Zeke

by Wodke Hawkinson

  Shaggy brown hair hung in greasy strands around his face, and his clothes were torn and dirty. “Well, well, well. Whadda we got here?” He moved to block her way and Brook stopped, uncertain how to proceed. “Come to Bobby, baby,” the man said, rubbing his crotch suggestively. “Let me show you what a real man can do for you.”

  Brook turned and hurried back to her car, her heels tapping a quick staccato on the pavement. Behind her, Bobby laughed derisively but made no move to follow. She pressed the keyless entry as she approached the car. She was intent on getting inside, locking the door, and getting away from this place. Anger flared within her, distracting her for a second or two. What had Clark been thinking? She didn’t belong here. He could send someone else or call and have the book delivered to the house, because she wouldn’t be picking it up for him. She chastised herself for not driving right past; never stopping.

  As Brook slid into the car, she sensed a movement behind her and turned her head in time to see a fist rushing toward her face. She couldn’t even manage a small scream before the blow caught her on the side of the head. Brook fell, dazed, backwards into the car. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  She heard a man’s gruff voice mumble, “Shit! People!”

  He reached in and shoved her roughly across the console, gouging her back on the gearshift before unceremoniously pushing her legs across to clear the driver’s seat. “You say one fuckin’ word and I’ll kill you,” he snarled. “Get down on the floor. Now, bitch!”

  Brook dropped to the floorboard, shaking in fear and confusion as tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. Bewildered, she watched the man slide a key into the ignition; not her key, she still had wits enough to realize she held that in her hand. She opened her mouth and took a deep breath, prepared to scream bloody murder. Before she could even squeak, a gun was pressed to her temple. “Don’t do it, lady.” Brook clamped her mouth shut, obeying her captor. “Put your head down and cover it with your hands.”

  Brook complied, heart trip-hammering against her chest. What’s happening? What does he want? Where is he taking me? Oh god, I’ve got to get away! These thoughts and more raced through her head as the car moved into the street and away, the sound of the tires on the road keeping pace with her rapidly beating heart.

  “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me,” Brook pleaded through her tears. As she huddled on the floor, her words became a chant she could barely hear over the ringing in her ears. They had only gone a short distance when she felt the car bump and then rise up a ramp into darkness. She peeked up through her hair and tried to see where they were. The driver got out and her hopes rose. Maybe he’s leaving. Maybe he’s going away. She was reaching furtively for the door handle, heart slamming against her chest, when the door was jerked open and a hand grabbed her by the hair and pulled.

  “Out, now,” her assailant’s voice demanded.

  Brook cried out as pain ripped along her scalp. Her hand flew to her head and the key she had been holding fell unnoticed from her fingers. She stumbled from the car to a dirty surface, bruising her knee through her custom-designed slacks. Brook climbed unsteadily to her feet and turned toward the sound of voices. She gently probed her scalp. Relief flowed through her when she found her fingers free of blood. Examining her surroundings, she realized she was in the trailer of a dark and musty semi-truck. The only light came from the open loading door, its feeble glow barely enough to illuminate the three men who stood gawking at her. Even in her terror, Brook tried to record their faces into her memory. She wanted to be able to give accurate descriptions to the police when she got out of this mess. She stared openly.

  Arguing with her attacker was a tall, skinny man whose straight, medium-brown hair fell over one eye and most of the other. He had a mustache and small beard. Brook noted his bad teeth when he bared them in a snarl at the first man. “Damn it all to hell, Benny. What the hell is this?” He gestured toward Brook who regarded them with an expression of fear.

  Ok, Benny! Benny’s the one who attacked me. Watch him. Remember him!

  Benny glared at her from deep-set, dark eyes. He was of medium height and build. His face was long, tapering to a pointed chin with a scraggly thin beard. Sparse whiskers grew over his lip and down the sides of his face. His hair was over-the-collar length, neatly combed and swept across to one side, barely missing an eye. His clothing was more like that of a business man and totally inconsistent with his actions, she thought, as she noted his khakis, button-up shirt, tan sports jacket, and loafers. She filed her impressions away for future reference.

