by Tess Rothery
Coffee carafe held aloft, she stalked slowly into the dining room, hunting for Alex Stoner.
The phone she had hastily shoved into her pocket vibrated.
She fumbled pulling the small lifeline out with one hand and opened the message.
A text for the group from the sheriff. Everyone stay in your room. There is a dangerous person in the house.
Taylor shoved the phone back into her pocket. She couldn't stay someplace she wasn’t at.
The house creaked and groaned with the otherworldly noises of old construction at night, but no footsteps. No voices.
Asha said he’d come for Aviva. But what else did he want to do? Taylor was sure a young man who’d plan a long-drawn-out scheme to drive Maddie Carpenter mad wouldn’t just slip away in the night with his friend.
He’d launched his previous attacks through the kitchen via Aviva. Perhaps he’d gone there now to leave one last message.
The stairs to the kitchen were in complete darkness. She took them slowly on the tips of her toes, trying to move soundlessly.
The kitchen had a few window wells, the lush summer plantings outside the house restricted any light that might have filtered through, even in the daytime, but at night the vast space was black. Taylor’s hand instinctively reached for the light switch as she turned the corner, but she refrained. Several small red LED lights blinked on the counters; she could orient herself to the room with those. For the moment, she held her breath and listened.
Something rustled in the direction of the pantry. She held the carafe in front of her face and one hand out, feeling for the edge of the kitchen island as she made her way toward the noise.
The pantry door was ajar and stood between her and whatever was happening inside. She skirted around it with her back to that industrial work bench Belle had recycled from the high school shop. The pantry was large enough to hide a full-grown person. Taylor's thumb fidgeted on the lever of the carafe, ready to splash the hot coffee in the face of whoever she found on the other side of the door.
She kicked the door and lunged forward thinking aggressive was better than passive right now.
A hiss like the sound of angry rodents greeted her.
She recoiled, crawling into her own skin, and shoving the door shut, but it bounced on the latch and flung open wider.
She didn't know how many rodents it took to make that kind of noise, and she didn’t want to find out. She swallowed back the bile that rose in her stomach and pulled herself on top of that kitchen island.
She crouched with her carafe of coffee and took a deep breath. Rats were the least of her potential troubles. Antibiotics could solve whatever damage they could cause. But Alex Stoner had a weapon and a grudge. She wished now that she turned on the light. The kitchen was full of weapons far better than hot coffee if she could just find them.
Instead, she sat in the dark trying to remember which side of the counter held the knife block.
"That was a bad idea." Hot breath filled her ear as a rat-like voice whispered.
She curled forward, away from it, but a hand grabbed her by her injured shoulder and wrenched her to the side.
That arm wrapped her neck and pulled her to the broad shoulder of someone who smelled like Axe body spray.
"Where's Aviva?" the rough voice whispered.
“I’ll take you there.” Taylor resisted the urge to vomit as she spoke, but truly, she would have liked to empty her guts all over this man. He had made Maddie’s last days on earth a nightmare of shame and panic, and likely murdered her as well.
"She's waiting for me. I promised that I’d get her out of here. It's not okay to keep her under house arrest." He was growling now, an angry animal sound.
"I’ll help you." Taylor tried to stay limp. It made it harder for him to control her. "We'll go straight there. Just follow me."
"You think I'm an idiot? I know the sheriff’s here. I know you'll take me straight to him.”
"Asha followed you. They already know you’re here. You need me to get Aviva for you.” Taylor bit her lip and was glad he couldn’t see her face.
"I told her not to come. She's going to get herself killed." Alex pushed Taylor away from himself.
"Are you sleeping with both of the girls?" It couldn't be wise to antagonize a man with the hatchet, but as Taylor asked, she slid off the table.
“None of your business." It was the easy answer and didn't satisfy Taylor.
"I think they both think they’re your girlfriend. It can't be good to have them both here."
