by Jen Talty
She groaned, feeling her skin tear.
Wendell took his wife by the hair.
“Get your fucking hands off her.” Brooke lunged, forcing her way between Wendell and Michelle. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a man.”
Wendell raised his other hand and Brooke flung her arms in the air to protect her face, but he managed to backhand her right check. Her eyes blurred and the pain shot through her eyeball, sending a shock to her brain.
“You could never just mind your own fucking business.” He still held Michelle by her hair.
Brooke held her cheek as she glanced up at Wendell. A small trickle of blood oozed from his right nostril.
“Let her go.” Her resolve faltered. No telling what a man strung out on cocaine might do, especially when that man was Wendell Ramsworth. “You won’t get away with hurting her and how will you explain hitting me, because I’m sure as shit not going to let this assault get wiped under a rug.”
Wendell laughed, but it sounded more like a rabid dog. “I was never here. Isn’t that right Michelle?”
She nodded with wide eyes. “It’s going to be your word against mine.” He released Michelle, before kneeling. “Those pictures, which by the way I’ve enjoyed looking at for years. I will say you have a very sexy body—”
“She’s your cousin,” Michelle said softly.
“Not by blood.” Wendell sniffed a few times as more blood leaked from his nose. “My father was adopted.”
“That’s disgusting.” Michelle covered her mouth.
Brooke’s heart broke. All this time she’d been holding a grudge, Michelle had been a prisoner, trapped in a violent relationship.
“Shut up and go to the car,” Wendell yelled, glancing over his shoulder.
Brooke looked around, eyeing her cell phone under the kitchen table. Quickly she reached for it. A crushing pain ricocheted from her fingers to her shoulder as Wendell’s fist came down hard on her hand. The crackle of bones snapping, sent a cold shiver across her body.
She screamed as he yanked her to a standing position. She tried fisting her right hand to punch him, groaned when her fingers didn’t bend properly.
Fisting her hair, he yanked her head and leaned in. His breath smelled of whiskey. “I was never here and you’ll never be able to prove I was.” He smiled wide.
“You’re fingerprints are all over the place.”
He frowned. “Guess I’ll have to wipe them down.” He yanked harder. “And make you disappear.” He slammed her head against the wall.
Her temple burned on impact. Her vision blurred as her legs went weak. Nausea engulfed her. She blinked a few times, her hands gripping his wrists, trying to take the pressure of her scalp. Her mind fractured as her thoughts raced between how to get out of this predicament and what he meant by ‘make you disappear’.
The intense throbbing boomeranged between her ears as he twisted her hair tighter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow.
Tristan?
Then the world went black…
***
Tristan rubbed his throbbing temples as he sat at a light on the way home. The pain had come on suddenly about an hour ago. It had dulled since, but hadn’t gone completely away. He checked his phone again and still nothing from Brooke.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong
He couldn’t put a finger on it, but deep in the pit of his gut, he knew she was in some kind of trouble. A pang of anger swelled in his gut. Not his anger. Hers. Mixed with sorrow and the crushing pain in his head.
Where are you, Brooke?
As soon as the light turned green, he gunned the vehicle, making the turn tight, and raced up Cleverdale. He slowed as he drove past her house, her car nowhere to be found. He wanted to let out a sigh of relief when he saw her convertible parked under his carport, but something didn’t feel right.
And he barely felt her.
Stepping from his vehicle, he secured his weapon. He noted his neighbors in the big house were pulling their boat into the boat house. The modular homes on the other side appeared to be empty and no cars in the driveway.
“Brooke?” He twisted the handle to his front door. It hadn’t been locked. “Brooke,” he yelled. The door hit something on the floor. He looked down to see a frying pan. “Where are you babe?” He retrieved his weapon, carefully stepping over the pan and other debris that seemed to have been knocked off the table. Next to one piece of paper, their appeared to be some blood. He peeked his head into the bathroom.
Nothing.
“Brooke?” he called out once more as he made his way through the family room and checking each of his bedrooms. “Damn it,” he muttered. He pulled out his phone and called Jared, making his way back to the front door and out into the yard without touching anything.
“Jared Blake here.”
“Brooke’s missing and my house looks like foul play could be involved.”
“Be there in five minutes.”
Tristan quickly tried Brooke again.
Straight to voice mail.
He sent a text to Stacey, asking her to check in with Jillian, hoping they’d gone out to talk, except why would Jillian drive all the way here to go back toward the village?
For the next few minutes, he thought of all the places she could have gone on foot. If she’d walked to the corner store, he would have seen her. She wouldn’t have gone to the Mason Jug alone. That left the Ramsworth’s and he didn’t have their number.
Jared parked his truck at the end of the driveway. Still in uniform, he waltzed down the pavement. “Why do you think something happened?”
“My door was unlocked, crap on the floor, possible blood, her car is here.”
“Did you call it in?”
Tristan shook his head. “I’ve been trying to reach her and thought it might be prudent to wait for you to check things out.”
