“And I’ve had three.”
Still nothing.
“I was stopping at that store because I had to use the restroom, and I’d already been holding it for quite a while by that point.”
Infuriating silence.
“I really don’t want to pee in your trunk.”
Brakes. He didn’t say anything, but brakes were even better than words. The car didn’t stop, but he had definitely slowed down.
“Do not pee in this car!”
“I don’t want to pee in your car, Birch! That’s why I’m asking you to pull over.”
“Just hold it!” He sounded terrified. “We’re almost there!”
She laid her head back and tried to relax, wondering if he was scared of her having an accident or scared of being late for whomever they were meeting at the camp.
Chapter 45
The trunk opened, and brilliant sunshine blinded her. She tried to look around, but all she could see was a dark shadow of Birch, surrounded by bright light—like a halo. She considered telling him she was on friendly terms with an angel of the Lord, just to mess with him, but first things first. “Seriously, Birch, all that matters right now is my bladder. I don’t even care if you kill me at this point. Just let me pee first.”
“Let’s go,” he said and roughly grabbed her arm. Apparently, he was going to pull her out of the trunk by her elbow and let her land on her butt.
She focused on getting her feet out in front of her, aware that she was missing out on more kicking opportunities; it didn’t matter. She hadn’t been joking about her priorities. It felt blessedly cool outside of that blasted trunk, even though it was still hotter than the blazes. Her eyes adjusting, she saw that they were at a decrepit camp beside a lake or pond. She didn’t recognize any of it. “Where are we?”
He pushed her toward the shack. “There’s a bathroom inside. Hurry up. He’ll be here soon.”
She took off running, half expecting the camp to be locked. It wasn’t. She rushed inside, found the bathroom, and then experienced the strongest relief of her life.
“Hurry up!” he barked from the other side of the thin door, as if his lips were pressed against the plywood, before she’d even finished her business.
“I’m going as fast as I can! You don’t have to eavesdrop!”
As she finished, the fear of peeing her pants dissipated and was replaced by the fear of dying. She looked around the tiny bathroom for an escape route that didn’t exist. There was only one window, and it was so tiny she doubted she could’ve pushed Joanna through it. Then she looked around for a weapon. But there was nothing. If there’d been a mirror, she would’ve tried to break it and grab a shard of glass. But there was no mirror.
“Don’t make me come in there and get you,” he growled.
She closed her eyes, said another prayer, and flushed the toilet. Then she reached for the door handle. That’s when she saw a nail sticking out of the wall. It was deeply, but not entirely, embedded. Could she pull it out? She doubted it. But she would try. She reached up, pinched it between her thumb and finger, and pulled.
Nothing.
“Sandra, I’m not kidding around here!”
“Just a second!” she snapped. She frantically wiggled the nail back and forth, and it moved! Not much, but it had moved! With more force this time, she pushed the nail away from her and pulled it back again as she looked around the room for something harder to push with, but there was nothing in this stupid little room except the toilet.
The toilet! She ripped the top of the tank off and then whirled around to push the giant chunk of porcelain against the side of the nail. She felt the nail give and reached up to yank it out.
Then she stared at it, as if she couldn’t believe it was really in her hand. But it was.
Now, what was she going to do with it? Stab him in the eye and run? Was she even capable of such a thing? Images of her children flashed through her mind, and she realized that yes, indeed, she was capable of such a thing. She tucked the nail into her pocket, suddenly grateful that reffing shorts came with a thousand pockets. Birch wasn’t likely to check them all. She had turned to replace the toilet tank cover when she thought better.
She looked down at the odd-shaped object in her hands. This, in itself, was a weapon, wasn’t it?
“That’s it! You’ve got three seconds or I’m knocking that door down!”
Knock the door down? Why? The door didn’t have a lock on it. Couldn’t he just use the handle? His voice sounded farther away, as if he’d backed up to get a running start. Was he going to kick the door down? Frantic, she tried to decide where to stand. There really wasn’t a spot that wasn’t directly in front of the door.
The toilet! She had to stand on the toilet! This toilet just kept getting handier and handier. Trying to be quiet, she climbed up onto the toilet and got ready to leap. She couldn’t even believe what she, Sandra Provost, was about to do. Could she even do it? She was a housewife, for crying out loud. No. She was more than that. She was a daughter of the God of the universe and she was a soccer ref. She could do this. She lifted the toilet tank cover up over her head, and then bent her knees and waited.
The man with the ridiculous first name began to count. “One ... two ...”
Chapter 46
“Three!” Birch crashed through the door, and Sandra realized in the blur that he hadn’t kicked the door down; he had lowered his shoulder and driven through it headfirst.
What a fantastic stroke of luck. Not realizing that she was going to let out a crazy high-pitched banshee war-wail, she did, as she leapt off the toilet and brought the chunk of porcelain down on Birch’s head. Even leaping off a toilet, she barely had any height advantage. His eyes widened in realization of what was about to happen, and he tried to dodge the blow, but there was nowhere to go. His arms flew up to block it, and he managed to get one hand between the weapon and his noggin, but the blow was still significant.