"If anyone hurts Asha, I will kill them." His voice was icy cold
He spoke like the girl was his possession rather than his girlfriend. Maybe he had even thought of his sister as a possession. Maybe something truly evil was behind his sister's eating disorder. She swallowed back the disgust these thoughts brought her. "Where are you taking Aviva?" As she spoke, she inched her way to the elevator.
"I'm taking her home, where I can keep her safe."
“What about the virus? What if she's infected? You and Asha could get sick.”
"The virus is fake, everyone knows that."
So that was how it was. This man was deluded. Unable to accept reality. That was far more terrifying than any weapon he might have brought with him. She reached the back wall of the kitchen and ran her hand along its surface hunting for the button for the elevator. Adrenaline rushed through her as her fingers felt the cold of the metal plate. She pushed the button over and over again, begging it to come fast.
The room was quiet but for a few small sounds.
The rustling of the rodents in the pantry.
Her own heavy breathing.
The sound of his pants’ legs rubbing against each other as he walked around the kitchen hunting her.
And then the sound of the elevator as it shuddered into the place and the doors rolled open.
She lunged into the escape and slammed one fist against the close-door button and one against the number one.
Alex Stoner’s feet slammed against the concrete floor as he ran toward her. The doors slid shut as he leapt for her.
She recoiled against the back wall sure he would stop the doors and jump her with his hatchet.
But he was too slow, and the doors shut tightly against his grasping reach.
He could beat her upstairs if he ran, but he wouldn’t know where to find the elevator on the other side of the house. She only had a second, so she pulled out her phone and responded to the sheriff’s text telling him to head to the dining room.
When the elevator stopped, Taylor stepped gingerly out and listened.
Rustling.
A hush.
Footsteps overhead.
No voices.
She didn’t know which way to turn.
She moved toward the front of the foyer, nearer the door, where she could flip the lights on, and did.
She blinked at the sudden brightness, but she was still alone.
She had the overwhelming urge to run upstairs and check the guests’ doors—make sure they were each locked and safe.
She didn’t second guess her instincts took the stairs two at a time. She tripped, bashing her shins against the coved edge of the wooden steps, but she clenched the handrail with her fist, pulled herself up, and kept going.
A thin row of tiny halogen lights down the length of the hall glowed their unnatural blue, and at the far end of the hall a mess of women bundled together staring out the back window.
“Get into your rooms!” Taylor cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled as though the hallway was a vast valley her voice wouldn’t carry across. “Quick! Get in! And lock the doors. He’s armed!”
A pale face turned toward her, silvery gray streaked curls bouncing. “Shh!” Jeanne held her finger to her lips, then motioned for Taylor to join them.
The floor seemed to fall away from under her as she ran down the hall. They needed to lock themselves in their rooms, that was all there was to it. But how could she do
it? It was five against one and they could overpower her….
As soon as she was within arms distance, Jeanne grabbed her and dragged her to the window. The woman’s grip on Taylor’s arm brought her back to reality. She didn’t need to fight these women for their safety. Just talk to them. They’d understand.
Jeanne leaned in. “We’re safe. He’s outside, see?” She nudged Taylor closer to the open window. A cool summer night’s breeze ruffled her hair.
The women stood in hushed silence watching the shadowy form of a stocky man as he prowled the yard under the light of the moon.
He stopped next to a tree and looked both ways as though crossing a street, then ran to the next tree with a familiar upright posture that Taylor would have recognized anywhere.
That wasn’t Alex.
“Halt!” Maria’s command came loud and clear. “Hands up!”
“John!” Taylor screamed from the window.
The figure stopped, hands up and then turned toward the window.
A shot rang out.
He fell to the ground, hands over his head.
“Stay where you are.” Deputy Maria didn’t sound like a woman who’d just shot a man, but Taylor wasn’t going to wait to find out. She elbowed Jeanne and Tansy out of her way, pushed the window screen till it popped out, and threw herself down the wrought iron ladder that functioned as a fire escape.
