Storm Justice

by Pamela Cowan

  A pair of cars were coming toward her on Evergreen, one in each lane, only a car’s length apart. Storm ran into the street in front of them. The one in the lead swerved and a horn blared, but it continued on its way.

  The second car’s brakes locked. It slid to a stop, leaving a smell of burned rubber. A pale face in the driver’s side window stared at Storm, took in the blood on her face and her wild eyes.

  Storm ran to the driver’s window and stood there, afraid to bang on the window and frighten the driver away. “Can you help me,” she pleaded, not having to pretend she was frantic. “There’s been an accident.”

  Though there was no wrecked car in evidence, the young woman rolled down her window. “Do you need a doctor? Should I call 911?”

  Knowing she had no time to waste, Storm shoved her forearm against the girl’s throat, reached in and unbuckled her seat belt, tore open the door, and dragged her from the car.

  The girl tripped and fell, landing on her hands and knees in the street.

  “Get up. Get up you idiot,” Storm shouted at her. “Get the hell off the road before you get hit.”

  The girl staggered to her feet. “You can’t. You—”

  “Go,” shouted Storm. Another pair of cars was coming from the opposite direction. Staring at Storm as if she was something unpleasant, a large spider, or venomous snake, the girl backed away and then turned and sprinted for the side of the road.

  Storm jumped into the driver’s seat, threw the car into gear, and smashed her foot against the accelerator. The Volvo station wagon was old and heavy, but it responded, and soon she was flying down Evergreen Road.

  Traynor Chemical was situated on a long straight section, but the road soon became a long ‘s’ curve, lined with homes.

  Coming up on NE Jackson School Road sooner than she expected, Storm slammed on the brakes and slid into the turn. The rear of the car fishtailed, and the tires squealed. She straightened it out and accelerated up Jackson School.

  The next turn was Roghan. She was forced to slow down to take the corner and realized the sound of the racing engine was going to foolishly telegraph her arrival to Howard. Turning into the parking lot of the New Creation Church, she brought the car to a rocking stop, jumped out, and ran toward her house.

  Well before the house was in sight, she slowed and considered the best and quietest way to approach. The sun was rising, an orange glow against the dark roofs in the East.

  Deciding the only way to get to her house without being seen was to come up on it from the opposite side, Storm ran around the block.

  Two thirds of the way around, a wave of dizziness hit her, and she wove drunkenly sideways, almost running into a mailbox. She stopped, put her hand on it for balance, and took a few deep breaths.

  She should have called the police. Surprisingly, her cell phone was still in her pocket. But would a police presence have stopped Howard or just hurried him along?

  The only thing on Storm’s side was her knowledge of the way Howard liked to kill. How he felt cheated when he didn’t get a chance to ‘play’ with his victims. Control and intimidation through inflicting pain was Howard’s need, and that was what would keep her family alive—for a while.

  Storm’s house and garage faced a paved street with a row of street lights, but behind the house was a dark alley. Storm crept down the alley, trying to stay on the dirt and avoid the patches of crunchy gravel.

  She found the neighbor’s back gate was unlatched. The six-foot cedar fence hid her movements as she followed it to the front gate, which she found was also unlatched.

  Once she slipped through the gate, she was able to reach the side of her garage, out of sight of the house. Peering around the edge of the garage, she could see her car in the driveway behind Tom’s.

  A long time ago, getting ready to go shopping, she’d strapped Lindsey into the car seat, then run inside to grab a grocery list she left on the table.

  Lindsey had unbuckled herself from the seat and locked the car doors. Frantic, Storm had run to Grace’s house and borrowed a phone to call Tom. He dropped everything and raced home with the spare key.

  By the time he arrived, Lindsey had unlocked the door, but Storm had vowed she would never go through something like that again. She went out that very day and purchased a magnetic key holder.

  Storm wondered if it was still there. Since attaching it

  to the frame of her car, she’d never once had reason to use it.

