Final Scream by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online

If Carl knew I was usin’ part of the grocery money on this, he’d kill me. I hate to say it, Sunny, ’cause you know I think the world of ya, but there’s lots of people in town who think you’re a fraud. Carl’s one of ’em. So, I’d appreciate it if it didn’t get out that I visit you.”
    Sunny smiled; she’d heard the speech before from most of her clients. Including Carl Cunningham. It had been Sunny who had first suggested he see the doctors, that there was a darkness within his organs that could spread. But Belva would never know why her husband of thirty years up and decided to have the first physical of his life this past spring.
    Belva delved into her purse and left a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “I’ll call you,” she promised as she waddled, barely easing her wide hips through the open door of the old trailer. Though she was a heavyset woman, Belva was strong enough to run the farm while her husband worked for Rex Buchanan’s logging operation.
    Belva’s wheezing two-toned Ford left a blue plume of exhaust and dust as it roared down the lane and disappeared through the thickets of oak and fir trees that sheltered this scrubby patch of property from the county road. Sunny had lived here most of her adult life, and though the old trailer was small, too small for the size of her family, she’d never left.
    In the beginning, she’d had big dreams. She’d grown up on a dusty ranch outside of town. Her father, Isaac Roshak, had barely scratched out a living, and her mother, Lily, a beautiful woman who was half Cherokee Native American, had suffered the indignities of the tiny community. Isaac had married Lily for her earthy and exotic beauty, but he’d never respected her and, when drunk, had often called her a half-breed before dragging her into the bedroom and closing the door. The sounds that had drifted through the thin plywood—screams, moans and grunts of pleasure or pain—had scared Sunny, their only child.
    From the age of three, Sunny had visions; dreams that oftentimes came true. Only her mother knew of her gift; Isaac had never been told. “You must keep what you see a secret,” Lily had confided in her small daughter.
    “But Papa—”
    “Will only use you, honey. He’d make a sideshow out of you and have you talk to strangers for money.” Lily had smiled then, a sad smile that never blossomed into happiness. “Some things must be kept close to your heart.”
    “Do you have secrets?” Sunny had asked.
    “A few, little ones, but none to worry about.”
    In later years Sunny had discovered the secrets and they were simple. Isaac had always wanted a son and Lily, in her own discreet way, had denied him. There were no more children. Only Sunny.
    Isaac assumed his wife had become barren and Lily let him believe that she could not conceive. Their arguments were bitter and he often accused her of not being a woman, calling her a dried-up old hag. No good to him. He needed sons and lots of them to help him with the ranch. If he wasn’t a God-fearing Catholic, he would have divorced her in a minute and found a real woman, one who would bear him boys and quit staring at him with eyes that looked haunted.
    But the truth of the matter was that Lily would not bring a son of Isaac’s into the world.
    In a cabinet that held makeup and nail polish and other “women things,” Lily kept several vials and bottles of herbs, powders and potions that every so often she would use, mixing them to a foul-smelling concoction that she would drink. Within the day she would be sick and get her period. Sunny was never told, but she guessed much later in her life that, whatever it was her mother drank, it stopped her from having any more babies.
    Isaac spent more and more time in town, drinking and whoring, coming home drunk and bragging about his conquests with women who enjoyed taking him to bed and didn’t lie against the sheets frigidly like some goddamned statue! He’d rant and rave and