Angela thought on it. “So if we send an officer to their front door, they run and we… what do we do then?”
Frank hesitated. “You know, we… can either nab them or… if things get violent, we finish it.”
“With a cop that close by?” Angela asked. “That’s risky.”
“Not if they shoot at us first,” Frank replied. “Then we’ll be solid. What do you say?”
Angela remembered the cold water from the sinking house. The people that she was messing with were not going to stand by and watch her anymore. They wanted to kill her and instead of just popping her in the forehead like a normal gunman, they wanted to be creative. This didn’t surprise Angela, coming from people with an eccentric butterfly connection.
She pondered Frank’s request, trying to play out the scenario in her head. There was a high chance Carmela would try to book it as soon as she saw an incoming cop car. “Any opportunity that we have to disrupt their plans, I say we take it. Make the call.”
If Angela kept having the flashbacks, she wouldn’t need the killer to tell her anything. She’d only need to have assurance that they were brought to justice. Doing one final sweep of the house, Angela and Frank left. They got back into the Jeep, where Frank dialed the police station. He told them that he had received the cryptic note from the person who might be responsible for Iris’s murder and gave the dispatch officer the listed address. When he finished, he hung up with a sigh. “It probably won’t put Carmela behind bars, but it’s something.”
“I say that we go right now. Get to the address before the cops do. If Carmela shows herself and the police arrive, they’ll see her sketchy behavior and arrest her. Then we get signed on as consultants and will be able to conduct our own interviews,” Angela said.
“Wow, you really got this whole thing planned out,” Frank said, sounding impressed.
“Let’s get moving,” Angela replied. “Daylight’s burning.”
Frank took that as his cue to hit the gas. The Jeep’s wheels spun and zipped them farther up the mountains. In every direction were snow-capped trees and mountains that rose and dipped like white spears. The snowfall kicked up again. The forecast said it would be the last big snow for a while. Angela was glad for that. She could get used to calm again. She pushed thoughts of peace and quiet out of her mind for now. What mattered was her mission.
They climbed farther up the mountain. Frank blasted the heater. Angela warmed her hands in front of the vent.
“I forgot how much I missed heat,” Angela replied. “My car always feels like an icebox.”
“I’d trade heat to have a car like yours,” Frank said with a smile. “Chargers are righteous.”
Angela chuckled. “I don’t think anyone says that anymore.”
“I do,” Frank replied.
They fell into an awkward pause as they continued to climb the mountain. The Jeep’s tires hit patches of ice and skidded slightly.
Frank kept his eyes on the road. A sense of serious fell over his stern but scruffy face. “I have something to confess.”
Angela listened, unsure where this conversation was going.
Frank pulled at his lip with his teeth. A little bit of his beard hair poked into his mouth. “Iris and my relationship was a little more than professional.”
“I see,” Angela replied, not sure what else to say or feel.
“She looked at me in a way no one has for a very long time,” Frank said, his eyes on the road. “It was like she could see past all the BS, all the drinking, and look into my soul. Not to sound too poetic, my soul is not a very happy place, but she was able to draw out the light. And when she died because of my mistakes… If I had a chance, I’d change some things. Heck, I might even warn her to stay away from me. If I did, she might still be alive.”
Angela wasn’t sure what sort of advice Frank wanted to hear. Was he just venting, or was he looking for absolution? If so, why share it with her? Angela was no priest. She didn’t know how to absolve him of his sins. She didn’t know how to put her own sins in order.
Angela finally replied. “What matters is how you move forward.”
It felt like she was talking more to herself than the investigator.
“Yeah…” Frank’s voice trailed off. “I guess my fear is that once we find the person who did this and stop them, whatever that looks like, I’ll go back to Knoxville and things will be exactly how they were before. I’d take more bribes, bury more cases, and drown myself in alcohol. I don’t know if I want to be that guy anymore.”
His conviction was real.
She crossed her arms, wondering if she should open up too. After all, they’d been in shootouts together and were more intimately involved in her parents’ deaths than anyone else. She mustered some strength, not sure why she felt so vulnerable. “I can only hope that finding my parents’ killers will put end to my torment, but I hear that little voice too. The one that says that things will never change. I don’t want to believe it. I’m done living in the pit.”