  Roses grew inside the white picket fence that lined the driveway. Their foliage was thick enough to form a fairly dense hedge. Dropping to her knees, Storm crept between the cars and the fence. She passed Tom’s car and made it to hers. When she was just past the rear tire, she rolled onto her back, reached up above the wheel, and felt around in the dark and dusty area.

  Almost immediately, her fingers found the little metal box. She used her thumb to press the sliding door open. It slipped aside stiffly, and two keys, an ignition and a trunk key, fell to the concrete driveway with a jangling clatter.

  Holding her breath, Storm dared not move. After several long minutes, she rolled onto her stomach and felt around for the keys. She found one, but even though she thought she’d touched and patted every inch of ground, she couldn’t find the other. All she could do was hope she’d found the right one.

  Again on hands and knees, she crawled to the back of the car, reached up, and felt for the trunk lock. Once she located it, she slid the key inside, then placed her other hand on the trunk so the lid wouldn’t spring up. She turned the key and the lock opened. The trunk rose an inch, and when she moved her hand, it stayed there.

  With an anxious glance toward the house, Storm rose to a crouch and lifted the trunk a few more inches, just enough to reach inside and feel around for the red bag.

  Slipping her hand inside, her fingers found and curled around the canister of mace. It slipped from nerveless fingers and rolled away. “Damn,” she hissed under her breath.

  Reaching in farther, she found what she’d been looking for: the stun gun. It hadn’t been very effective against Helena Smith. Still, it was a weapon and better than nothing. She removed it and slowly lowered the lid of the trunk as far as it would go without actually latching. She couldn’t risk the noise and could only hope it would stay in place and not pop up, alerting Howard.

  She crawled back toward the garage and the gate, this time along the fence. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a dim glow in the east. It didn’t care its timing wasn’t good for her. Still, it was dark enough for the lights to be on in both the living room and kitchen. Where was he? More importantly, where was her family?

  Crawling between the cars and the fence, she stayed in shadow as much as possible. Finding a spot where she could look through the pickets and an empty area in the tangle of roses, she stared at the windows. She hoped to see a shadow pass. There was nothing. No. There was something.

  The curtains in the kitchen window moved a little, stirred as if a breeze had swept in, but the window was closed. Someone must have walked past and brushed them.

  They were in the kitchen, or at least someone was in there, moving around. A plan began to form. It was insane, reckless, but it would give her family a better chance than having the police come in, guns blazing. Or so she hoped.

  As fast and quietly as she could, she crawled to the far side of the cars and back to the side of the garage.

  A wave of dizziness struck as she got to her feet. She leaned back against the garage. Whether it was the blow to her forehead, the loss of blood that continued to drip from her nose, or just fear, she didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. She had to keep going.

  Storm pulled the phone from her pocket and glanced at the time. It was 5:43 a.m., a ridiculous hour to call someone.

  She called her neighbor, Grace. The phone rang four times and went to voice mail. She hung up and dialed again. This time, on the end of the third ring, Grace answered. “Yes?” she said, tentatively, her voice soft. St
orm could imagine her keeping her voice down so as not to disturb her husband.

  “Hi, Grace,” said Storm. “Hate to bodder . . . bother you. It’s just, you know that casserole pan you took home with you on Thanksgiving? Well, I really need it this morning.”

  “Storm, is that you? You sound funny.”

  “Head code. Losing my voice. That pan, Grace. I need it,” she repeated.

  “I bring it in little bit.” As Storm had noticed on previous occasions, Grace sometimes lost words and gained a slight Germanic accent when stressed. Otherwise, she spoke proper American English.

  “No, I need it now,” Storm argued. “Right this very minute. And don’t use the back door. I just waxed the floor. Hurry it up, please.”

  “Hurry? I hurry. You see. I . . . I be there very soon.”

  How long would it take Grace to toss on a robe, find the pan, tell Alex their neighbor was an inconsiderate pain in the ass, and storm over? Not long, if she knew Grace.