“The new kid is on till midnight. I’ll have him come out. Rather us control this if anything has gone wrong.”
“The one place I haven’t check yet is Ramsworth Manor.”
“I thought we agreed she wouldn’t contact the old man and let Jillian take care of everything.” Jared scratched the back of his head.
“We did and I doubt she went there on her own. If she did, it was because something happened or Michelle asked her to, but she would have texted or called me.”
Jared turned his back, phone to his ear.
Tristan paced. His heart raced wild and the dull head-ache turned to a stick of dynamite that exploded, coupled with an overwhelming sense of confusion.
“Get in my truck,” Jared yelled as he jogged down the driveway.
Tristan raced behind him. “What’s going on?”
“Michelle is at the Sherriff’s office. It would appear Wendell hit her and she’s saying he’s got Brooke and that he’s high as a kite on coke.”
Tristan jumped into passenger seat, slamming the door just as Jared peeled out. “What else do you know?”
“An APB was put out on Wendell and Brooke with the vehicle information Michelle gave the police five minutes ago.” Jared tossed his cell in the drink holder. “She thinks they are headed north on route 9. Possibly Lake Placid.”
“Why there?”
“They have a condo there, I guess. We’ll stop by the sheriff’s department, talk with Michelle and go from there. Do you have her find my iPhone activated?”
“Not connected to my phone.” Tristan sent Brooke another text.
“You really should. All of ours are connected. I really only did it so I know where the kids are.”
“Caitlyn is going to hate you when she starts dating.”
“She’s not allowed to date. Ever.”
The rest of the ride to the local sheriff’s office had been done in silence. No matter what Tristan did, he couldn’t calm his pulse, something he normally had some control over when adrenaline took over.
“I need to talk to Michelle,” Tristan said he stepped into
the station.
“She’s in an office and it’s already been arranged.” Jared waved to a female officer who nodded, waiving back. “Follow her.”
Tristan showed his badge, and followed the young female officer around a couple of corners before she pushed opened a door to a small interviewing room, not to be mistaken for an interrogation room.
She turned her head, showing off a bruised cheek, her eyes puffy and swollen. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He clenched his hands, wanting to put them through the window. “It’s not your fault.” He pulled up a chair and sat across from the broken woman. “Did your husband do this to you?” He raised his hand, but she flinched, so he dropped it to his lap. “Does he hit you often.”
“He didn’t hit me for a long time until she came back in town and things went crazy.”
“It’s not her fault either.”
Michelle nodded. “But it’s easy for me to blame her. Otherwise, it means I allowed this to happen.”
“You’re a victim,” Tristan said. He’d seen his share of battered women’s cases and most were gas lighted into believing everything was their fault. A difficult cycle to break. “We can protect you from him.”
“Now that I’m carrying his child, I won’t be free of any of them.” She blinked a few times, staring into his eyes. “I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s always been a partier, but never this out of control. When I got pregnant, he promised he’d clean up his act. And he did. Until a couple of weeks ago.”
“Are you sure he’s only been using for the last few weeks?”
She shook her head.
“Why do you think he’s headed to Lake Placid?”
Michelle gasped, covering her mouth. “He didn’t think anyone would go looking for her there.”
Tristan’s lungs burned as he tried to suck in oxygen.
“He said he could make her disappear there.”
“Thanks for your help.” Tristan patted her leg, doing his best to remain calm, even when all he wanted was to race out of the room, not letting himself care one bit about this young woman who had the unfortunate fate of falling for a narcissistic asshole. “Don’t go home to Ramsworth Manor. Let the police help you and your baby start over. You’re better than they are and I think it’s important you know and accept that.” He tugged a tissue from the box on the windowsill and handed it to her, along with his card. “You can call me anytime if you need help with anything.”
Her hands shook as she took both the tissue and the card, looking up at him. “Just save Brooke and tell her I’m sorry. I should have listened to her.”
Tristan nodded, before heading out the door just as Jared rounded the corner.
“He’s been spotted and we’ve got a tail on him.”
“Give me your keys?” Tristan held his hand out.
Jared slapped him on the back. “I’ll drive because you’re not doing this on your own.”
***
Brooke watched in horror as Wendell took a small vile from the center console and snorted more cocaine. That had been twice in the last hour. “I should drive,” she said, holding up her bound hands. “You’re going to get us in an accident.”
“Relax. I’m doing forty-five in a forty-five zone and no one is around.” He spoke fast and he constantly fidgeted in his seat. “Besides, you’re not going to make it out alive.”
“You’re talking crazy shit.” She swallowed. “You’re not going to kill me.”
He laughed. “You have done nothing but fuck with my life and if you think for one minute I’m going to allow you to waltz in and take what is rightfully mine because my grandfather couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Looks like you take after him, considering you haven’t been faithful to Michelle.”
