You Can't Hide

by Theresa Sneed

  “Hmm, yes,” she said, remembering their reaction to her showing up years ago. “Twice even, now.” She sighed.

  As they got near, a gunshot stopped them short. “Stay here.” Sam said. “Please, Elle?” One last glance her way, and then he snuck through the trees, and was out of sight.

  Sam had grown up on this land and knew it well. He did not take the well-worn path, but weaved his way through the dense trees to the side of the falls, where the lower branches of old maple trees draped over the side of the rocky cliff, high above the rushing water. A shrill laugh sounded.

  His heart raced. Less than fifty yards away, Merrick held a young man close to the edge of the falls. Sam knew at once, the young man was Jack. He pulled the radio from his belt and clicked the button, but nothing happened. He tried again. Dead, he tossed the radio aside. He crept toward them, keeping to the trees lining the edge of the cliff.

  Merrick shook Jack, while glancing over his shoulder at the path. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” He grunted and his next words were chilling, “You can’t hide.” Jack thrashed about.

  Merrick smashed him down on the rock, and brought his heavy foot onto his chest. “Where’s your sister?” He pressed the heel of his boot deeper into Jack.

  “You’re crazy, man,” Jack said, gasping for breath. Merrick sneered. “All grown up, ain’t you? But you’re still the same kid that helped that sheriff shoot me.” He kicked him in the side, pushing him nearer to the edge.

  Jack held his side. He rose up on his elbow. “You’re a sick, man. Elle is dead.” His chest rose and fell in quick succession, and his fear was replaced with anger. “You killed her.” His nostrils flared, and he grabbed Merrick’s leg.

  Merrick fell down on him and rolled him over to the edge. He raised his fist and pounded it into Jack’s face. Jack fell limp, his arm dangling precariously over the rocky ledge.

  Sam searched for a way to distract Merrick. A small pile of rocks rested on the rocky ledge between the trees. He bent over and picked up a rock.

  Merrick pulled himself up and growled. He stood over Jack. “Stupid kid.” He brought his foot back, as Sam winged a rock past him. It smashed into the rocky ledge. Merrick turned in the direction of the rock, but then brought his attention back to Jack.

  Sam picked up another rock. He pulled his arm back, but stopped. Elle had stepped out from the path, a sudden breeze catching her hair and blowing it across her face.

  She screamed. “Merrick!”

  Merrick stopped his kick in midair. He turned toward her. “Well, there now. That’s more like it.”

  Elle looked past him to Jack. He had grown so much, from a fifteen-year-old boy to a man. She was terrified to see her brother’s body crumpled on the rocky ledge. Jack stirred. She had to get Merrick away from him. She reached her hands out to Merrick. “You win, Merrick. I’ll go with you.”

  Behind Merrick, Jack pulled himself up to his knees, and then he stood. “But, you’re dead,” he said, in a whisper. Merrick appeared amused or at least entertained.

  “No, Jack.” She moved to the side, keeping in the shadow of the trees, causing Merrick to turn, too. Except now, Jack was out of his view.

  Jack looked from her to Merrick. He glared at him, with an anger Elle understood only too well. Her heart beat fast. No, Jack.

  “Dead, huh?” Merrick chortled. “I guess then Sally will be joining ya soon.” He held up a lock of blonde hair, dangling it, like a prize trophy. The sudden movement caused a groan, and he pressed his free hand into a bloody gash on his shoulder.

  What is that? Blood? Human hair? His words wouldn’t register in her mind. She fell forward, clutching at her chest, violent tremors rippling up her sides.

  “Dear, dear Sally,” Merrick mocked, continuing his torment. He raised his gun, his attention now on something moving in the trees.

  “No,” she whispered. “No, it can’t be.” She couldn’t move—frozen in place. “Sally?” The breaths came out in rapid succession. “She’s not . . .” She whimpered. “She’s not . . .” Horror-stricken, she couldn’t go further—her fragile mind unable to process it.

  Her head flopped forward, emotions, thoughts, and fears tossing about—disconnected and surreal. Somewhere, in the far reaches of her tortured mind, she heard Sam’s distressed yell, and Merrick’s maniacal laughter.

