Tymber Dalton

by Out of the Darkness

  As Steve walked into the kitchen, Sami’s voice failed her. Why couldn’t she move? She had to warn Matt.

  * * * *

  Matt watched Steve walk over to Sami. At least Steve seemed fine. Steve leaned over and kissed Sami. She looked like she was trying to pull away but didn’t have the strength.

  Matt felt his anger rise as realization dawned. He struggled to stand. Using the table for support, he moved close enough to read the pill bottle label.

  Steve Corey. Dated Tuesday. Thirty pills.

  Valium.

  All gone.

  Three glasses.

  Matt stared at the nearly empty pitcher of iced tea and knew.

  He stumbled for the kitchen door. He had to get out of the house. Steve had his cell phone. Matt thought he could get to his car.

  He didn’t hear Steve walk into the kitchen behind him and grab the heavy, cast-iron skillet off the stove.

  * * * *

  Sami couldn’t keep her eyes open. What had Steve done to them? Steve turned to where Matt staggered toward the kitchen door. As Steve grabbed the skillet, Sami tried to yell a warning, but it came out a weak moan.

  Steve swung the pan, connecting with the back of Matt’s head with a sick, dull clang. Matt collapsed to the floor with a sickening thud. She sobbed as Steve leaned over Matt’s body. Then he turned to her and grinned.

  “How’d you like that backhand, Sami?”

  She blacked out.

  * * * *

  The dreams sickened Sami. Spanish conquistadors abducting and raping an Indian girl. The tribe massacring the attackers later that night. She watched the Simpson family’s final afternoon play out. How George murdered the children and burned their bodies, how he raped and killed Evelyn.

  And Tom Prescott. She saw the final day play out there, too. No, make that George Simpson. Or was it the final Spaniard? Lisa transformed into Evelyn and the Indian girl in Tom Prescott’s mind, before he raped and killed her.

  Knowing it was a dream, Sami struggled to awaken but couldn’t.

  * * * *

  Steve made sure the women were passed out. He’d deal with Sami last. A trickle of blood ran down the side of Matt’s head and pooled on the linoleum beneath him. He didn’t have time to take care of him properly now. Maybe later, drop him in the old well if he could figure out how to get there and get the cover off. Or maybe…

  He looked at the basement door. He’d shove the body down there. Bury him later in the hidden room. The floor in there was dirt. No one would ever find him. He could piss on his grave when he felt like it.

  “Fucking his wife?” He kicked Matt’s body. “You’re his friend, you fucking asshole! You thought I wouldn’t find out? Thought I wouldn’t see what you did with his wife?” He kicked him again. Tears streamed down Steve’s face as he stared at where Matt lay on the floor.

  The voice screamed out of the darkness.

  You’re wasting time!

  Steve sobbed as he dragged the body toward the door. “Matt, you promised me,” he cried as he struggled to move his friend’s still form. Steve was a little taller than Matt, but Matt was brawny and outweighed him by a good twenty-five pounds. “You promised me you’d protect Sami, now look what happened. You promised me!”

  With a final, anguished sob, he rolled Matt’s body down the stairs and bolted the door.

  Steve’s side hurt, like he’d pulled stitches again.

  Quit acting like a chickenshit, the voice growled. Grow a set of balls, for chrissake.

  Steve wept as he used paper towels to clean the bloody smears before they dried on the kitchen floor. He took another swig from the bottle to steady his nerves. The liquor calmed him, like it always had.

  The voice told him what to do next. Steve cried as he rooted through the kitchen drawers until he found what he needed.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Julie felt she was being dragged and tried to resist. She struggled to open her eyes, pull away from the hand embedded in her hair. A fist punched her in the back of the head and pain blossomed behind her eyes before she passed out again.

  When she woke up and tried to move, she discovered her arms and legs were bound. As she came to her senses, she realized where she was.

  She screamed.

