Fearless

by Mike Dellosso

  Suddenly the full realization of what she’d seen in her dream hit her with the heart-stopping force of a battering ram to the chest. She’d lived two years with Derek, slept with him, ate meals with him, went to the movies with him. She’d fallen victim to his temper on multiple occasions. She knew him. But she never knew this side of him, that such a monster could reside in the soul of a man.

  She wanted to tell herself that it wasn’t true, couldn’t be. That it was just a bad dream. Maybe something she’d eaten yesterday or the stress of the breakup and the miracle of the child Louisa colliding like two storm fronts in her brain. But as much as she tried, she couldn’t convince herself. Somehow she knew the nightmare was true, that it had given her a glimpse into the soul of the man she once thought she loved and wanted to marry.

  The phone call needed to be made. Others had to be warned. Alicia crossed the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone from the table. She took a deep breath and dialed the numbers.

  Chapter 49

  RAIN FELL LIKE tinsel sparkling in the light of the porch lamp. The lightning and thunder were only a distant memory now, echoing over the night sky like a journeyman whistling a tune of farewell as his ship sails into the endless ocean. At midnight Jim Spencer was still awake. As were Amy and Louisa. After the excitement of the evening none of them felt like sleeping, nor could they. After the police and paramedics had left, Jake Tucker hung around to help Jim tape a piece of thick plastic over the broken window to keep out the cool night air and any stray raindrops the wind might blow in across the porch. When the job was finished and the window was sealed, Jake left, and the Spencers found themselves alone in the silence of their home.

  Ever since putting her hands on Officer Peevey and bringing him back, Louisa had been acting strangely, not saying more than three words and mostly keeping to herself. She kept going to the window, pulling back the blind, and checking the front yard. When she wasn’t at the window, she stayed on the sofa, knees pulled up to her chest, casting furtive glances at the door. Something had disturbed her. Jim tried to get her to talk, as did Amy, but Louisa seemed lost in her own mind, a captive to whatever it was that had rattled her confidence. It was unlike her and made Jim worry. He presumed the source of her uneasiness must have either been the primal display the folks of Virginia Mills put on in their front yard or the sight of so much blood coming from Peevey’s head, not to mention the distant, lifeless look in his eyes when he’d stopped breathing. He had to remind himself that despite her strange maturity and miraculous abilities, Louisa was only nine, just a child. The mayhem and violence she witnessed tonight would cripple any nine-year-old, especially one as sensitive and thoughtful as his Louisa.

  His Louisa.

  Jim watched her on the sofa, knees pulled up to her chin, eyes moving from the door to the window and back again, amazed at how quickly she’d worked her way into his heart. Just days ago he’d agreed to take her in on a temporary basis out of pity, or rather guilt. He had no intention of forming any kind of bond with her. He wasn’t ready for that, wasn’t equipped for it. But it had happened anyway. And now, well, now she was his Louisa.

  When the crowd had moved closer and threatened to encroach upon the porch, and when the temperature within the throng had risen, Jim felt a sense of protection for Louisa he’d not felt for anyone except Amy. It was as if she were his daughter and he had been sworn by almighty God to protect her with his life. It was a fatherly instinct and now struck him as peculiar.

  For the seventh time Louisa unfolded her legs, slipped from the sofa, and as lightly as if she were walking on a cushion of air, padded across the living room to the window that was still intact.

  From her seat in the recliner Amy said, “Louisa, honey, you don’t have to keep checking, you know.”

  “It’s okay now,” Jim said.

  At the window Louisa said nothing as she pulled back the blind and scanned the night. The glistening light of the porch lamp illuminated the angles of her face and gave it a radiant quality, almost as if she were indeed an angel sent to seek out evil and ward it off.

  Finally, after a minute of watchfulness, Louisa let the blind fall back into place and returned to her perch on the sofa.

  “What do you keep looking for?” Jim said.

  “Or who?” Amy added.

