The House Across The Street

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “Rachel,” I scream at the top of my lungs as I hop the fence.

  “Rachel,” everyone yells, following behind me.

  “I found a shoe,” someone bellows.

  We begin thrashing through the underbrush and waving our lights around. I want to find her right now, but there is no answer to the constant yelling of her name.

  “I found the other shoe,” another officer calls out several long moments later. “She went this way.”

  My gut twists into a knot, imagining Rachel going through this unforgiving terrain in bare feet and I worry more and more about her.

  “Over here,” someone hollers. “Blood … a trail of it.”

  My heart rate escalates, remembering Rachel said she was hurt. How hurt is she, goes over and over in my mind, and I pray she will be alright. “Rachel,” I choke out, fearing the worst.

  We follow the crimson trail, our lights bouncing all through the dark woods. An owl hoots overhead and something rustles in a nearby bush. Slipping on wet leaves, my heart crashes against my ribs, fearing Rachel may have also fallen and now her pursuer has captured her.

  “Rachel. Rachel. It’s me, Jackson. Baby call out to me,” I yell, trying to refocus my mind and find her.

  Continuing to work our way through the dense thicket and thorny mesquites my hope begins to fade, realizing we are deep into the thick black landscape. I can’t imagine how she made it this far on bare feet and without any light to guide her. My insides twist so tightly I can hardly breathe, imagining I won’t find her until the worst has already happened.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Rachel

  Mr. Dawson and David were upon me before I knew it. My erratic breath hitched in my throat and my hands were shaking uncontrollably. Backing away from them, I knew they had me cornered and trapped. There was no place for me to go and no place to hide. In the harsh beam of light trained on me, I took another step backward, blinking at them with frightened eyes. They smiled, seemingly getting a kick out of watching the intense fear spreading across my face.

  In a flash, Mr. Dawson pounced on me and yanked me to him. “We’re taking you back to your car, where you’ll be found dead inside. Now, let’s go.”

  Summoning forth my strength, I began kicking, biting, and twisting in his arms, doing whatever it would take to get loose from his tight grip.

  “This hellcat is proving to be quite the challenge. Whack her with the flashlight,” he instructed David. “Make sure you hit her forehead. We wouldn’t want any suspicious marks on her body.”

  “I know, I know,” David stressed. “It has to look like a car accident.”

  “How did you find me?” I couldn’t help asking because I thought I had made sure of not being followed.

  Mr. Dawson chuckled. “I placed a GPS monitor on your car. We’ve been following you all afternoon looking for the right spot for an accident. When we saw that deep ravine, all we had to do was wait for you, which took a damned long time,” he griped over my extended visit with Mr. Stewart.

  “Tough shit,” I snarled, kicking hard at him to get loose.

  “Dammit, David, knock the shit out of her. Make sure she’s good and dead.”

  Just as David moved closer and drew his arm back to whack me, I heard thrashing sounds coming through the woods.

  “Rachel. Rachel. It’s me, Jackson. Baby, call out to me.”

  Thank God, I thought.

  “Fuck,” Mr. Dawson cussed.

  “We can’t get her back to the car now. Dad, what are we going to do?” David asked in a concerned voice.

  “I’m trying to think,” Mr. Dawson snipped.

  “Jackson! Jackson! Over here,” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

  Mr. Dawson clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle me. Making good use of my teeth, I clamped down hard and bit him. “Ouch,” he yelped. “Damn you,” he griped. “David, don’t just stand there, help me hold her flapping mouth.”

  “Jackson, help me,” I got in before David could get his hands on me.

  “I’ve got her now,” Mr. Dawson said to David. “Use this knife and slit her throat. By the time they find her dead body, we’ll have escaped through the woods.”

  I heard the flick of the knife opening and then a cold metal edge was placed against my neck. Shaking all over, completely consumed in fear, I wondered if Jackson could get to me in time.

