Shades of Twilight

He heard a clatter downstairs, as if someone had stumbled into something.

Webb looked up and saw Brock standing there blinking sleep from his eyes, not quite understanding what was going on.

"Brock," he snapped.

"There’s someone downstairs."

His cousin blinked again, then comprehension cleared his gaze. Without a word he ran down the stairs. Greg didn’t hesitate as he followed his son.

Webb knelt beside Roanna and gently pres sec to her neck, hardly daring to breathe. Panic swelled like a balloon, suffocating him. Then he felt her pulse throbbing under his fingertips, reassuringly strong, and he went weak with relief. He ignored the rising crescendo of voices around him and gently turned her over. Harlan was blustering, Gloria and Lanette were clinging to each other and making moaning sounds. Corliss stood frozen just outside her bedroom door, her eyes wide with terror as she stared down at Roanna’s limp form.

Lucinda struggled through the press of bodies and sank heavily to her knees beside him. Her color was pasty, and her trembling hand dug into his arm.

"Roanna," she whispered, her voice catching.

"Webb, is she-T’ "No, she’s alive." He wanted to say she’d just been knocked out, but her injury could be more serious than that. She hadn’t regained consciousness, and the fear was growing in him again. Impatiently he looked at Gloria and Lanette, driving each other into higher levels of hysteria, and dismissed them as useless. His gaze snapped over to Corliss.

"Corliss! Call 911. Get the paramedics out here, and the sheriff." She just stared at him, not moving, and he barked, "Now!" She swallowed convulsively and darted back into her suite. Webb heard her voice, high and trembling, as she talked to the 911 operator.

"What happened?" Lucinda moaned, stroking Roanna’s face with shaking fingers.

"Did she fall?" "I think she surprised a burglar," Webb said, his voice tight with anger and anxiety, and the fear he was barely holding at bay. He wanted to pick Roanna up in his arms, cradle her against his chest, but common sense told him to let her lie still.

She was still bleeding, her blood soaking into the carpet. A dark red stain was spreading out from where her head lay. 259

"Corliss!" he yelled.

"Bring a blanket and a clean towel!" She was there in just a moment, stumbling over the blanket she was dragging, and simultaneously struggling to pull on a robe over her rather skimpy silk sleep shirt Webb took the blanket and carefully tucked it around Roanna, then folded the towel and as gently as possible slipped it under her head, cushioning it from the floor and positioning the pad so that it pressed against the bleeding wound.

"W-will she be all right?" Corliss asked, her teeth chattering from shock.

"I hope so," he said grimly. There was a savage pain in his chest. What if she wasn’t all right? What would he do? Lucinda collapsed backward, her legs folding under her.

She buried her face in her hands and began sobbing brokenly.

Gloria stopped wailing, the sound ceasing as if it had been cut with a knife. She dropped to her knees beside her sister and put her arms around her.

"She’ll be all right, she’ll be fine," she crooned in reassurance, smoothing Lucinda’s white hair.

Roanna stirred, moaning a little as she tried to lift her hand to her head. She didn’t have the strength or the coordination, and her arm fell limply back to the carpet. Webb’s heart leaped wildly. He picked up her hand and cradled it in his.

"Roanna?"

At his tone, Lucinda pulled away from Gloria, frantically scrambling closer. Her expression was both terrified and hopeful.

Roanna took two deep breaths, and her eyelids fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused, confused, but she was regaining consciousness, and that was what mattered.

Webb had to swallow a lump in his throat.

"Roanna," he said again, leaning over her, and with an obvious effort she looked at him, blinking as she tried to clear her vision.

"You’re fuzzy," she mumbled.

He could hardly breathe, his heart was pounding so violently. He placed her fingers against his rough cheek.

"Yeah, I need to shave." "Not that," she said, her words slurred. She took another deep breath, as if exhausted. "Four eyes."

Lucinda gulped back her sobs, choked laughter mingling with the tears as she reached for Roanna’s other hand.

A tiny frown pulled at Roanna’s brow.

"My head hurts," she announced in confusion, and closed her eyes again. Her speech was clearer. She tried again to touch her head, but Webb and Lucinda were each holding a hand, and neither of them was inclined to let go.

"I imagine it does," Webb said, forcing himself to speak calmly.

"You’ve got a hell of a bump back there."

"Did I fail?" she murmured.

"I guess so," he replied, not wanting to alarm her until he knew something for certain, Brock and Greg came panting back up the stairs. Brock was wearing only a pair of jeans, zipped but not snapped, and his sturdy chest gleamed with sweat. He had picked up a poker from somewhere, and Greg had taken the time to get the .22 squirrel rifle from its rack over the fireplace in the den. Webb looked inquiringly at them, and they shook their heads.

"He got away," Greg mouthed silently.

Sirens were wailing in the distance. Greg said, "I’d better put this up before the sheriff gets here. I’ll let them in." He went back downstairs to return the rifle to its rack, lest he alarm a deputy already on edge with adrenaline.

Roanna tried to sit up. Webb put his hand on her shoulder and pressed her back down, alarmed at how little effort it took to do so.