  * * * *

  Sami heard screams from somewhere in the distance. She had to open her eyes. She rolled off the couch onto the floor and managed to focus on her watch. It was almost five. She’d been out nearly two hours.

  Matt!

  She looked across the floor into the kitchen but didn’t see him. When she tried to get up, everything swam.

  Darkness overtook her again.

  * * * *

  George set the bottle on the dresser and advanced on Julie. “You scream again, gonna cut your tongue out,” he growled, waving the knife at her.

  She shrank from his touch, trying to disappear into the bed. He ran the tip of the knife down her chin to her chest and slipped it under the neckline of her shirt. “You gonna be quiet?”

  She nodded, tears rolling down her face.

  “Good, because I don’t wanna have to gag you.” He licked the side of her face, tasting her tears and smiling that horrible, evil grin. “I wanna hear you beg for it, whore. You’re all whores, ain’t ya? You changed your hair color, Ev, but I still see it’s you.”

  Julie closed her eyes and tried to turn her face away. He sliced her shirt down the front, then her bra, roughly yanking the fabric out of the way.

  “That’s better. And this.” He grabbed her crystal pouch and ripped it from her neck. She cried out as the cord painfully bit into her flesh before snapping. He threw the pouch to the side where it hit the wall and fell to the floor.

  The tip of the knife pressed against her lips. “I told you to behave. Look at me.”

  She forced her eyes open. George’s horrifying expression terrified her.

  Suddenly, the reddish glow in his eyes disappeared. He pulled the knife away. When a look of abject horror washed over his face, Julie felt hope.

  “Steve? Is that you?”

  Steve sat back, dropping the knife to the bed and grabbing his head in his hands. “God, what’s happening to me?”

  This was her only chance. “Steve, please, let me go! Now, before George comes back! It’s okay. I can help you.”

  He fell off the bed and used the dresser to pull himself upright as he moaned in pain.

  “Steve, please, hurry! Before he comes back!”

  Her hopes soared, then crashed as he reached for the bottle on top of the dresser and took several long swallows.

  When he turned, Steve was nowhere to be seen. George rubbed his right side, wincing a little.

  “Nice try,” George said, grinning as he retrieved the knife. “Let’s see what else you’re hiding under them clothes.”

  * * * *

  Sami felt something wet on her face, rolled over, and realized Pog was licking her.

  What happened? She tried to sit up, felt the world swim, but managed to get to her knees using the couch for support.

  “Matt!”

  He wasn’t in the kitchen. Had she imagined it? Was it all a dream?

  Julie wasn’t at the base of the stairs. Her purse lay there, knocked over and the contents spilled.

  Sami opened the front door, still confused, unsure what to do, trying to clear the fog in her brain. Pog pushed past her, whining. Without thinking she grabbed his leash from the hook by the door, clipped it to his collar, then shoved him out the porch screen door.

  “Go!” she whispered. “Run!”

  Pog was no Lassie. The dog might only go as far as the barn, but hopefully he’d stay out of Steve’s reach. The Lab finally turned and disappeared into the rain.

  Sami stepped into the living room, getting her legs back, when she heard the generator shut down. The house plunged into darkness. Filled with purple gloom, deep shadows darkened the interior.

  Without the sounds of the air-conditioning or
generator to mask them, Sami heard noises from the bedroom and was about to start upstairs when she recognized the source. She fought her rising bile and turned to the kitchen to look for a weapon when the sounds rose in crescendo, finally stopping with a loud, satisfied male grunt.

  The bedroom door opened. Sami dashed into the dining room, looking for her cell. It wasn’t on the table where she’d left it. She cowered against the wall inside the dining room doorway, trapped, as heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs. Halfway down, she heard George’s voice yell.

  “Sami?”

  She heard him walk toward the kitchen. She ventured a peek around the corner. He was naked from the waist down and rubbing his right side. He spotted the open front door and walked to it.

  “SAMI!” he roared.

  She ducked behind the wall again and heard him slam the door so hard a window broke.