“I wish I shared your gusto,” Frank smiled sadly. “I guess we won’t know until--”
Angela didn’t hear the rest of his words before she shouted. “Look out!”
Speeding down the mountain pass towards them was a large pick-up in the opposite lane. Frank swerved. Their tires slipped on black ice and sent the Jeep skidding up a dirt mound by the road. Dirt and snow spit out of the wheel well. They arched up the dirt and mowed down bushes. When the Jeep got back on the road again, it spun out. Angela held onto the door handle near her head and gritted her teeth. Frank cursed and tried to even the vehicle out. The truck zipped past them. Frank, face red, rolled down the window and gave the driver the middle finger. “Crazy!”
Much to his surprise, the truck made a U-turn about twenty yards from them and started speeding toward the Jeep. Frank twisted the steering wheel in an attempt to correct the Jeep but failed, and the truck slammed into the driver side door. The airbag exploded into Frank’s face. His foot hit the gas pedal. The Jeep lurched forward at full speed. Angela, tasting blood, grabbed at the steering wheel and jerked it to the right. She wasn’t quick enough. Slipping on the ice and fully accelerated, the Jeep rammed through the guardrail and took flight over the mountainous drop out. About a second of freefall later, the truck slammed down on the dirt. Its shocks bounced. The airbag exploded in Angela’s face. She couldn’t see anything. The Jeep plowed through bushes and trees and through a patch of ground hog hills. The cabby bounced. The chaos ended when the Jeep slammed into two fat trees standing beside one another. The last Angela saw was a branch bursting through the windshield.
She awoke, staring at a jagged branch an inch away from her eyeball. She gasped and spit out blood down the front of her coat. Steam rose from the Jeep’s crinkled hood. If the gap between the tree trunks were just a few feet wider, the vehicle would’ve passed through them.
Head throbbing, Angela punched down the airbag and turned to Frank. He wasn’t moving. His face was buried in his deflated airbag. Angela shook his shoulder, feeling a pain in her neck. Angela grimaced. “Frank. Wake up.”
The investigator didn’t reply. Angela slapped him. His body fell limply onto Angela’s with his head resting in her lap. His eyes were closed. His lips were slightly parted. Angela glanced at the rearview mirror. Both side mirrors had been knocked off. A figure resting a rifle at the broken guardrail. Angela cursed.
Boom!
A bullet zipped through the ceiling and the dashboard exploded into plastic shards on Angela’s lap. She grabbed for her pistol and felt a sudden pain in her back. Angela went tense. She couldn’t move without feeling agonizing pain. She spit blood from biting her tongue. Another rifle blast sounded and blew a hole through the roof. This time it hit between Angela’s legs at a forty-five-degree angle. Angela frantically unbuckled hers and Frank’s seatbelt.
Boom. Another blast. That one was farther off than the other two, which gave Angela a faint glimmer of hope.
She rolled out of her seat, opened the door, and hit the snowy ground.
A bullet impacted dirt next to her. Lying sideways in the snow, Angela took her gun in both hands and fired at the shooter. The bullets sparked on the guardrail. The shooter retreated, but only for a few moments, Angela knew. She hobbled around the front of the car, keeping her guard up. She pulled open the driver side door and dragged Frank out.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Three shots zipped by. One almost grazed her arm.
She grabbed Frank from under the armpits and dragged him out. She got behind the tree and pressed her back against the truck. The bark agitated the skin. She fired a few rounds back at the shooter. He retreated. Angela unzipped Frank’s coat, pulled out the flask from his inner pocket, and splashed him with it. Frank’s eyes shot open. He grabbed Angela’s neck and slammed her to the ground.
“It’s me,” Angela said breathlessly.
After a moment, Frank’s intense expression turned to horror and he quickly let go. He rubbed the hand that had choked her. A look of utter confusion painted his face.
“No time to explain,” Angela said. “We need to move.”