  Suddenly, from the top of the incline a light shone downward. Looking up, I saw Jackson. His muscles tightened and fear was frozen in his eyes when he saw the knife to my throat and Mr. Dawson’s hand clamped across my mouth, both he and David restraining me.

  From over the top of the ravine, several beams of light flooded the area as other officers appeared at the top edge. Jackson took on a determined look, mustering up the courage he needed. “This is the Fort Worth Police Department. Hold it right there,” I heard Jackson’s authoritative voice. “Drop the weapon and place your hands in the air.”

  “Shit, Dad, there are a lot of them,” David cried out, looking at the numerous guns pointed at his head. He immediately dropped to his knees, placed his hands in the air, and complied to be handcuffed.

  Mr. Dawson held the knife to my throat. “You come near her and I’ll slice her throat.”

  “You’re surrounded,” another officer shouted to him. “Let her go.”

  Mr. Dawson took a few steps backward, forcing me along with him. Unable to focus on where he was backing, he stumbled against a tree limb. The blade gouged into my skin and I felt a stream of blood trickling down my neck. Terror took over and my whole life flashed before me, assuming any moment my throat would be sliced, and I’d bleed to death.

  Realizing the terrain was too harsh to drag along a hostage, Mr. Dawson forcefully threw me to ground and tried to make a break for it.

  Instantly, several uniformed officers brought him, face-down, to the ground. With twigs in his hair, mud smushed against his cheek, and a leaf protruding from his mouth, he was placed in handcuffs, as was David. They were read their Miranda Rights and told they were under arrest for my attempted murder … at least for now. Later many more charges would inevitably be added.

  “Baby, are you alright?” Jackson asked in a strained voice, inspecting the gash on my head and the cut to my neck. “The ambulance is on its way,” he assured me, taking me into his arms.

  “I’m fine, Jackson, now that you’re here.” I leaned into his firm chest, feeling safe and secure, a feeling I never wanted to go away.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Jackson

  Tracking deeper into the blackened woods, I hear, “Jackson! Jackson! Over here.” My heart pumps with hope, hearing Rachel yelling at the top of her lungs.

  Running to the edge of a steep incline, I shine my light downward. When I see it is Jarrod Dawson and David Hutchins who have hurt my Rachel, my nostrils flare and my hands ball into fists wanting to kill them. Locking eyes on Rachel, I see that she is shaking all over, completely consumed in fear. Taking in the knife to her throat, my muscles tighten with a painful need to go to her. In those breath-stealing seconds a burst of fear races through my heart, fearing her life hangs within the balance of my best judgment.

  By now, other officers have caught up with me and several beams of light flood the area. Rachel needs me now. I take in a deep breath and summon my courage. “This is the Fort Worth Police Department. Hold it right there,” I say in my most authoritative voice. “Drop the weapon and place your hands in the air.”

  As soon as David sees how many officers have arrived, he freaks out and drops to his knees, placing his hands in the air. Dawson, using Rachel as a human shield, tries to back away but falters on a tree limb. In the process, he cuts the side of her neck. When I see blood, I want to kill him. Thankfully, he realizes Rachel is an albatross to his escape and he forcefully throws her to the ground and tries to make a break for it. In a flash, several uniformed officers quickly bring him to the ground. Immediately, I rush to Rachel and gather her in m
y arms.

  “Baby, are you alright?” I ask in a strained voice, inspecting the gash on her head and the cut to her neck. “The ambulance is on its way,” I assure her, holding her against me.

  “I’m fine, Jackson, now that you’re here,” she squeaks, leaning into me.

  Holding her in my arms, I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. Right now, I am thankful I rode with Rob because this means I can ride in the ambulance with Rachel to the hospital.

  Leaving Rob and the other officers in charge, I pile into the back of the unit, watching as Jarrod Dawson and David Hutchins are placed into the backseats of two patrol cars.

  “You’ll be fine,” I tell Rachel, getting a better look at her injuries.

  “I know,” she agrees confidently. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  I chuckle. “Thank you for staying alive long enough for me to save your life.”