  Louisa looked at Jim with wary, pitiful eyes, then at Amy, but said nothing. She pulled her knees closer to her chest and drew in a deep, hitched breath.

  Jim leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. “You know, it’s okay to tell us what frightened you.”

  Louisa shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she lifted her head and said, “I’m not afraid. Just . . . someone’s coming.”

  “Who?”

  “Him.”

  “Him who?”

  “He’s coming.”

  Poor child, she was making no sense. Jim got up and went to the sofa to sit next to her. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer to his side. “Louisa, who is coming?”

  But she was back to saying nothing, playing the role of the silent yet watchful angel.

  Outside, through the steady pitter-patter of falling rain, Jim heard a car’s engine shut off and a car door close quietly. Like a startled cat Louisa jumped up and rushed across the living room. She pulled back the blind an inch and peeked out. When she turned and faced Jim, there was such alertness in her wide eyes, such alarm in the shape of her mouth, that Jim stood and crossed the room to her.

  “What is it, sweetie?”

  Her lips tightened. “He’s here.”

  “Who?” Jim slipped his finger around the edge of the blind and pushed it aside enough that he could see the porch and sidewalk and driveway. Officer Peevey walked up the walk, one hand resting on his utility belt. Oddly his cruiser was not in the driveway. Instead a dark gray Ford Explorer was parked there. Since when did a cop make a house call at midnight in his own car?

  “It’s only Officer Peevey,” he said. Maybe Peevey was on his way home and wanted to stop by and make sure everyone was okay, or to thank Louisa for what she’d done.

  But the look on Louisa’s face told him the reason for this visit was none of the above, that it was not so cordial.

  Amy stood and came to the window as well. She put her hand on Louisa’s upper back. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

  When Louisa spoke, her words were hushed and rapid, jumbled together like a sentence with no spaces. “When I touched him, I saw something.”

  “What did you see?” Amy said.

  Louisa glanced at the window. “Evil. He’s done horrible things.”

  Jim didn’t know what she meant, but he had no reason to doubt her. Until now, regardless of how unbelievable the things Louisa had done were, she was totally believable. She had not seemed easily rattled, nor had she seemed like a child prone to exaggerations and attention seeking.

  Peevey’s footsteps made it to the porch.

  “We need to hide,” Louisa said.

  Jim met eyes with Amy. She nodded at him, her unspoken sign that she believed Louisa as well and they were both putting their lives in Jim’s hands. He had to get all three of them out of there unscathed. He didn’t know what the evil or horrible things were that Louisa spoke of, but he didn’t want to stick around and find out either.

  “To the basement,” he said.

  As they left the living room, a soft knock sounded on the front door.

  Chapter 50

  BY THE TIME the knock came a second time, Jim, Amy, and Louisa were already in the basement. Seconds of silence followed. The only sound was that of the rain brushing on the metal outside doors that led to the basement. Louisa huddled close to Amy, wrapping her arms around Amy’s hips and leaning her head in the curve of her waist. They’d kept the lights off for fear that Peevey would see the lights flick on through the small basement windows at ground level. Their only hope at this point was to wait him out and pray he left when there was no response to his
knocking.

  The seconds turned into minutes, and finally Amy whispered, “You think he left?”

  “I don’t know,” Jim said. “I’ll go check.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’ll sneak upstairs and check. It’s the only way.”

  Louisa grabbed Jim’s hand and squeezed it with both of hers. “Mr. Jim, don’t. He’s still here; I know he is.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Jim said.

  “He knows that I know.”

  Jim remembered the way Peevey looked at him on the porch earlier, the fear in his eyes, and the way he’d looked past Jim and into the house. He was looking for Louisa. “Know what?”

  “The evil he’s done.”

  Her whispered voice and simple proclamation put a tingle in Jim’s flesh that coursed over his arms, leaving waves of gooseflesh in its wake.

  “I need to check. To make sure. He may not be looking for trouble.”