The tall, muscular man with the large knees crumpled to the floor, and Sandra, worried that she’d actually killed him, fell on top of him in a mess of limbs. She scrambled to her feet and stared down at him in wonder. Her crazy plan had actually worked. His chest was moving. He probably wasn’t dead. All the dreadlocks must’ve cushioned the impact.
Now what should she do? She should tie him up, right? So he couldn’t chase her? But did she want to take the time? Mike White was coming, right? Or at least someone was?
The sound of an approaching engine made the decision for her. She started for the door, but then, out of the corner of her eye, saw that there was a back door, and she turned to head that way. It was locked, and her frantic fingers spent precious seconds trying to unlock it, but then she was out the door and running into the woods. She winced as sticks broke beneath her feet. She shouldn’t be making so much noise, but she couldn’t help it. She ran as fast as she could, so glad she’d been training for this for the last few weeks, and when she heard a man bellow something indistinguishable behind her, she ran even faster.
She stayed near the shoreline, in part because the going was easier, and in part because she hoped to stumble upon another camp. She hoped to find one with a Good Samaritan, a phone, or both. She ran and ran, and despite the adrenaline, her legs grew tired. With dismay, she realized she’d been going uphill for a while, and she looked to her left to see that the water was quite a ways below her now. Her chest burned for air, and her muscles were cramping. Praying “God, save me” over and over, she slowed her run to a walk and then to a slow walk. She bent over and tried to breathe quietly, tried to listen for the sounds of approaching madmen. But there was nothing.
Maybe they hadn’t followed her.
Yeah, right. They had followed her. This thought got her moving again, and she began to walk, and then, when the earth sloped downhill again, she began to run. And it was then that her toe caught on an exposed root, and inertia carried the top half of her toward the ground. She put her hands out to brace herself, and
they did their job. With relief, she realized she wasn’t injured. But that relief was quickly overwhelmed by the realization that she was still falling. Only it was more like rolling. Rolling down the hill toward the water. She let out a little cry, which she instantly regretted, and her fingers clawed at the ground, trying to find something to grab.
And then there was nothing. Nothing to grab, and no ground beneath her. She was free-falling. Lord, let the water be deep, she thought as she crashed through the surface with a terrific splash.
It was deep. Thank you, Father. It was also freezing cold. Today’s impromptu heat wave had done nothing to heat this mystery lake up, and as Sandra burst back up through the surface, she immediately swam for shore. She wasn’t a strong swimmer, but she put her face in the water and kicked for all she was worth, sure she was going faster than she ever had.
Her hand struck the bottom, and she scrambled to her feet, wiping the water from her eyes as she staggered onto the shore. At least I’m not sweaty anymore, she thought and actually managed to smile at the thought.
“What’s so funny?” a gravelly voice asked, and Sandra stopped smiling.
Chapter 47
Sandra looked up into the angry eyes of a man holding a gun in his right hand, his arm outstretched toward her. Beside him stood the even angrier Birch. Oh good, so he wasn’t dead. What a relief. Her hands slid down her shorts, and she was relieved to find that the nail hadn’t floated out during her impromptu autumn dip.
The man holding the gun looked familiar, and at first, she couldn’t place him. Then he said, “You sure are a lot of trouble,” and she recognized his voice. He was the ref who’d been working with Frank when he’d died.
“It was you,” she said, not knowing if she’d said it out loud.
The man laughed. “What? What was me?”
In that moment, Sandra knew that she was going to die, and she wasn’t even that sad about it. She was mostly just irritated. She said a silent prayer for her children. Then, “If you’re going to kill me, at least tell me why you did it.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” he said sibilantly. “You’ve just decided that being a housewife wasn’t enough for you. So you’ve hopped a bus to Vegas. We’ve already moved your car to the bus station.”
Sandra laughed, but her face didn’t have the energy to smile. “No one will ever believe that. I love being a housewife, you idiot. I love my husband, my children, my home. You’re never going to get away with this.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought doubt flickered across his face.
“Well, we’re at least going to try.” He cocked his gun. “You should’ve stayed out of this. You should’ve just focused on your cozy little life you love so much. This didn’t have to happen—”
“What are you talking about?” she cried. “I didn’t stick my nose into anyth—”
“You went to the police!” he nearly shouted. “You don’t think we know that you’re the reason they’ve hauled Mike in?”
Oh? Well, there was some good news, at least.
“Why’d you kill Frank Fenton?” she asked, impressed with the strength of her voice.
The man whose name she didn’t know tipped his head to the side. “Frank was also sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. It’s a dangerous hobby.”
She was suddenly desperately tired of conversing with this person. She looked at Birch. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you. I was worried there for a second.”
He nodded, not looking convinced. In fact, he looked a little scared of her. “I’m sorry we have to kill you. I’m really not a murderer, but you’ve left us no choice.”
“Us?” She raised an eyebrow. The wind blew, and a chill overtook her. “How many of you are in on this?”
Birch shook his head. “Just a few.”
She looked at the gun. “Birch, I get that I’m going to die. So please tell me what I’m dying for. Is that too much to ask?”