  Storm made sure the phone was off and then slid it back into her pocket. She moved to the edge of the garage and stared at the kitchen window. The curtain was still. Staying low, she reached the gate to the picket fence, swung it open just enough, and slid inside. It was essential she hurry, be hidden before Grace came down the sidewalk.

  Beside the back steps was a trio of hydrangea bushes. Between them and the wall was a natural hiding space. The hydrangeas grew in a bed landscaped with river rock. Grace took one of them, twisted it, and revealed a hidden key to the house.

  She grasped the key carefully, she slid between the porch and the shrubbery. The ground was wet. Storm knelt in the mud, waiting. She didn’t have to wait long, only about ten minutes, but it seemed like eternity.

  She heard the knock clearly: three solid thumps, a pause and three more. Storm slid from behind the bushes, grabbed the porch rail, and used it to help her turn and race up the stairs on tiptoe.

  Three steps across the landing and her hand wrapped around the doorknob. It turned easily. No key needed. She pushed the door open a tiny crack and peered through.

  The door opened onto the kitchen or, more precisely, to a walkway that skirted the kitchen, and became a hallway to the living room ahead.

  Just inside and to the right was a trio of curtained windows, the ones Storm had seen move. To the left was a long breakfast counter, where the family ate their meals, unless there was company.

  Along the counter was a row of tall wooden chairs. Her family sat in them now, all in a row. Closest to her was Tom, then Lindsey, and then Joel.

  They were facing away from the counter, and for a moment, Storm was afraid they might see her. Then she realized that duct tape covered their eyes. Their hands were tied behind them. Storm could hear Joel, who was whimpering, and Tom, whispering words of encouragement.

  Where was Howard? If she were lucky and her plan was working, he would be in the living room, responding to the unexpected knock at the door.

  Slipping out of her shoes, she stepped into the kitchen, took a long, shallow breath, and tiptoed silently toward the front of the house.

  Grace knocked at the door a third time. Storm moved more quickly.

  Howard stood by the front room, his hand on the doorknob. Was he going to open it or ignore the pounding on the door? It didn’t matter. All she needed was for him to be distracted for long enough. She only had one chance.

  When she was halfway across the room, there was a sudden silence. She froze, her heart pounding, and her breathing stopped. She tried not to look directly at Howard, afraid he might feel the weight of her gaze.

  As soon as a fresh round of knocking began, she ran across the room as if her life depended on it. She held the stun gun high and aimed for the back of Howard’s neck.

  Just as she reached him, he turned and brought up his hand. She saw the gun, the barrel as large and dark as the pit to hell she carried inside her soul.

  Ignoring his gun, she pressed the stun gun against Howard’s throat and pulled the trigger. The effect was immediate. His head went back and his knees gave way. As he went down, Storm hit him again, this time holding the gun against his temple.

  Howard’s eyes rolled blindly, and his finger tightened. The gun went off, and there was a crashing noise of breaking glass.

  Storm fell with Howard to the floor. She sat astride him and reached for his wrist, fighting to take the gun from him. Despite his lack of motor controls, his grip was tight.

  She wrapped both hands around his wrist and slammed his arm to the ground and then drove her knee into his forearm and ground down. His hand opened and she pried the gun away.

  “What’s going on? What’s happening?” Tom shouted.

  “Daddy, Daddy!” Joel shrieked.

  Storm stumbled to her feet. Howard was kicking and flailing convulsively. He was completely helpless. She took two steps back, aimed, and fired into his face. Three tightly spaced shots she couldn’t miss, just as the front door swung open.

  “Storm,” said Grace sharply.

  Storm was bringing the gun up, but hearing her name brought her attention to the fact that this wasn’t another target. She lowered the weapon.

  Having grown impatient, Grace had used her own key to the house, the one she used to water the house plants and take in the mail for her good neighbors.

  The gun shook in Storm’s hand as if it was filled with blood lust and eager to find another victim.

  “Help me. They’re in the kitchen,” Storm said, looking over her shoulder.”

  “God help us,” declared Grace, tearing her eyes from the body at her feet, to the children, and their father huddled in the kitchen.