  “She came back to the car too soon, Pete. Fuck! She wasn’t supposed to be there. It wasn’t part of the plan. And then there were too many people around. I couldn’t just dump her out in the parking lot without being seen.” Benny shrugged as he gave Brook the once-over. “Anyway, look at her. She’s kinda cute.”

  “Kind of cute? Are you for real? Kind of cute, my ass!” Pete shook his head.

  Pete! The guy with bad teeth is Pete. Brook made a mental note. Benny abducted me and Pete is his accomplice.

  The third guy was a trucker through and through. Jeans, button-up shirt open over a wife-beater t-shirt, and tennis shoes. His belly hung over a large belt buckle shaped like Texas. Graying on top, he wore a crew cut and was clean-shaven. He spat to one side as he said, “I don’t give a flying fuck about none of this. Ya all need to get the hell out of my truck. I need to move this merchandise and don’t want no part of whatever trouble this little lady is gonna bring.” He pointed to Brook when he made this statement. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest as all three looked her way.

  Benny said, “Mind your own fucking business, asshole.” Oblivious to the flash of anger on the trucker’s face, he turned to the tall guy. “We’ll just have to take her with us, Pete. Come on, let’s move.”

  “Man, Benny! Jase is gonna be pissed,” Pete proclaimed.

  “Fuck Jase,” Benny spat angrily, but Brook detected a hint of concern behind his bravado.

  As the two argued, Brook saw a chance to get away. She started backing toward the open loading door. Slow and easy, shaking badly, she put one foot at a time behind her and moved backwards, keeping an eye on the men the entire time. She reached the door, turned and ran awkwardly down the ramp, her heels slowing her. Behind her, she heard the trucker laugh and say, “Your little woman is leavin’.”

  “Shit!” Pete yelled.

  Brooklyn ran for her life down a deserted alley. She heard a thump as someone leapt to the ground behind her. She needed to lose the heels but knew she couldn’t take the time to stop and remove them. Keeping her eyes straight ahead and gasping for breath, she screamed, “Help! HELP!” She could see no one, and there was no response to her yells.

  Brook didn’t make it far before she was tackled from behind and knocked off her feet. Her face hit the pavement and bounced back off, abrading her cheek as she scattered a pile of rubbish from an overturned trash can. The sleeves of her beautiful jacket were stained with rotted garbage, the odor stinging her nostrils. She cried out in pain and fear as the weight of her assailant held her down.

  “You stupid bitch,” Benny, lying across her, growled. “Why do you want to be this way? You’re just making this whole thing harder than it has to be.”

  Brook heard the screech of tires, and hoped against hope that it was someone coming to rescue her. She tried to raise her head to call for help again, but her call was cut off when Benny crawled off her and yanked her to her feet. An SUV skidded to a stop beside them, its deep green paint sparkling in the sunlight. The windows were so dark Brook couldn’t see the driver. Benny opened the rear door and flung her inside before he crawled in behind her. He shoved her head down into the seat.

  “Go,” he growled to the driver.

  Enjoy this preview of Betrayed-Alternate Ending, the exciting novel by Wodke Hawkinson

  Chapter 49

  Over the next week, Brook watched the snow disappear around the cabin. She alm
ost wished another storm would blow in and cover the mountain in a heavy cocoon of white, wrapping them in its silence, prolonging her departure. But the weather remained clear.

  “You look worried,” Lance said one evening.

  “Hmmm?” Brook pulled herself from her thoughts. “Oh, yes, I am. I’ve been thinking about going to the police. It’s been months since the attack. I’m going to walk in there and tell them the terrible things that happened to me and I’ll have no proof. All my injuries have healed. What if they don’t believe me?”

  Lance remained silent for a minute and then surprised Brook when he stood and left the room. He returned in a moment holding a digital camera. Brook looked from the camera to Lance with a question in her eyes.

