Page 30 of Led Astray (Hellraisers 1)

"That trip you took to that horrid country must have been a nightmare."

"And with Cage."

The last speaker made a tsking sound with her lips and shook her head mournfully as if to say that, for a woman, traveling in Cage's company was tantamount to a fate worse than death.

Jenny wanted to lash out at them all, to tell them if it hadn't been for Cage, she probably would have fallen apart alto­gether. But she knew their comments were guileless and stemmed from ignorance. As they left one by one, she thanked them, forgiving them their stupidity, because their concern was sincere.

She finished the dishes that were stacked on the counter and went searching for others scattered throughout the house. When she entered the living room, she was relieved to find only the Hendrens there. Finally everyone had gone home. Gratefully Jenny sank into an easy chair and let her head flop back on the headrest.

Her eyes popped open when she heard the click of Cage's cigarette lighter. The flame burst from it to ignite the end of the cigarette he held between his lips. He returned the lighter to his pocket and drew on the cigarette.

"I've told you not to smoke in this house," Sarah snapped from her place on the sofa. Her eyes were dry but ringed with muddy shadows. She looked wrinkled and shrunken, almost skeletal. Her expression was so bitter, it bordered on meanness.

"I'm sorry," Cage said with genuine apology. He went to the front door and flicked the cigarette into the night, which had fallen without anyone noticing. "Habit."

"Must you bring your nasty habits into this house? Don't you have any respect for your mother?" Bob asked.

Cage halted on his way back to his chair, stunned by Bob's harsh and condemning tone. "I respect both of you," he re­plied softly, though his body strained with tension.

"You don't respect anything," Sarah said tersely. "You haven't told me once that you're sorry about your brother's death. I've gotten no sympathy from you."

"Mother, I—"

She went on as though he hadn't spoken. "But then I don't know why I expected it from you. You've done nothing but give me trouble from the day you were born. You were never considerate of me the way Hal was."

Jenny sat up straight, wanting to remind Sarah that for days Cage had been taking care of the media and relieving them of the legal details surrounding Hal's death. She didn't get a chance to say anything before Sarah continued.

"Hal would have been at my side constantly through some­thing like this."

"I'm not Hal, Mother."

"You think you have to tell me that? You couldn't hold a candle to your brother."

"Sarah, please don't," Jenny cautioned, sliding to the edge of her chair.

"Hal was so good, so good and sweet. My baby." Sarah's shoulders began to shake and her face crumpled with another burst of tears. "If God had to take one of my sons, why did He take Hal and leave me with you?"

Jenny's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my God."

Bob dropped to his knees in front of his wife's chair and began to comfort her. For a long moment Cage stared down at his parents in total disbelief, then his face hardened. He spun on his heel and strode toward the door. The screen was brutally punched by the heel of his hand and went crashing against the outside wall. He bounded across the front porch and down the steps.

Without pausing to think about it, Jenny went tearing after him. She raced across the yard and caught up with him at the curb where his Corvette was parked. He was shrugging out of his dark suit coat as though it were on fire and ripping at the buttons of his vest.

"Go back where you belong," he shouted at her.

He squeezed himself into the low seat of the sports car and twisted the key in the ignition. It surprised Jenny that the key didn't break off. Stamping on the clutch, he shoved the car into first gear. She yanked open the passenger door and scram­bled in just as he stamped on the accelerator.

The car shot forward like a missile. It fishtailed into the middle of the street and careened around the next corner with­out the benefit of brakes to slow its turn. Jenny reached for the door handle and miraculously managed to slam it closed without falling out onto the pavement or wrenching her arm from its socket.

Cage had shifted up to fourth gear by the time they reached the city limits sign. As he worked the gear stick, he ground his jaws together as though that would command better per­formance from the car. Jenny didn't risk looking at the speed­ometer. The landscape was no longer distinguishable. The headlights sliced through the endless darkness in front of them.

He reached for the knobs on the radio, controlling the car with one hand until he found the acid-rock station he wanted. He turned the volume up full blast, filling the interior of the car with the deafening clamor of metallic music.

"You made a big mistake," Cage shouted over the cacoph­ony. "You should have stayed home tonight."

R

eaching across the car and fumbling around her knees, he opened the glove compartment and took out a silver flask. Wedging it between his thighs, he unscrewed the cap, then raised it to his lips. He drank long. The face he made when he swallowed let Jenny know the liquor was potent. He drank again, and again, speeding down the center stripe of the high­way with only one hand on the wheel.

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