Birch started to talk, and the man with the gun told him to shut up. “Do you want Dad to kill you too?”
Her eyes snapped to his face. “Dad? Who’s Dad?”
He rolled his eyes, and her heart ached for Peter. How she wanted to hug him one last time and tell him how proud she was of him. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Mike is his father,” Birch said, “and Mike is a dangerous dude. I’m not mixed up in any of it except for the reffing, but I do what Mike tells me to do, because, like I said, he’s a dangerous dude. He told me to grab you, so I did.” His hand drifted to the top of his head. “I never dreamed you could be so much trouble.”
“I said, shut up!” Junior White said.
“What do you mean, mixed up in reffing?” She shoved her hands in her pocket and curled her fingers around the nail. Absurd, she knew, to try to go up against a handgun with a nail, but it was all she had.
“We’re on the take,” Junior White said. “People pay big bucks to fix the games.”
She laughed so suddenly that she snorted. This caused her to inhale some of the water she hadn’t realized was still lurking in her nose, and she began to cough. For one absurd second, she wondered if she was going to drown right then and there, removing the necessity of shooting her.
Buying a middle school soccer ref? That was the craziest thing she’d ever heard. “Who pays big bucks to fix a middle school soccer game?” she managed, while she tried to stop hacking up pond water.
“No one, you moron,” Junior White spat. “We’re high school refs, and you’d better believe the good teams pay.”
If they were that good, they wouldn’t have to pay. She decided it wouldn’t be wise to point that out.
“It’s not much money, really,” Birch said. She pulled her eyes away from the gun to look at him. “And we don’t do it often, but Frank found out and was going to turn us in, but Mike couldn’t allow that because he’s got a bunch of other—”
“Will you shut up!” Junior hissed.
Your dad must be so proud.
“What difference does it make? You’re going to kill her, aren’t you?” Though he’d stuffed her in a trunk, and though she’d beaten him half to death with a toilet, it appeared that Birch was having doubts about murdering her. She found this sentiment refreshing.
Junior stared at him for what felt like a long time. “Good thing I got here when I did, Kabouya”—
It took Sandra a moment to remember what that word meant.
—“’cause it sounds like you’re losing your nerve.” He returned his attention to her, and she didn’t like what she saw in his eyes. Because she saw nothing. His eyes were cold and empty, and she knew her time was up.
Again, without realizing she was about to sound a war cry, she let it rip, and pulling the nail out of her pocket as she went, she charged at the man with the gun. His eyes widened with surprise, and then his hand twitched. She thought she was seeing him pull the trigger, but as she reached him, she saw that his hand was trembling, and he was staring at it as if he’d never seen his own hand before. Then his whole arm began to tremble; he now only had a loose grip on his weapon.
“What the ...” he said to himself.
Fully engaged in whatever was happening to his hand, she held off on stabbing him in the eye.
Then the gun fell out of his hand completely and landed in the soft dirt by his feet.
“What’s wrong?” Birch asked.
“I don’t know!” Junior wrapped his left hand around his right wrist. “Something’s wrong with my hand.”
She was fascinated, but her desire to survive overpowered her curiosity. She grabbed the gun out of the dirt and took off running.
“Go after her!” Junior cried.
“Why don’t you?” Birch cried right back.
“I can’t get my feet to move!”
Sandra’s feet were moving, and they were moving fast. Despite the fact that her sneakers felt like soggy clown shoes, making a splat sound every time one of them hit the earth, she was setting speed record
s, she was sure of it. And this time she was running away from the lake. She came around a large pile of brambles and almost smacked directly into Bob. She let out a little screech, which she cut short so that she could snap, “Where have you been?”
Chapter 48
Bob looked offended. “Who do you think made him drop the gun?” He glanced furtively behind her. “Come on, this way.” He gently pulled her in the opposite direction. She was so relieved to see him that she started weeping. He walked, and she thought about telling him to run, but she was exhausted and besides, she thought she should let the angel be in charge.
In less than a minute, they stepped into a small clearing, and Sandra looked up at a weather-worn cottage. “They’re believers,” Bob said. “Don’t be scared.” He took her by the hand and half-led, half-dragged her up the steps to their front door. He didn’t even knock; he just went in as if he owned the place, quickly shutting the door behind him.
A man looked up from the Bible in his lap. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Bob said. “Could we use your phone? It’s an emergency.”
“Of course!” The man looked out the window. “Is someone following you?”
“Don’t worry. They won’t come here.”
Sandra wondered how he could know that, but somehow trusted that he did. Bob thanked the kind gentleman and took the phone from his outstretched hand. He punched in a number and then handed the phone to Sandra. She made no move to take it.
“It’s Detective Buker,” he whispered, pushing the phone into her arm. “Go ahead, it has to be you.”
She heard Chip answer, and she grudgingly took the phone. “Hi, Chip. This is Sandra Provost, the soccer ref.” Even under the circumstances, she enjoyed saying that. “I’m not sure where to start, but we need help—”
Bob shook his head frantically.
“I need help,” she corrected. “I’m at ...” She looked at the phone’s owner, who had now stood up, his brow etched with worry. “What’s your address?” she whispered.
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