  Jim pulled away from Louisa’s grip and slowly climbed the stairs, careful not to bump into any of the household tools hanging on the wall or knock over any of the stacks of newspaper and old books piled on the steps. At the top he turned the knob without making a sound and opened the door a couple inches. There he waited and listened. The basement door was not visible from any of the windows on the first floor, so he didn’t have to worry about Peevey seeing him from outside. No, his fear was that the officer was already in the house. They hadn’t heard any doors open, but still the thought was there.

  Opening the door wide enough for him to slip his body through, Jim entered the kitchen, sticking close to the wall. It was at times like these he wished he’d gone ahead and gotten that shotgun. But if he had a gun, he’d keep it in his bedroom, and what good would a gun in the bedroom do him while trapped in the kitchen? He held his breath and listened, but he heard nothing out of the ordinary over the sound of the rain outside.

  When he exhaled he heard it, the soft clink and rattle of a key in the knob of the front door. Only it wasn’t a key; it couldn’t be. Peevey was using a professional’s lock-picking tool or maybe a bump key. The lock disengaged and the knob turned. Quickly Jim retreated to the basement even as he heard the front door open. He pulled the basement door closed behind him without making a sound and tiptoed down the steps. Amy and Louisa met him at the bottom of the staircase.

  “He’s in the house,” Jim whispered.

  Amy moaned and pulled Louisa closer. In her hand she held a long screwdriver. “I won’t let him get her.” She held the screwdriver up as if it was a dagger she had just unsheathed. “I’ll stick him in the eye before I give her up.”

  Jim leaned close to Amy’s ear. “We need to get out of here, use the outside doors.”

  “And then what?”

  Jim thought for a moment. “The car.”

  “What about your truck?”

  “He has it blocked in.” Jim had noticed earlier when he peered outside from behind the blinds that Peevey had pulled the SUV right up to the truck’s bumper, blocking any escape. But they had a two-car garage attached to the house, and the other half, the half that housed Amy’s Toyota, was unobstructed.

  Above them they heard Peevey’s footsteps moving about the first floor, going from living room to kitchen to dining room. Any reservation Jim held about Louisa’s declaration of Peevey’s intent for evil vanished. No upstanding, honest officer of the law would break into someone’s home and sneak around like a common burglar unless they had a motive for malicious intent.

  Jim took Amy by the arm and led her and Louisa across the basement to the steps that led up and outside.

  “What about the keys?” Amy said.

  The keys. Both sets were in the kitchen.

  Peevey’s footsteps faded. He must be climbing the stairs to the second floor.

  “I’ll get them,” Jim said. “Take Louisa and go outside. Go around to the back door to the garage and I’ll meet you in there.”

  He left them in the dark, crossed the basement, and hurried up the steps. At the top he again turned the knob without making a sound and opened the door. Crouched as if he were the burglar and this some unsuspecting family’s home, he crossed the kitchen floor, listening but not hearing anything. He must still be creeping around upstairs. Quickly he pocketed his cell phone and lifted the keys from the key hook, careful not to let them jingle. He hoped Amy and Louisa were able to get out of the basement okay and that they’d make quick time getting to the garage.

  The door from the garage to the kitchen always squeaked. Jim meant to oil the hinges, but it was one of those little jobs that kept getting put on the back burner and forgotten about. He turned the knob and pulled the door open, slowly so the hinges only protested with a low moan. When the door was open no more than a foot, he slid through the opening and into the garage.

  Amy and Louisa were not there.

  Amy pushed open the overhead metal basement door as raindrops landed on her face and caused her to blink. The door opened on dry, gritty hinges but did not make a sound. Outside, the air was cool and thick, and rain fell straight down.

  She pulled Louisa up the stairs by her hand and shut the door behind them. Amy thought it strange that even in the midst of such distress she was concerned about water getting in the basement.

  “Are we okay?” Louisa said, gripping Amy’s hand tightly.

