeland to bust my ass. But to them I’m the poor crippled man who lives down the lane. Now, who do you think they’re going to believe? Who do you think they’ll choose to believe?

“All I have to do is tell them the truth. We had words. You attacked me, and I’ve got the bloody nose to prove it. You lost your balance and fell into the well. Unfortunately, I had already set off the charges and couldn’t stop the inevitable. I tried to save you, but it was no use. I’m a cripple, remember?”

He peered over the rim and smiled down at Noah, whose face was a pale oval looking up at him from the bottom of the dry well. “It’s as plausible as the story you told the Coast Guard, don’t you think?”

“Parker. Parker. Listen to me.”

“Excuse me just a moment.” He depressed a button and another charge sparked. By now flames were eating the wood on the outside walls in two places, working their way up toward the loft.

“Stop this, Parker.” Noah cried.

“No.”

“For God’s sake!”

“For God’s sake? Don’t you mean for your sake, Noah? I think even God would understand and forgive anything I did to you. I thought of shooting you and getting it over with. I’d’ve pled self-defense and would have gotten away with it.

“But then I thought about the hours I flailed about in that fucking ocean before I was rescued. I thought about the hours I spent in excruciating pain in rehab hospitals. Somehow shooting seemed much too good for you. I had to wait fourteen years for this. If you met death quickly, it wouldn’t be nearly as gratifying. I considered cutting off your balls and letting you bleed out, like I nearly did. But that would have been messy and I couldn’t think of a reasonable defense.

“Then one day I was in here plotting a Deck Cayton novel, and I happened to catch myself staring at this well, and just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers, “the idea came to me. I got a mental image of you struggling for air, your eyes streaming tears, your nose running snot. I got so aroused, I nearly came inside my shorts.

“By the way, the equipment works just fine, thank you. And Maris might have been married to you, but she was never your wife. You don’t know her. You never even came close to knowing her.

“Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, I got an ol’ boy who lives on the island to set these charges for me. Simple. Like automatic fireplace starters. I sent out notices that I was going to burn the place down. A controlled fire, you see. Like they once used to burn the sugarcane fields right here on the island. Not much flame. Lots of smoke.”

By now the smell of it was strong.

“Parker, you’ve got to get us out of here.”

Parker laughed. “I won’t have trouble getting out. I’ve got wheels. You, by contrast, are screwed.”

Noah tried another tack. “Okay, you want me to beg. I’m begging. Get me out of here.”

Parker coughed on smoke. “Sorry, Noah. Even if I wanted to, it’s too late. I’ve got to save myself. I’ll be depriving myself the pleasure of watching you die, but—”

“Parker! Don’t do this.” Noah sobbed. “Please. Don’t let me die. What can I say?”

Parker stared down at him, his features turning hard, all traces of humor vanishing. “Say you’re sorry.”

Noah stopped sobbing but remained stubbornly silent.

“Did you even know Mary Catherine’s real name?”

“What difference does it make?”

“It was Sheila. You should’ve at least known the name of the girl who miscarried your baby.”

“It wasn’t a baby. It was a female trick. A trap.”

“So you did know,” Parker murmured. “I wondered.”

“Ancient history, Parker.”

“Wrong. It’s very timely. If you want to get out of here alive, Noah, admit that you knocked Mary Catherine overboard and did nothing, fucking nothing, to try and save her.”

Noah hesitated. Parker placed his hand on the wheels of his chair and started to turn it around. “See ya.”

“Wait! All right! What happened to Mary Catherine—”

“Sheila.”

“Sheila. What happened to Sheila was my fault.”

“And me. You deliberately ran that boat over me.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I deliberately ran that boat over you.”

“Why?”

“I… I was trying to kill you and make it look like an accident. I wanted you out of the way.”

“Of your career.”

“That’s right.”

“Was that also why you killed Daniel Matherly?”

“Damn you!”

“You did kill him, didn’t you?” Parker shouted down at him. “Admit it or you suffocate, you son of a bitch. If you don’t drown in your own nervous piss first.”

“I… I…”

“How’d you arrange that fall, Noah?”

“I provoked him. About this old friend of his. He got angry, came at me. I deflected—”

“You pushed him.”

“All right.”

“Say it!”

Desperate now, Noah relented. “I pushed him. I didn’t have to, but I did. Just to make sure.”

Parker coughed on smoke. It was stinging his eyes. “You are an abomination, Noah. A miserable human being. A murderer.” He shook his head regretfully. “But you’re not worth killing.”

Parker wheeled his chair backward. Panicked, Noah shouted his name from the bottom of the well. He was out of sight only for the amount of time it took him to retrieve the rope he had stashed earlier in preparation for this moment. He dangled it above the well where Noah could see it. “Are you sure you want me to save you? You’ll go to prison, you know.”

“Throw it down.” He was reaching up in an imploring gesture.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Parker told him. “I knew my legs were shot to hell. I’d have done anything to stop the pain. Anything except die. I thought I wanted to. But when those fishermen reached for me, I grabbed hold for all I was worth.”

He threaded the rope down to Noah, who grasped it frantically. “Make a few loops around your chest and tie it tightly,” Parker instructed.

“Okay,” Noah called when he was done. “Pull me up.”

Parker backed away, pulling the rope taut. “Ready? If you can get some footholds, walk the wall.”

“I can’t. My ankle.”

“Okay, but easy does it. Don’t—”

He was about to say “yank.” But it was too late.