  “I have to show you something that’s going to be hard for you to see.” He turned on the camera, flipped a switch, and handed it to Brook. “When I first brought you to the cabin I took these pictures. I wasn’t entirely sure why; maybe to protect myself, I don’t know. But, anyway, here’s your evidence.”

  For the next few minutes, Brook paged through the pictures, her face turning paler with each one. “Oh my God,” she breathed quietly. “Oh dear God!” She dropped the camera into her lap, covered her eyes with her hands, and cried.

  Lance stood by, uncertain what to do. He longed to hold her but felt she needed space.

  “Oh, Lance!” Brook looked at him with anguish. “They hurt me so badly. How did I even survive?” She stared at him for a minute. “I know how I survived. You saved me! And now, you have given me the evidence I need to hang those monsters.”

  The shock of the images had left her shaken. “Could you please hold me?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Just hold me.”

  Lance pulled her into his arms and held her until she calmed.

  The week passed quickly, far too quickly, for the two lovers. Lance finally spoke the words they had both dreaded. “We can make it to town, now. We’ll leave in the morning.”

  That evening, Brook and Lance were rarely out of touching distance. They sat together, not speaking, each just enjoying the feel of the other’s presence. When they went to bed, they made slow, leisurely love filled with lingering kisses, soft touches, and whispered words of affection. Their hands stroked, lingering over every contour, so their hands could remember when they could no longer do. They didn’t sleep until the wee hours of the morning, and then they woke in each other’s arms and made love one last time.

  Brook had only a small canvas bag containing the camera, sketches, journal, tiny that Lance had packed in a small box for safe-keeping, and several other items she had accumulated. She stepped through the cabin’s door without a backwards glance. It was so hard to say goodbye to the place that had become home!

  Gilbert pranced and bucked in her pen, nimble in spite of her swollen belly. Lance would let her out when he returned, but for now he grabbed a handful of hay and let Brook give her a bite and a pat.

  “You ever gonna have that baby? You look like you’re about to pop,” Brook chided the goat, then turned somber. “I bet it’ll be too cute for words. I wish it would’ve happened while I was still here.” She sighed. Then she and Lance turned toward the path leading off the mountain.

  The trip to the road was slow going. The path was muddy and Brook was glad Lance had insisted she put on the many pairs of socks and his bulky boots. Her moccasins would never have survived if she had worn them.

  Brook noticed there was still an abundance of snow under the trees where the sun couldn’t reach. Even some places on the path were still drifted over.

  Finally, they reached the road. Lance looked at his bike, having forgotten that he would have to go get Old Reliable. He looked back at Brook, cleared his throat, and said, “Uh, oh!”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to have to leave you here while I ride to the trading post and get my truck. It’s about an hour’s ride one way. I’m sorry; I should have remembered and went for it yesterday.”

  “It’s no problem, Lance. In fact, it’s fine. You ride down and I’ll start walking. The day is beautiful and I’ll be okay. No one comes way up here, do they?”

  “Rarely.” Lance still looked unhappy. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  They lingered a few minutes, hugging. Then Lance kissed her once, mounted his bicycle, and pedaled down the road.

  The air was brisk. Brook strolled slowly, picking up the pace occasionally to warm up, then slowing again. She looked into the forest, watching as birds flew from one tree to the other, and caught sight of a squirrel. It ran for a second, only to stop and sit on its haunches, searching the area with its black eyes, before darting to another spot where it would repeat the process. She looked up at the robin’s-egg blue sky that held not a single cloud. Smiling, she thought this was probably one of the most peaceful spots in the world right now.

  It didn’t seem long before she heard a vehicle coming. Suddenly panicked, Brook looked around for a place to hide. What if it’s them? What if they find me again?

  She darted toward the trees. Before she ducked inside the woods, a truck’s horn sounded and Lance called out, “Brook?”

  Heart racing, Brook turned back to the road. This was Lance’s truck. She was still safe.

  “Brooklyn? Are you okay?”