  “Yes, but we have to move quickly.”

  The outside basement doors were located on the opposite side of the house as the door leading to the garage. Rounding the corner at a hurried jog, Amy suddenly lost her grip on Louisa’s hand. She spun around and found the girl belly down in the grass. She hurried back and lifted Louisa to her feet.

  “Hurry, honey,” Amy said.

  Off they went again, Amy being careful to keep her footing on the wet grass. The rain had already drenched her head and nearly soaked her clothes. Water ran into her eyes and over her nose and mouth. On the patio they passed in front of the sliding glass doors that opened to the kitchen, and a surge of panic rushed through Amy at the thought of Peevey being inside watching them pass by. She pulled Louisa along. The garage door was just feet away. She put her hand on the knob and turned, but it didn’t move. She tried again with the same result. It was locked. They always kept the door locked.

  Amy glanced toward the glass doors, fully expecting Peevey to come bursting through them, weapon drawn, hate and death in his eyes. Turning to the garage door again, she knocked softly. When Jim didn’t come immediately, she feared he hadn’t made it out of the house. Peevey must have heard him walking or picked up on the sound of tinkling keys or Jim’s breathing. She pulled Louisa close to her and kissed the top of her head, a motherly gesture of protection for certain. Amy could no longer deny the affection—love?—she felt for the girl, this child who came to them from the fire.

  She knocked again. “C’mon, Jim. Be there.”

  Jim circled the car, went to the back door. A knock came then, soft but urgent. Of course. They always kept the door locked. Quickly he pulled the door open, put a finger to his lips, and escorted a soaking Amy and Louisa to the Toyota. He opened the back car door, urged them both in, then whispered to Amy, “Don’t slam the door till the garage door starts. Okay?”

  “Got it,” Amy said.

  Jim got in the car and glanced in the rearview mirror at his wife and Louisa. They both looked terrified—hair matted to their heads, eyes wide, lips drawn. “Ready?”

  They both nodded.

  Jim hit the button on the garage door opener, the motor sprang to life, the chain began to pull, and the door lifted. Almost simultaneously they slammed the car doors shut, and he started the engine.

  Using the rearview mirror, Jim kept his eye on the garage door opening behind him. Peevey had to have heard the car start. He had to be on his way.

  The door seemed to move in half-speed, inch by inch.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” Jim said. “Let’s go.” He glanced from the overhead door to
the kitchen door. If Peevey came through and found them sitting in the garage, they’d be dead. He’d pull out his handgun and squeeze off three rounds faster than Jim could step on the gas and bust through the door. They needed at least a couple seconds of head-start time to get going and build up some speed getting out of the driveway.

  When the overhead door was nearly four feet off the ground, Jim put the car in gear.

  “Hold on,” he said. They couldn’t wait any longer. Peevey would come through that door any second. He stepped on the accelerator, the tires chirped on the concrete garage floor, and the car lurched backward. The car’s trunk cleared the door with plenty of room, but the bottom edge of the door dragged along the roof of the car with an awful scrape. In the backseat Amy screamed and ducked her head.

  Once in the driveway Jim took his eyes off the mirror and glanced at the garage. The door was the whole way up now, and Peevey was racing for the SUV.

  Jim pressed the accelerator to the floor. “Hang on.”

  The car bounced out of the driveway and onto Valley Road where Jim hit the brakes, shifted to drive, spun the wheel, and stomped the accelerator. Rain pelted the windshield while the wipers worked hard to keep the glass clear of water. Valley Road cut straight through a long stretch of fields then entered a winding section called The Narrows where it was flanked by a sharp embankment on one side and a fast-moving creek on the other. Along the way roads branched off at varying angles leading to every part of the county.

  “Why aren’t we going back to town?” Amy said, her voice tight and infused with fear.

  Jim glanced at the mirror. Peevey hadn’t gotten out of the driveway yet. Any second, though, the headlights of the SUV would appear. “And do what?”