  His wicked laugh cut short and a loud yelp took its place. Elle looked up to see the gun slip from Merrick’s fingers and bounce across the boulder. Jack teetered near the edge of the precipice, holding a large rock, dripping with Merrick’s blood.

  Streams of bright red gushed from Merrick’s forehead, down the side of his face, mixing in with the blood on his shoulder. He shook his head, like shaking off a pesky bug, and then his eyes bulged, and his face burned crimson. He swung around and bore into Jack like a charging bull. Grabbing him by the neck, he lifted him off the rock.

  Sam appeared out of the trees and dashed toward them. He slammed his fist into Merrick’s jaw, spinning him around. Jack tumbled to the rock, holding his throat, gasping for air.

  Rubbing his chin, Merrick turned toward his attacker. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, and then he threw a succession of wild punches, like a crazed boxer bent on more than just winning. A final punch landed Sam dangerously close to the edge.

  There was no time to think. In a rush of adrenaline and raging fury, Elle sprinted forward, ramming hard into Merrick.

  He teetered, but did not fall. “Really?” He seethed and grabbed her hair. “Y’know, that’s what I always liked about you—the spunk. Seems the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.” He pulled her close to his lips, the familiar stench of his skin choking her. “That’s what I like about the kid, too. She’ll be perfect for me.”

  The horror of that affirmation struck her—like a steel rod piercing her gut. Without thinking, she sank her teeth into his chin, and like a snapping turtle, refused to release.

  His warm blood sickened her, but knowing she had brought him pain, far outweighed what she knew would come next. They stumbled closer to the edge of the cliff.

  Whatever happened to her, she didn’t care anymore. Merrick was not going to harm Sally. Not now. Not ever. She was taking him with her. She glared at him, teeth in chin, daring him to throw her over. She wrapped her legs around one of his legs and locked them tight.

  He staggered, trying to pull her off, only causing her to bite harder. Punching at her, she withstood his blows. This was how it was going to end. They would meet their doom together.

  Just then, Jack jumped on Merrick from behind, pulling his head back by his hair.

  Sam wrapped his arms around his wife. “Let go, Elle.” His voice calmed her, and she relented, falling back with him to the hard boulder. Sam rolled her over, away from the edge. The desperate look in his eyes frightened her. Without words, she understood their meaning. For Sally.

  Elle jumped up. Her fists balled up to her sides. “Where’s my daughter?”

  Merrick punched at Jack and then grabbed him, swinging him around to the edge.

  Elle gasped and Sam stopped his forward lunge.

  Merrick chortled. “Your daughter?”

  Jack’s legs dangled over the side. He fought to get footing.

  “Please, Merrick, please don’t drop him.” Elle dropped to her knees. “Please.”

  Merrick grunted. “Oh, I fully intend to do just that.” He pushed his bloody chin toward Sam. “And then I’ll take care of him.” His eyes fell upon her. “And then—what?” Stopping in midsentence, he snapped his head back to Jack. His eyes widened.

  Jack had firm footing against the side of the rocky ledge, and he had grabbed Merrick’s arms. With a backward thrust, he pulled him over the edge. In seconds, they both were gone.

  Thirty-Five

  Sally

  Elle screamed. She fell to her knees at the edge of the cliff. She grasped the rocky ledge. Her chest heaved in and out. “Jack!”

  From over
the ledge, a voice rose. “Um, some help here?” Jack swung back and forth, the rappelling rope wrapped around his leg. Merrick lay sprawled across the rocks far below.

  Farther down the creek, Elle’s parents, Lucy and Jack Sr., ran toward the end of the rope. Elle’s father grabbed the rope and steadied it, while her brother placed his feet firm against the rock, attached his harness, and worked his way down.

  Jack pointed up at Elle. It was easy to get the gist of what he was saying. Her parents looked up. When they caught sight of her, her mother fell into her father. Awestruck and confused, their expressions quickly turned to surprise and glee. They jumped up and down, clinging to each other.

  Sam pulled her back from the edge of the cliff. “It’s over, Elle.”