  “Oh!” Brook clutched her chest for a second. “I was suddenly afraid that it was them. Coming to get me!”

  Lance hugged her close. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

  “No, it’s okay. I have to learn to manage my fear. It’s just that this is the first time I’ve been away from the cabin, away from safety. I just freaked out for a minute.” She smiled to show everything was fine.

  Lance pointed out sights as they moved toward town. “See that tree?” Lance asked, pointing to a large pine at the side of the road. “Once, on the way down on my bike, I got to going too fast. Before I knew it, I had lost control. I ended up in the lower branches of that tree. I can still remember Denise’s face when I walked into the Trading Post. She took one look at the needles covering my clothes, the dirt streaked on my face, and the pinecone stuck in my hair, and started laughing. I thought she was going to roll on the floor before she got control of herself.” Lance laughed at the memory.

  “Wasn’t she worried you were hurt?” Brook asked, frowning over the woman’s heartlessness.

  “Oh, she saw me walking in. She could tell I wasn’t injured; well, maybe just my pride.” He chuckled as he remembered.

  Brook put her hand on Lance’s arm. “I’ve been thinking about something. When we get to town, I want you to drop me off at the police station. And then I want you to leave.”

  “Drop you off?” Lance glanced at her and then returned his eyes to the road. “First of all, Haylieville doesn’t have a police station. There’s a sheriff’s office that covers several small towns. Secondly, I’m not going to just dump you off, honey. I’m going in with you.”

  “No.” Brook shook her head. “You’ve gone to all this trouble to make a new life, the kind of life you want. I won’t let you jeopardize that on my account.”

  “Brooklyn...”

  “I mean it, Lance. Please. Let me do this one thing for you, after all you’ve done for me.”

  They drove on in silence.

  “It doesn’t seem right.” Lance took his arm from around her and pulled to the narrow shoulder of the road. He put the truck in park and turned to face her.

  His mouth was set in a firm line. Brook traced his lips with a finger, and his eyes softened. Then she used the words she knew would give her an unfair advantage. “Lance, I’m asking you to respect my wishes. Please?”

  A pained look crossed his face, but he recovered quickly. “I guess we’d better say our goodbyes now, then.”

  “Thank you.” Brook sighed. She wrapped her arms around Lance, and he returned the embrace. With a final kiss, he released her.

  She dabbed at her eyes as he pulled back onto the r
oad. Before long, they reached the outskirts of town.

  Brook turned to face Lance, urgency written on her face. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to go to the police right away. First, I need to find a phone. I have to call my parents.”

  “You could do that from the police station,” he said.

  “No, I can’t wait. Please, Lance.”

  Lance nodded and pulled into a convenience store with a phone booth outside. “Will this do? Or, do you want somewhere more private?”

  “No, this is fine.” Brook started to step from the truck, but stopped. “Damn, I don’t have any money.”

  “Don’t worry.” Lance entered the store and returned carrying three rolls of quarters. “They didn’t want to give these up, but I insisted.” Lance kissed Brook’s forehead and went to lean on the back of the truck, giving her privacy to make her call.

  With shaking hands, Brook dialed. She fumbled over the familiar numbers, restarting twice before getting them right. Several rings passed before she heard the loving voice of her mother through the receiver.

  Brook choked up and couldn’t speak for a moment.

  “Hello?” her mother repeated with a questioning tone.

  “Mama,” Brook managed.

  A second’s silence met this word, and then, fearful she had misunderstood, “Brooklyn?”

  “Yes, mama, it’s me!” Tears were streaming down Brook’s face, as the answering sobs of her mother filled the receiver.

  Brook’s mom called for her dad and then his excited voice sounded close by. “Where are you, baby?” her mom asked, her words tripping over each other. “Are you okay? Oh, God, we’ve been sick with worry. We were so afraid…” she broke off.

  “I’m okay! Really. It’s a long story and I will tell you everything. Soon.”

  “Tell us now! What happened to you? We have to know, Brook.” Her father had picked up the extension.