She found herself falling, hitting her knees against the sharp edges of the rungs, and grasping for a handhold. She hit the ground with a thump on her tailbone.
“Stay where you are.” Deputy Maria’s direction was for Taylor.
“Maria, that’s just John Hancock. He’s safe. Don’t shoot him again.”
“Are you crazy? I didn’t shoot him.” The emphasis was on the word, him, as though she’d shot someone else.
Taylor pulled herself to her feet, though she’d been told to stay still.
Deputy Maria turned from John and strode into the dark of the night.
Chapter Nineteen
Taylor and John ran to each other, meeting in the middle in an awkward embrace of arms, elbows, and brotherly compassion.
“You fell! Are you okay?” John pushed her away.
“Who did she shoot?” Taylor scanned the dark lawn looking for the fallen body.
“I don’t know. You’re email worried me.”
“I’m sorry….” Taylor was trying to listen for sounds of a wounded person, and at the moment, could hardly remember what she’d said in that email two days ago.
“I didn’t like the sounds of things over here, so I did a quick drive by last night and tonight just to check. This time, I saw some people sneaking around back, so I got out. It was some guy followed by that Asha kid. When the deputy tackled Asha, I tried to find the man. Don’t know who he is, couldn’t see him, but the French door to the library was open. I think he must have picked the lock.”
“He was in the kitchen when I saw him. I got away. Alex Stoner. He’s after Aviva, but she’s safe. No, damn it. Not if he can pick a lock.” She suddenly pictured those simple little door locks that opened so easily with anything long and thin. “She’s not safe. Come on.” Taylor dragged John Hancock by the arm, and they ran, tripping over each other, back into the house.
John’s ragged breath was loud next to her ear when they got to the dining room, but Taylor could hardly hear her own thoughts.
There, in the middle of the room between the two socially distanced tables lay the sheriff with a small hatchet lodged in his abdomen.
The sight was like a punch to the gut, and all the air seemed to be knocked out of her. She stared for too long, then rushed to his side, feeling for a pulse, checking for signs of life, trying to remember what part of the lower abdomen could kill you if hacked with an axe.
John was behind her, talking, but not to her. To someone else. When she realized he was giving an address, she knew he had called for an ambulance.
Sheriff Rousseau was still alive.
But the hatchet was stuck firmly, and his eyes were closed.
She picked up his wrist again. Was his pulse slowing down? She rubbed the tan, bony wrist hoping to see his vein pop a little, like when nurses are trying to insert a needle. Then she pushed up his sleeve and rubbed his whole arm. This should wake him, shouldn’t it? Wasn’t it 1904 in the Boone-Love House? Couldn’t she chafe his arm to rouse him from a faint?
After what felt like far too long, his eyes fluttered open. “Damn it, knock that off.” He shook her hands from his arm and lifted his head an inch or two before lying it back down.
“You’ve been….” Taylor didn’t know the technical term for getting a small axe to the stomach.
“That kid threw a hatchet at me. All I had was my TASER, and he was too far away. Stupid axe-throwing. I said no good would come of that hobby.” The words were faint and slow, but the humor in them gave Taylor hope.
“An ambulance is coming.”
“Stupid. Call them back. Wearing a protective vest. Didn’t even scratch me. He…” Sheriff Rousseau groaned. “He caught me off-guard, and I fell. Hit my head.”
“Concussion.” John said from the doorway. “You need the ambulance. Taylor, stay here with him, will you? I’ll wait out front and direct them to the body.”
“Not a body.” The sheriff’s whisper sounded annoyed.
“Which way did he go?” Taylor asked, but Sheriff Rousseau closed his eyes again. He definitely had a concussion.
She hated waiting with the sheriff. She was desperate to be at the door to Aviva’s room, standing guard, or to be on the hunt for this Alex, ready to catch him.