  She turned into him and clutched the fabric of his shirt, trembling with fear. Her breathing came out raspy and rushed. Pounding her fist into his chest, she cried, “No, it’s not.” She gestured to a clump of hair laying on the rocky ledge where Merrick had dropped it. “Sally,” she wailed. “He got her!”

  “No, Elle,” Sam said, shaking his head. “She’s at the farm.” He pointed to the hair and appeared to try to hide his own fears.

  Elle grabbed it and held it up to his face. “No, Sam, this is her hair. And Merrick said she was his now!”

  Agent Thompson burst from the path. Holding a gun up, he swung it from side to side. Seeing them alone, he lowered his gun. “I thought I heard a scuffle.”

  Sam pointed over the cliff. “He’s down there.”

  The agent hurried to the cliff. He looked over it and grimaced. Turning to them, he glanced around. “Where’s your daughter? She came looking for you.”

  Elle thrust the patch of blonde hair toward him. “Merrick had her—somewhere!”

  Sam pointed to the agent’s radio. “Call the farm. Maybe she escaped and is already back there.”

  Thompson stepped aside. When he came back, he shook his head. “No sign of her.”

  Elle took off at a run in the direction of the farm with Sam beside her.

  John moved cautiously down the path, keeping watch in front and behind. There was no doubt in his mind that Merrick was back, and no doubt that he’d probably had a partner. No hunter would have accidently fired two shots at the house.

  He wondered how Merrick had pulled it off—the switch-with-another-man-in-prison thing. However Merrick had done it, it was clear that the man who’d taken his place on death row, had no problem with dying. So weird. Over the satellite, they’d heard Winnie say that the imposter was a dead-ringer, a Merrick lookalike. The irony, that Merrick had pulled that off once before, hadn’t escape John.

  His mind went to what might be in front of him, farther down the path. He hoped he was wrong, and that the real issue was whoever had fired the shots at the farm. It could’ve been some weirdo trying to get their fifteen minutes of fame, but something told him, it was much more. He was almost to the falls, when a noise ahead startled him. He veered off the path and into the woods.

  From his vantage point, he saw Elle running beside Sam, and stepped out of his hiding place. “Yo! Hold on.” They gathered around him, questions spewing out so fast, they were all jumbled together.

  “Have you seen Sally?” Elle searched his face.

  John’s heart sank. He’d expected she’d be with them. “No.”

  Sam grabbed his shoulders. “She’s not at the farm?”

  “No,” John said, “she came looking for you.”

  “They let a thirteen- year-old girl come look for us?”

  John shook his head. “Are you serious, Sam? No, Sally took off on her own.” He glanced down the path. “We’ve got to be quieter. Merrick could be anywhere.”

  Elle pulled her head back. “Merrick?” She shook her head. “He’s dead, John.”

  Relieved at first, John’s relief turned to surprise. “How?”

  “Jack pulled him over the falls. He’s not going anywhere.” Sam pointed down the path. “How long ago did Sally leave?”

  “Maybe a little over an hour ago?”

  “Oh, no.” Elle groaned. She clutched the hair in her fist. “An hour? That means . . .” She fell against Sam. “Merrick got her, Sam,” she sobbed. “And he hid her somewhere.” She glanced around at the tall, thick trees. “But where?”

  Agent Thompson approached the falls with caution. A woman and two men hovered over a body at the bottom of the cliff. He assumed they were Elle’s family—the ones she’d set out to find. Putting his fingers to his mouth, he whistled at them, and then dropped his hand. “Hey, you. Get away from that body.”

  He could hardly hear what they called back due to the water churning over the falls nearby. He motioned for them to come up the steep ridge. There wasn’t much he could do while they ascended. He contacted headquarters and told them of Snyder’s obvious demise.

  Looking over the edge from time to time, he busied himself with examining the top, where an obvious scuffle had taken place. A patch of fresh blood smeared the edge of the rock and trickled down it. Strands of human hair strewn on the rock perplexed him though. Younger hair was thicker, and this was definitely younger hair. He looked back over the ledge. No one had that color hair—or length. It had to have been Sally’s.