His hand crashed into the side of her face, hitting her already bruised cheek. “You have no idea what the fuck you are talking about.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
He glanced in her direction with a sinister smile. “Did you know Tristan’s family has a place in Lake Placid? A nice little, well actually, big cottage. Imagine if you were found dead there? And after I’m done making him out to be an out of control police officer with a thirst for violence, everyone will think he murdered you.”
“That makes no sense.” She stared out the window, palming her cheek. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains, only a faint glow shined above the tree lines. The blue sky slowly turned dark, stars began to form in the sky.
“Well, lucky for you it doesn’t matter. You’ll be dead.”
“Where’s Michelle?” Brooke had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but she suspected maybe an hour or so based on the darkness of the sky. The piercing pain in her head had become a dull thud, but her vision still blurred.
“At home,” Wendell said, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “And don’t go getting your hopes up that she’s going to mention anything to anyone about what happened. She’s my wife. Loyal to me.”
Brooke looked at the door, wondering what would happen if she pushed it open, letting herself roll out to the pavement. Visions of her head being squished like a bug, splattering her brains all over the road forced that idea right out of the realm of possibility.
“You’re not a killer,” Brooke said. “We can work this out and I can make sure nothing happens to you.”
“You can’t promise that.” He laughed. “And who says I’m going to actually be the one killing you.” He tapped the side of his head. “I’m a smart guy, so trust me when I say, my hands will be washed of you, free and clear.”
She shivered. The sky darkened as the car’s headlights beat through the low fog. If her calculations were correct, it was near nine at night, which meant they had to be close to Lake Placid, if that was indeed where he was taking her.
He turned a corner down a narrow road with a few log cabins. The lights flashed across a body of water. “Welcome to the Reid residence.”
“Do you plan on breaking in?”
“Something like that.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs. She sat very still in the front seat, watching Wendell waltz around the front of the car. He pulled opened the door, and yanked her out by her arm. “You don’t want to do this. Think about your baby. How can you be a good father if you’re behind bars?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.” He dragged her down the long windy driveway, past five houses until he stopped in front of a massive log cabin overlooking the lake.
A shadow immerged from the porch. “It’s unlocked,” a deep dark voice said as the silhouette moved down the steps.
Wendell handed the man an envelope, then guided her up the stairs.
She wanted to scream, but thought that might cause a chain reaction that would actually land her dead.
Two scenarios raced through her brain. Either Wendell had really fallen off his rocker and planned on murdering her, in which case, if she played her cards right, she might survive. But if he managed to hire some kind of hit man in the last hour…well, that could be a different story.
Either way, she had to buy some time.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“Not sure that will be possible.”
The wood creaked from their combined weight. She stumbled on the last step. The wind kicked up, sending moist, humid air across her skin. The sky darkened, as clouds covered the stars that normally light up the night sky. A clap of thunder rumbled in the background.
The front door clicked open and he shoved her inside.
“I can’t see,” she whispered.
A few seconds later, a small light glimmered.
Wendell pulled her into what appeared to be a family room. He pushed her onto the sofa.
“What now?” She breathed deeply through her nose, letting it out in a slow exhale through her mouth.
“We wait for the man who will be terminati
ng you, making sure that Tristan is blamed, securing that both of you will get the fuck out of my way.”
She swallowed a gasp. Even the sounds of crickets on a cool summer eve’s couldn’t calm her nerves.
Another roll of thunder as the night sky lit up with a few bolts of lightning. A tap at the door made her jump.
“Do you have the money?” a dark voice asked. It wasn’t the same voice as the man who let them into the house.
“I do,” Wendell said. “But how do I know you’re going to go through with it and not just run off with my money?”
“You don’t,” the man said. His tall shadow hovering over Wendell. “Give me the money, leave, and never look back.”
Brooke tried to swallow, but her dry throat made it impossible. She blinked, hoping she’d wake from this bad dream because no way could this be real. This shit happened in movies, not to her. She nearly laughed at the absurd thought.
Wendell handed the man something, then walked out the front door, slamming it shut.
“Hello there little lady. Ready to get this party started?”
***
Tristan eased from Jared’s truck, quietly closing the car door, eyeing two unmarked cars parked at the top of the street, still a good three quarters of a mile from his parent’s cottage.
He followed Jared toward the closest car, noticing a SWAT van further down the road. He swallowed his shock. SWAT didn’t come out for a ‘possible’ abduction.
An officer from the Lake Placid Police Department greeted them. “Which one of you is Tristan?”
“That’s me.” Tristan held up his badge.
“I’m detective Holster. Everyone calls me Holes.” The officer offered his hand. “We’ve got three people inside your house.”
“Three?” Jared questioned.
Holes nodded.
“Why is SWAT here?” Tristan asked.
“We got a tip that Richie Rayburn was in the area,” Holes said.
“He’s suspected of being involved in a murder in Lake George,” Jared added, scratching the back of his neck.
“He’s a person of interest in at least a half a dozen murders in two states. Hired hit man for the rich. That’s what the FBI calls him.” Holes waved over another man.