  Upstairs, Julie cried out.

  “I TOLD YA TO KEEP YER MOUTH SHUT, WOMAN!” he roared, pounding up the stairs.

  When Sami heard the bedroom door slam shut she raced to the kitchen in search of a knife.

  The drawer was empty, except for a potato peeler.

  Dammit! She tried the phone.

  Dead.

  Where’s Matt?

  She spotted the frying pan on the table. As much as she didn’t want to touch it, it was her only choice.

  Upstairs, she heard the grunts resume, punctuated by Julie’s weak cries. Before Sami reached the stairs, she heard them increase in tempo again. Then George’s guttural yell cracked through Sami’s mental paralysis.

  Julie sobbed. He screamed, “STOP IT! I TOLD YOU TO STOP IT, YOU POISONOUS WHORE!”

  Sami heard a muffled series of sickening slaps. Julie’s cries ceased. Sami stepped toward the doorway when she heard George get out of bed. A moment later, the bedroom door opened.

  Sami bolted through the outside kitchen door and down the steps into the rain. He’d probably look for her in the barn first. She ran around the back of the house and crouched behind the generator, the only other place to hide. It was that or risk trying to run across open ground to get to the woods, and she wasn’t sure she was awake enough yet to manage that.

  Sami waited. The rain quickly soaked her to the skin and she shivered. Still, she kept her fingers tightly locked around the handle of the skillet.

  * * * *

  George yelled Sami’s name out the kitchen door. “Goddamn bitch,” he muttered. He walked into the carport, where he spied the jerry cans of diesel.

  Yes, a little light to see what he was doing. He’d take care of Sami after he finished with Evelyn. She might be crying, but she was loving every minute of it. All whores loved it, wanted a man to teach them a lesson.

  He grabbed a diesel can and pain ripped through his side as he lifted it. He switched to his left arm. That was better.

  The generator was around back. He’d fill it, and when he was done with Evelyn, he’d hunt down Sami.

  * * * *

  Sami heard George muttering as he approached. She ducked around the other side of the house and snuck in through the front living room door.

  She raced up the stairs into the bedroom. Julie was tied to the bed, naked, ravaged, lying motionless.

  “Julie, we’ve got to go now!” Sami whispered. She tried to untie her, but the knots were too tight.

  Blood trickled from Julie’s nose, her eyes open and motionless. Sami realized she wasn’t breathing.

  She tried to find a pulse and couldn’t.

  “Oh, God!” Sami backed away. Julie’s lips looked blue, her face battered and bruised.

  The lights came on as she heard the sound of the generator starting. Sami didn’t see any of the missing kitchen knives around, so she snatched the skillet from the bed. A glance out the back window, and she saw Steve closing the lid on the generator case.

  She raced downstairs again.

  Where the hell did Matt go? Julie was smaller than Matt, a lot smaller. Sami could believe Steve forcing her upstairs, but Matt was solid. No way Steve could have dragged him far. Not in his condition.

  George, she corrected herself. That wasn’t her husband. He was George Simpson.

  Sami ducked behind the dining room wall again as George walked in the front door, not bothering to shut it behind him. He stood there for a moment. From her hiding place, she listened to his ragged breathing.

  “Evelyn!” he roared. “Get yerself ready. I want ya waitin’ for me, ya whore!”

  One hundred percent George. Not a bit of Steve. Even his voice sounded different.

  Sami squeezed her eyes shut. Fighting the urge to vomit, Sami listened to him slowly mount the stairs, ranting and raving. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she bolted for the open front door.

  * * * *

  George stood in the front doorway for a moment. He saw the wet tracks leading into the house and up the stairs and grinned.

  Sami was here. She’d come back.

  George roared up the stairs at Evelyn. He still had some life in him yet, and wanted to get the most mileage he could out of her while he could. She’d finally stopped fighting. He’d told her to lie back and enjoy it, because all whores enjoyed it.

  Although he had to admit he liked it better when they fought.