  They were halfway up. It was obvious they were agitated, and who wouldn’t be? He remembered the first dead body he’d seen, too—not a pretty sight.

  Several minutes later, the first of the party made it to the top—a young man, who, Thompson guessed to be Elle’s brother, Jack.

  “Grisly sight down there, eh?” Thompson said, pointing his chin toward the edge.

  Jack gave a quick nod, while bending over and helping who had to be his mother up and over. The father followed last.

  “Okay, let’s head back,” Thompson said, unsure of how to tell them about Sally.

  The mother put her hands on her hips. “What are you going to do about him?” She pointed down at Snyder.

  “Mom.” Jack held his hand up, as if trying to stop her from speaking. Maybe it was to hurry them along and not linger.

  “We’ll retrieve the body before nightfall,” Thompson said.

  She squirmed.

  “Mom,” Jack said more firmly.

  “We need to go,” Jack’s father said. “Now.”

  The agent looked at him curiously. “Yes, he’s right,” he said. “This way.” He gestured toward the path.

  “But . . .” she said, hesitating.

  “Mom. Let’s go.” Jack pulled on her arm.

  She sighed. “Right is right.” She studied his eyes and then looked at her husband. “We’re better than this.” She turned back to her son. “Jacky?”

  He rolled his eyes. “She thinks,” he said, obviously perturbed, “that there’s a chance,” he continued, traces of reluctance in his voice, “that he’s still alive.”

  “What? That’s impossible. No one could survive a fall like that.” Thompson looked over the falls.

  “See? That’s what I told her,” Jack said, “but she swears she saw one of his hands move.”

  “Oh, that,” the agent said with a shrug. “Postmortem spasm—it happens, sometimes.”

  “See?” Jack said, to his mother. “He is dead.”

  Thompson got on his radio. “Send a helicopter to retrieve Snyder—possible signs of life.”

  Jack shook his head. “What? You just said that kind of thing happens.”

  “It does. But we still need to be sure.” He motioned for them to come closer. He held up the stands of hair. “What can you tell me about this?”

  Their faces were expressionless, except for Jack’s. His eyes widened. “That evil man,” he pointed back at the falls, “—that you want to save,” anger resonated deep in his voice, “—said it was Sally’s.”

  In a fit of sobs, Elle clung to Sam. “He got her!”

  “Stop, Elle,” Sam gentle shook her. “We can’t think that way.”

  “He’s right,” John said, joining in, �
��until there’s a bod—”

  Elle’s sudden gasp stopped him short. “Um, sorry Elle,” John said, “but it’s true. We need to keep looking.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, sniffling. “Of course.” But where? It was getting dark. They were deep in the woods, on a narrow path that would soon be lit only by the stars. “Sally!” She turned to the trees. “Sally!” Sam and John crisscrossed behind her, calling Sally’s name into the thick trees.

  Sally’s head hurt like crazy. She blinked and then opened her eyes. It was getting dark. Deep in the woods, the trees blocked the dim light left from the sunset. It was hard to see. Bushes and trees surrounded her, both protecting her and keeping her captive. Somewhere in the tortured chambers of her mind, she heard his voice call out her name. She cowered and drifted back into the black nothingness that was her mind. Escape! Escape, she thought. But how could she? Bound against the rough bark of a tree, she had neither the strength nor the knowhow to get loose. She hardly even had the will.

  Death seemed a welcomed reprieve for whatever lay ahead with that monster. Keep her, he’d threatened. She shuddered. He’d be back. She knew it. But then, why was he calling her name?

  “Dad, give me the flashlight,” Jack said, pointing to the gear slung over his dad’s back. “I can cover more ground faster than any of you—well, maybe not you,” he said, pointing to the agent. After retrieving the flashlight, he took off at a run.

  “Jack.” Thompson called after him. “Slow down, son. You could pass right by an important clue.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Jack said. Slowing down to a fast walk, he called out for Sally, and shone the light into the dense trees.

  “How far are we away from the falls?” John asked. Elle had drifted farther down the path and called Sally’s name out every half-minute.

  Sam glanced back in the other direction. “Not far.”