Then Bruno went still and calm. He bent down, picked up the phone with its screen webbed in cracks, and called my mother.
The ringtone went on a long time, picked up only in the last second before it would have cut off on its own.
Bruno gave her no breath of warning, hurling the words at her the moment the line connected. "Mom, is Ruth hiding out at your place? Put her on the phone right now. I have things to say to her!"
The other end was dead silent for a moment, then came my mother's hoarse, grieving cry.
"Bruno, you soulless animal... you drove my daughter to her death, and now you're satisfied? You will never lay a hand on her again as long as you live!"
The dial tone cut the call dead in an instant.
Bruno stood frozen where he was, as though struck by lightning.
But he quickly forced down the panic that nearly broke over him like a collapsing mountain, a crashing sea.
The veins stood out at his temples, and though his back was already soaked through, Bruno stubbornly went on sending me messages.
“Ruth Stephens, so even your mother's in on the act now? Dragging your elders into this, have you no shame?
“If you really want the divorce, then crawl back here and sign the papers! Don't force me to take drastic measures and make sure the Stephens family never holds its head up again!”
The message went out. Still nothing came back.
Beside him, Irma Finch caught the word “divorce,” and the elation in her eyes nearly spilled over.
She spun around at once and hurried toward the master bedroom, eager to dig out all their documents.
But before she could even pull the drawer open, a violent, ugly racket erupted from the living room.
Like a madman, Bruno snatched up Rosie, still sobbing helplessly on the sofa, and stormed out the front door of the mansion trailing a cloud of pure menace.
“Wait! Bruno! Where are you taking the child?”
Irma's frantic shout was cut off cold by the slam of the door.
On the highway, deep in the night, the car Bruno drove tore through the traffic like a beast off its leash.
My spirit hovered tight against the back seat, my phantom arms locked around Rosie, who was nearly unconscious.
Bruno, you complete madman!
If you want to die, don't drag my daughter down with you!
The streetscape blurring past was unmistakably the road to my mother's home.
Five minutes later, brakes screaming, the car lurched to a stop, blocking the gate.
The moment Bruno stepped out, he saw the funeral banners hanging high on either side.
“No. It can't be!”
“Ruth Stephens! Stop pretending. Open this door for me!”
He pounded his fist against the gate like a cornered animal driven wild, even as his legs buckled out from under him.
“Stop using this cheap, filthy trick to curse yourself! If you've got the nerve, come out and say it to my face!”
“Enough!”
A figure he knew better than any other appeared before him.
The fury and the shouting died in Bruno's throat.
He went rigid where he stood, sheer terror on his face.