She slung his arm around her shoulder and helped move him through the wintery woods. Behind her, Angela saw the shooter descend the hill. She kept Frank close to her as she moved in the opposite direction into the woods. The killer followed and shot at them. Angela fired back. The killer didn’t even flinch. Angela quickened her pace, but was only concerned with getting to shelter. The cold was biting. Angela and Frank hobbled. The trees seemed to blur by. She looked to her right and saw the shadowy figure that seemed to be following. She glared at him, hoping it would leave. She thought this was a normal occurrence, with the shadow, but then it raised its rifle and let loose a shot.
A dart hit Angela in the upper arm.
She fired her pistol and changed course. The world began to spin in circles. The sky started to turn black and then blurry. Angela could feel her legs going weak on her hips. A root grabbed her ankle. She tripped. Snow puffed around her. She started to crawl and tore the dart from her arm. When did the shooter get a dart gun? She didn’t have time to answer.
She yelled at Frank. “You need to start pulling your weight or I’m going to leave you!”
Angela wasn’t sure if she meant those words or not, but she didn’t have to learn the truth because Frank got new vigor. That was a bit of an overstatement. He pushed himself and in turn, both the investigators were able to speed up the pace.
Angela’s head spun. She heard children laughing and turned about the woods. No one. Suddenly, she was her seven-year-old self again. She was running through the woods. It was the night of the murders. The sky was dark. The snow was heavy. The wind screamed. Her fingers and toes were numb. Her nose and cheeks were glowing in the cold. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying. The corners of her mouth were sore from the rope. Her wrists were bound. Her ankles were locked together. She ran fast and far from the men in masks. They chased her. Angela looked back at them and slammed into a tree. She felt dizzy and saw stars. The corners of her vision darkened. The cold worked its way through her clothes. She realized that she wasn’t wearing the same sweater she had on before. It dawned on her she had no clue where she was going or what she was doing. One of the strangers snatched her up. Her little legs kicked madly, slamming the person in the stomach. It was a good fight, but the seven-year-old stood as much chance as a bug to a semi-truck. They pulled Angela away from the woods. Away from freedom. They weren’t finished with her yet.
Angela blinked and was back in the present day. She’d run farther than she realized. Around her was nothing but trees and snow. Her vision was obscured by white mist. Frank was dry heaving, having run out of air. Angela was also parched. She tried to think happy thoughts but could not. There were two killers chasing after them, and she was wasted on whatever was in that dart. Around her, she saw more black-masked figures approaching. They all had crude weapons and curved blades. Out from the eye holes of their masks, blood dripped. Angela realized that they didn’t have eyes. They had red gashes deep into their skulls.
Angela screamed. Frank didn’t. He must not have seen them. These were the demons of her past, not his. He helped her move forward. Up ahead, they started to cross a little frozen creek. Angela slipped on a wet stone and began to get taken downstream. Frank ran after her. Angela managed to catch herself on some felled sticks. Her back soaked and her body shivering uncontrollably, she pulled herself up. Frank helped get her out of the frozen water. The wind kicked up the snow around them in a blizzard. Frank’s beard and brows collected snow. Angela had lost her beanie at some point and the tops of her ears were in pain from the cold.
They anchored to each other to get through the storm. Angela saw that the snow was falling at insane speeds. She wondered if this was a figment of her imagination due to the dart.
“There!” Frank yelled over the blizzard. He pointed his gloved figures to a small house in the distance.
A cabin.
Angela headed that way. It was her one hope. She kept moving forward. The snow piled against her, starting to bury her. They hiked upward, fighting against strong wind. It was like Mother Nature was trying to push them back. Angela wasn’t going to allow that. She wasn’t going to die here in this cold. Not like this. She pushed ahead of Frank and shambled toward the front door of the lightless cabin. It was compact and made of wood. Angela turned the doorknob. It was locked. Angela pulled out her auto lock picker and attempted to get the door open. Frank watched her back. His teeth chattered. After a few moments, Angela got her door open and stumbled inside. Frank followed. Snow spilled into the cabin like ghostly mist. Frank slammed the door shut and locked it. She started around the living room of the small hunter’s shack. It had one bedroom, a pantry, and a living room that connected to the kitchen.