Taylor sent Sissy a quick text, telling her to protect Aviva at all costs. There was no way Sissy had slept through all of this. She sent another one to Belle, urging her to stay put, to double down on staying safe by locking herself in the master bathroom.
Neither woman responded. In just a few minutes the local paramedics who drove the converted minivan came running in.
Deputy Maria followed on their heels. “Check out the sheriff and then I have a perp down. Bullet to the calf. He’s handcuffed to the back, patio rail. I’ve got a guard on him. No one official.”
“You what now?” The volunteer paramedic, Carly from Bible Creek Quilt and Gift, stood frozen. Her mask said, “breathe no evil.” She stared at Maria from behind a plastic shield that covered her from eyes to masked mouth. “I got a call about the sheriff with an axe in his stomach, and now there’s a bullet? We’re not equipped. We’re just not equipped!”
Carly’s husband, a thin, reedy man with a surprisingly deep voice interrupted. “We’ve got it, Car. It’s gonna be all right. Go with the deputy.” He, too, wore a “breathe no evil” mask behind his face guard, and gloves as well. Taylor had almost forgotten for one brief hour of madness, that they were potentially a virus hotspot.
She followed Carly and Deputy Maria to the back porch. Alex’s hands were pulled behind him and cuffed together around one of the wrought iron patio cover supports. Some kind of white fabric like a T-Shirt was tied under his knee in a makeshift bandage.
Sissy Dorney stood over him, arms crossed, face an angry scowl, as though he was not slumped over with his eyes shut in obvious pain.
“Good work.” Carly crouched next to Alex and opened her first aid kit. She quickly assessed the wound, which was bleeding slowly, then took his pulse. “I’ve got to get him in the ambulance, but we only have one cot. I can sit in the jump seat in the back of the ambulance with the sheriff and this guy can have the front seat if you’re okay with that.”
Deputy Maria shook her head. “I’ll take him in the sheriff’s rig. It’s equipped for transporting dangerous people, and he can stretch his leg out if he needs to.”
“What are you arresting me for?” His voice was strong, though his shoulders were slumped and his head lolling as though his pain was unbearable.
“How about pitching an axe into the sheriff?” Taylor offered.
“
He radioed and identified you,” Deputy Maria said. “I’ll take you to the ER and then straight to jail.”
“Self-defense. He was going to taze me and all I was doing was walking through a dining room.”
“You were trespassing and armed,” Taylor pressed.
“Nah. Just my little hatchet. For practice. It’s a sport, not a weapon.”
“It’s a sport if it hits a target. It’s a weapon if it hits a person.” Deputy Maria got behind him and wrenched him ungently to his feet.
“Careful now.” Carly held out a hand. “He’s dangerous but he’s still a child of God.”
Alex laughed. “Glad someone’s on my side. I came to protect a friend. Don’t you know there’s a killer on the loose?”
“Not anymore,” Deputy Maria muttered.
“I’m no killer.” Alex leaned heavily on the post, putting no pressure on his injured leg.
“Wait and see if the sheriff makes it first,” Deputy Maria growled.
“I didn’t kill Maddie Carpenter and you all know it.” He twisted against his restraints, but his wounded leg couldn’t take the motion, and he slid down the post.
“Up and at ‘em.” Maria wrenched him to his feet again.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and his shoulders were shaking. “Torture’s illegal. You’ll all pay for this. First for murder, then the false imprisonment of Aviva, and now torture. You’ll pay.”
His teeth chattered as he spewed his accusations.
Taylor narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. He meant what he was saying. He believed the women of the Boone-Love House had killed Maddie. “You saw it happen.” She threw the idea out as fast as she could in fear that he would pass out.
He jerked his head up and stared at her. “I wouldn’t have killed her. I was going to make her pay for what she did to my sister. I was going to make her pay for a long time.”
“You broke in before today and you found her room. But she wasn’t already dead. Or she was, but you saw someone coming out, didn’t you?”
He grinned through his gritted teeth. “Maybe I save that for the judge.”