  Holding her hand next to my chest, I look into Rachel’s big blue eyes and lean in to kiss her full lips. “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you too,” she boldly tells me.

  I smile at her battered face, cut from encountering the rugged terrain, and can’t imagine her looking more beautiful. Ever since meeting Rachel my life has changed immensely. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with her sticking her cold feet against me at night, expecting me to keep the toilet seat down, and yelling nonstop when I forget to take the trash out. I won’t mind accommodating her either. For her, appearance-wise, I will keep my hair cut, take daily showers, and even wear clean clothes. My solo life has been lonely far too long. With her, my married life will be wonderful. That’s right. I’m marrying her. I cannot wait to tie the knot. As she succumbs to a mild sedative and falls asleep, I know, with every fiber of my being, I love Rachel. I love her with all my heart.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Rachel

  My forehead only required a few stitches, my neck was fixed with a bandage, my ribs were going to be sore for a few days, and my battered feet would heal over time. But after a thorough examination, I was released from the hospital. Rob took us home, complaining the whole time that my Saturday night fiasco had caused him to have to reschedule his date with Brenna.

  He glared back at me from the driver’s seat. “You said I couldn’t be late. How is she going to take it that I’ve completely bailed on her?”

  “I think she loves me enough to give you a pass,” I assured him.

  “You’d better hope so,” he continued to gripe. “If she gives me any lip, I’m calling you on the phone.”

  I laughed. “You do that. I’ll get her straightened out.”

  In the end, Brenna had to come see for herself how I was doing. And before long, Catie and Bradley arrived too.

  Brenna and Catie were beside themselves at the drastic change in Jackson’s appearance, both dropping their mouths and uttering things like, “Jackson, you look incredibly nice,” and “Wow.” I gloated to Brenna, pointing out that a handsome man had shown up on my doorstep.

  Then their attention turned to me. “What on earth happened? Tell us everything from the beginning,” they each demanded. “And don’t leave anything out.”

  We ended up ordering a late-night pizza and while we ate, I told them of my harrowing experience. It was already late and as soon as everyone was assured that I was okay, they left me to get some rest.

  That night, when Jackson held me as we drifted off to sleep, my focus was on the wonderful man beside me who had saved my life today. With him, I felt cozy and warm and loved. And grateful to be alive. As we each succumbed to slumber, I looked forward to waking next to him for the rest of my life. I loved Jackson. I loved him with all my heart.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Jackson

  Rachel and I spend Sunday morning at church with Mrs. Jenkins, Mrs. Tuttle, Mrs. Foster, and Logan. Yeah, this is two Sundays in a row I’ve gone to church. My parents will be shocked. Heck, God is shocked.

  Once church is out, we visit a bit with Mrs. Foster and Logan. Logan now realizes he was being used by Jarrod Dawson and David Hutchins. Those two were hoping to point the finger at him since he was everyone’s handyman.

  “I can’t believe it,” he mutters half to himself, half to us.

  “I knew better than to trust that David character,” his grandmother hisses.

  “I’m sorry, Grammy,” he apologizes, patting her lightly on her arm. “I’m bringing you home and I’ll help you around the house.”

  “You’re such a good boy,” she praises, her eyes lighting up.

  Parting ways from them, Rachel and I spend the rest of the day delivering tax returns. As soon as she is back at her desk, she scans the forms and hits the enter button on her computer. “That’s it. I’ve e-filed all of the returns,” she joyously remarks. “If anyone comes in at this late date, I’m filing an extension.”

  “It is April 13th,” I point out. “Besides, you need a break,” I tell her.

  Late in the day, Detective Sutton drops by the house to tell me he has some news. I don’t like Mr. Handsome being here. Rachel has just decided to love me. I don’t need him confusing her. He starts out right away by addressing her.