Angela pulled out her phone. No service. Same for Frank. Wonderful. They tried the lights. The switch didn’t work.
“At least we’re out of the cold,” Frank said to himself. Angela sniffled. She checked her pistol clip. She had two shots left. She checked her pocket for her spare magazine. It wasn’t there. Eyes wide, she patted herself down frantically. She pulled out her wallet and keys, but her spare magazine was not there. She ran her hand up through her hair, then put her keys and wallet back into her pocket.
Suddenly, she fell into the kitchen table.
“You okay?” Frank asked.
Angela nodded. She straightened out her posture and brushed off Frank’s attempts to help. She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds. She opened them, seeing the world slightly tilted. Whatever they had injected her with was strong. She imagined that if it hit her neck, she would’ve passed out on the spot. Thankfully, that was not the case. Frank looked out the window, watching for any intruders. Angela took off her wet gloves and rubbed her hands together. She cupped them into a ball and blew into them to warm them up.
She walked to the window at the back wall and saw a figure standing out in the woods. He held a rifle and aimed it at Angela.
Chapter Eight
Siege
The mask was onyx black, just how she remembered as a child. The circumstances paralleled one another. Once again, she was in a small cabin in the woods, and there was a stranger outside. Twenty-eight years ago, she had the fire of the house to keep her warm and her parents’ company to comfort her. This night, the cabin was dark and dead. The figure was armed. And the wind was biting.
As the figure took aim, Angela’s memory awoke.
Her seven-year-old self picked up the puzzle piece from the floor and stood up, looking out the window bordered by frost. The shadowy figure stood in the front lawn. Its features were lost in the darkness, but its shape was distinctly human.
“You found it,” Thomas said with relief.
Angela turned back to her father. He stood behind the couch. His hair was slightly disheveled from his frantic search to find the missing piece. He smiled at Kelly, who was scrat
ching Lazlo behind the ear. “She found it, darling.”
“Wonderful,” Kelly said, clearly more happy that he was happy, but totally indifferent to the completion of the puzzle.
Thomas moseyed back over to the coffee table and plopped down next to his wife. He squeezed her hand and looked at her with his dreamy eyes. “What do you say we finish this as a family?”
Kelly looked him up and down. “It’s a puzzle, Tom. It’s not that dramatic.”
“What’s wrong with a little showmanship,” Thomas teased and leaned in for a kiss.
“You’ve been spending too much time at those book readings,” Kelly replied with a wicked smile.
As soon as their lips touched, Angela interrupted.
“There’s a man outside,” she said with her shy seven-year-old voice.
Kelly crinkled her brow and turned to Thomas. He cracked a smile. “Perhaps we got our first caroler.”
“Christmas was three days ago,” Kelly reminded him, though Angela suspected Thomas already knew that.
Grunting, Thomas got to his feet. He headed to the window. Angela scooted over, allowing him to look outside. Golden light spilled from their house and cast a faint glow over the snow-dressed yard. White powder hung on the 1970 Dodge Charger parked in the snaking gravel driveway. There was no one out there. Thomas hmm-ed. He opened his mouth to speak when they heard the knock on the door.
Kelly’s shoulders became tense. She held Lazlo close. Thomas headed for the door. The air seemed to leave the room as Thomas twisted the lock and cracked the door an inch.
Slam!
The door flung open, smacking Thomas in the nose. He staggered back, blood spilling out of his nose, as a masked figure hustled inside. It was a woman, Kelly realized. She held a beautifully-crafted rifle against her shoulder. Her clothes were as black as night. Her plastic mask was molded from a human face. Kelly could see her satin grey eyes beneath the mask. A second masked figure moved inside, a tall male, with the same attire and matching rifle. He shut the door with his boot and they fanned out, flashing the barrel between Kelly and Angela. Thomas stood away from the female gunner and held his hand over his bleeding nose. Red streaks leaked between his fingers. “What’s going on here?” Thomas demanded.
Secret Memories Page 10