  Clutching the casserole dish, she started toward the kitchen. Halfway there and not slowing her pace, she turned to Storm to say something, to ask something, but Storm wasn’t there. She was kneeling beside the dead man, sliding something into his pocket. They locked eyes.

  “A bad man,” Grace said.

  Storm nodded.

  Tom, still tied, his eyes covered, was herding the children awkwardly but steadily toward the back door, shielding them with his body.

  “Tom,” said Grace gently. “It’s over.”

  Storm, her heart breaking at this proof of his courage, called out to him, too. “It’s okay, Tom. The kids are safe. We’re all safe.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “YOU SAID THE PHONE RANG?” the detective asked.

  They’d promised the interview would be quick, questions kept to a minimum. The kids were next door with Grace and Alex. They’d decided the best place to talk was Joel’s room, a room that hadn’t been entered by Howard and one farthest from the scene.

  A detective sat in the rocking chair in the corner, and a uniformed officer stood just inside the door. Storm and Tom sat side by side on the bed. His thigh was pressed against hers, and his arm was wrapped around her waist. She knew he was trying to lend her his strength and support. She was grateful, but she wasn’t afraid. Maybe the fear had been burned away by her anger, or maybe it would come back later, in the night.

  “The phone?” The detective repeated.

  Storm turned her attention to him. “Yes, it was my friend, my friend, Nicky. She told me she needed help. Her car died and she wanted a ride home. She sounded funny, out of breath, scared. I didn’t know what to make of it.”

  “She didn’t try to call a cab? You didn’t think to suggest she do that?”

  “Of course not. It was the middle of the night. A woman, alone in a dark parking lot, she isn’t going to call a strange man, cab driver or not.” He nodded as if he understood, though Storm doubted he did.

  “So she called you. What did you tell her?”

  “That I’d be there, of course. I asked where she was. She said the parking lot behind REI.”

  “Weren’t they closed?”

  “I suppose. I didn’t ask. I just went.”

  “So you spotted her car.”

  “Like I told you before, I saw a car par
ked in the back lot. I thought it was hers—it was silver, a sedan. But the street lights are yellow, and they change the way things look. Plus, half the lights were out, I think some sort of energy-saving thing, so it was dark.

  “I didn’t see anyone, so I got out to check if it really was her car. Maybe she was in the front lot and I’d gotten it mixed up.

  “She has a thing that hangs from the rearview, this sort of dried hand she picked up in New Orleans on vacation. Not a lot of those around.” Storm tried to smile, but knew it looked more like a grimace.

  “That’s when he confronted you?”

  “That’s when he jumped me, yes. He came out of nowhere. Must have been in the darker shadows near the building. He slammed me into the side of my car so hard it knocked the air out of me. I sort of slid toward the ground, but he grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me up and punched me. I tried to pull away from him, but he was too strong.”

  Storm was so enmeshed in the story, she could almost feel the ground under her hands and knees, smell the hot asphalt and the rubber of the tires.

  “His hand slipped and I fell. I tried to crawl away but he dragged me to my feet and punched me again, this time a lot harder. I heard my nose break. It was bad, really horrible, hearing it and then the pain, so sharp. It made my eyes water so I couldn’t see much and that made me even more scared.”

  “Would you like a glass of water?” the officer asked.

  Storm took a deep breath and shook her head. “I thought maybe he was on drugs. He was acting so crazy. I didn’t even know who he was at first. He said something about how he wasn’t going to report to me anymore. That from now on, I was going to report to him. That’s when I recognized him. That’s when I realized he was the person I’d bought seeds from.” Storm squeezed Tom’s hand and turned to look at him.

  “I must have known, at least subconsciously. So when he came here that time, I knew I had to get you and the kids away. Once we were away and nothing happened, I guess I convinced myself I was making a big deal out of nothing. I told myself I must have bought the seeds from a coworker. It happens all the time. You buy wrapping paper or whatever to support your coworker’s kids.”