  “Rachel, earlier today, we went to Richard’s penthouse to bring him in for questioning regarding his involvement in the insurance scam and the plan to murder you and Elena Johnson. When we confronted him with the picture Mrs. Tuttle took of him delivering an envelope to Jarrod Dawson, he backed away from us, refusing to go to the precinct. We tried hard to talk him down, but he said he couldn’t live behind bars. He wished he could go back in time and change things. Several times he professed his love for you and said he was sorry. And then … like I said Rachel, we couldn’t talk him down.”

  He looks at Rachel with his big brown alluring eyes and Rachel seems magnetized by them. He swallows, his handsome features drawn tightly together while he focuses on my woman. He sucks in a breath, then says, “I hate to be the bearer of this news … but Rachel, your husband threw himself off the balcony and … and he didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

  Well shit. I didn’t see that one coming. From the way Rachel portrayed him, it was hard to imagine someone who loved themselves as much as Richard did, would end their own life. On the other hand, I suppose if Richard had lost his profession as a heart surgeon, he thought his life wasn’t worth living.

  “Richard’s dead?” Rachel says in a choked voice. I reach to pat her hand before Sutton does. Understandably she is upset. While I realize she wasn’t still “in love” with Richard, she wouldn’t want him to end his own life. It’s hard to believe a wealthy heart surgeon, someone who had it all, was reduced to nothing. Richard’s decisions, made in the smallest moments of time, caused him to choose the wrong path and it has ended up costing him everything, including his own life.

  “I have other news too,” Detective Sutton continues after giving Rachel some time to gather her emotions. “David Hutchins rolled on his stepfather. In exchange for his testimony, he’ll receive a lighter prison sentence with the possibility of early parole. He told us they’d operated their insurance scam in Florida, Colorado, and California, before coming to Texas. According to him, most of the insurance policies were legitimate, but if his stepfather found a ‘mark,’ as he put it, then they went in and created a scenario where it appeared the person either died of natural causes or had a fatal accident. He said they’d alternated methods between overdosing people, slip-and-falls, smothering them to make it look like they died in their sleep, or setting it up to look like a car accident. When he met up with Logan Foster, he came up with the idea of using him as a fallback plan in case the police suspicioned the person didn’t die naturally or by accident.” He pauses for a breath. “As far as the insurance policies go, Dawson obtained a sample of the person’s handwriting. He usually did this by telling the soon-to-be-victim his company required him to turn in a document signed by the individual as proof to his boss that he had approached potential clients, but
they weren’t interested in a taking out any insurance. Later, with the sample writing, he drew up a policy naming someone likely to be the beneficiary and forged the policy holder’s name on all the paperwork. Hutchins said he kept the face amounts nominal, usually around $25K to $50K, so as not to draw attention from the insurance companies. For instance, in Levi Crandall’s fatal fall off the ladder – which was staged – the paperwork showed Levi Crandall took out a life insurance policy, signed by him, naming his wife as the beneficiary for the face value of twenty-five-thousand dollars. Dawson was fronting the premiums himself to get the policies in place. He’d set up several bank accounts, some in the Caymans.” After inhaling a breath of air, he went on. “Back to my example case, once Levi was murdered, he forged the paperwork to collect on the policy and had the proceeds directly wired into the bank account of his choice. From the wife’s point of view, she had no idea there was a policy in place, or that someone was collecting the benefits. From the insurance company’s viewpoint, it appeared the wife was collecting the proceeds by having the claim paid by wire transfer into a bank account.”

  “Was that what Richard had planned?” Rachel inquires.

  “Yes. Richard had dropped off sample writings from you and from the surgical nurse. According to David, with Richard’s pending lawsuit, they feared it would look suspicious if you were suddenly killed in a car accident. The plan was for Mr. Dawson to draw up the policy and name your parents as the beneficiaries and then Dawson was going to file the claim and collect from it himself. Likewise, Elena Johnson’s was set up to supposedly go to her parents, but with Richard collecting on her policy. That way, in the event Richard was investigated, there wouldn’t ever be a money trail between your misadventure and him.”

  “Unbelievable,” I mutter.