  The thought made him really hard again. He slowly started up the stairs. What he had waiting for him pushed thoughts of Sami out of his mind for now. She couldn’t get far. He’d chased the horses out of the pasture while the others went to the cemetery, and he’d disabled the cars. The only working car was Matt’s, but he was dead, locked down in the basement, keys in his pockets.

  Sami wasn’t going far in this storm.

  He heard a noise behind him and turned to see Sami race out the front door.

  “Whore!” He thundered after her. So close, he had to give chase.

  * * * *

  Blind panic struck Sami. George had killed Julie. Matt was most likely dead. She’d grab one of the horses and ride to the ranger station for help.

  Steve thundered down the steps behind her, but she had at least thirty yards on him. She burst into the barn, snatching a lead rope from the hook inside the door as she passed.

  The barn was empty.

  She raced through the barn into the pasture, scanning, desperate. They were nowhere to be seen. Across the field, she spotted the open gate.

  “Dammit!”

  “Sami, I’m coming for you! Why doncha let me give it to you? You told him you been wantin’ it!”

  George’s maniacal laugh goaded her into flight. She couldn’t stay and fight. He was strong enough he might be able to overpower her, and she still felt groggy from whatever he’d doped them with. It would take every ounce of her strength to run, much less fight.

  And Steve moved fast.

  She threw the frying pan and lead rope at him and sprinted through the rain to the open gate at the north corner. It was hard to run through the mud, but she followed the trail into the trees. Without the sun to cast shadows she couldn’t be sure she headed the right way. Maybe she could lose him and make it to the ranger office at the campground. They’d have a phone.

  More importantly, maybe they’d have guns.

  George stumbled, close on her heels and gaining ground. She tripped over a tree root, fell, and scrambled to her feet again, covered in mud.

  She didn’t dare look behind her. The sound of George’s hoarse, ragged breathing was enough keep her moving.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Matt opened his eyes to darkness. He hurt all over. When he tried to lift his head, agonizing pain made him cry out. He was lying in a weird position and managed to roll over.

  He was at the bottom of the cellar stairs.

  The room slowly came into focus as his eyes adjusted to the dim light trickling through the basement windows.

  Sam!

  He felt his pockets. Steve had his cell phone.

  Matt crawled up the basement stairs, every breath a burning agony
. It felt like he’d been kicked in the ribs. At the top of the stairs he pulled himself to a standing position and tried the basement door.

  Locked.

  “Sam!” he yelled. “Julie!”

  Silence.

  He pounded on the door and found the act too painful. He fumbled for the light switch and looked around for anything to open the door with. The hinges were on the kitchen side, so he couldn’t even pry them off.

  Not that he’d have the strength to do it anyway. All he knew was he had to get out and save Sam and Julie.

  If it wasn’t too late.

  * * * *

  Tom Jenkins hated days like this. Weren’t good for anything but paperwork.

  And he despised paperwork.

  Bob Gardner, his second-in-command, stood at the office door and nursed a cup of coffee. “God, it’s storming out there.”

  “Be glad you only have to walk a few feet home.”

  “Yeah. Hey, what’s that?”

  Tom looked up as Bob set down his mug and walked out to the porch. “Hey, boy. Come here, boy.”

  Tom stood while Bob reappeared with a soaking wet and mud-caked yellow Lab. “Must be from the campground,” Tom said, rounding his desk. “I’ll get a towel.”

  He knelt while Bob held the leash. “Weird he’s got a leash on him,” Bob said.

  Tom nodded. “Must have escaped.” He started toweling the dog dry. He looked familiar.

  Mud caked the collar. He had to wipe the tags clean to read them.

  His radio crackled, interrupting him. “Boss, it’s Scott. You there?”

  He dropped the tags and reached for his radio. “Yeah, go ahead.”

  “There’s two horses running loose up here at the front gate. A buckskin and an appaloosa. Aren’t those the Coreys’ horses?”