Texas Strange

by West, Terry M.

  She wanted to scream. Dreg had beaten her like an animal. Worse than an animal. She wished he had just killed her. At least it would be over that way. No more pain. No more fear.

  Her father’s words echoed in her head, reaching beyond the pain, the fear, the hopelessness.

  ‘Who’s going to save my poor Sassy?’

  She paused for a moment, and then she took up the slack of the chain and began to examine the wood it ran through. She couldn’t break the wood, but if she used the chain like a saw, rubbing it against the wood, maybe she could whittle it down to a vulnerable width. It would take hours, possibly the rest of the night.

  ‘Who’s going to save my poor Sassy?’

  She began to shift the chain, back and forth, and she kept it taut as it moved. She had just started, but she already smelled the wood smoldering from the friction.

  Death was a sure thing, now. Dreg could catch her doing this and he could give her more pain, but at least pain belonged to the living. He had hurt her. But she wouldn’t roll over and die. She wasn’t going to make it that easy for the bastard.

  ‘Who’s going to save my poor Sassy?’

  Tammy knew the answer.

  CHAPTER 41

  Dreg sat at the end of the cot, his eyes wandering the length of the decaying den aimlessly. He had no choice. His louve was as strong and untamed as he was. Tammy had to die. The thought of it actually made him sick, but he was a child of the moon. A servant of Le Loup. The hunt took precedence over all, even his own happiness. His solemn duty as traiteur demanded that he continue his line, but the voice told him to move soon and Tammy would never bend to him in the appropriate amount of time. He stretched back on the bed, dreaming of how it could have been. Sexual forays played in his mind. But also scenes of tenderness. Shared burdens and responsibilities. A healthy, plentiful pack for him to learn and lead. And that one special cub, clasping his left paw with its own, passing the magic to another generation. A life no longer alone.

  It was a life that would elude him for another season. Perhaps more. It was torture, what he had to do the next evening. He would kill the only woman to pull such strong feelings from him and he would burn her lifeless body as an offering to Le Loup. If this did not prove his loyalty to the hunter of hunters, he did not know what would.

  He contemplated the means of Tammy’s destruction. It would have to be quick and painless. Maybe a bullet in her head. Maybe a pillow over her slumbering face. Maybe he would just snap her neck. But no, he couldn’t bear to think about it any longer. It was too much for him.

  The grief in him strengthened the dread he had felt for two days. The voice told him to kill Tammy now and be gone, but Dreg could not will himself from the cot. No, he would do this up like a ceremony. Tammy would live this night.

  But tomorrow night, she would feed Le Loup.

  ***

  He had the nightmare again. The couchemal descending from the sky and rending him limb from limb. Dreg jarred awake, stifling the scream this time. He looked frantically around the den, reality asserting itself and the fear fading from him. He stretched back out on the cot, his body still shuddering, and he decided that he would not get any rest that night. It had taken him forever to drift off after his distress over Tammy. And now the couchemal was haunting him again, invading his sweet dreams of the hunt and turning them foul with its evil.

  This was not good. He had never dreamt of the couchemal so frequently before. Maybe once every other season, and until the last season, his dreams had only been vague glimpses of the couchemal. But now this reoccurring dream with the couchemal tearing him apart seemed to rule his slumber.

  He tried to think it away, as he usually did. He tried to scoff at it and he reminded himself that after his solemn duty the next evening that things would go back to the way they had always been for him. He would feed Tammy to Le Loup and then he would immediately move on to Arkansas where the new hunting ground would help him forget her and the remorse.

  He tried to convince himself that he was a crafty old wolf whose hunt was far from over. He pulled at every optimistic string he had.

  After tomorrow, he tried to assure himself. No more Tammy or bad feelin’ or dream of couchemal. Move on. Strong wolf got strong magic. Traiteur wit’ Le Loup above. Hunter of hunters. Keep couchemal away. Couchemal got no power. Dreg no fool or lâche. Can never hurt me. Nothin’ hurt Dreg. Dreg got the magic.

  But the fright still burned in him.

  CHAPTER 42

  Harlson sat at Lucas’ bedside. The hospital room was dark and cold. So damn cold. He wondered why hospitals were so cold. It felt more like a morgue in that room, he thought, staring at Lucas. The psychic lay like a dead man, his body so motionless and breath so shallow that Harlson would squint close at him, making sure that a spark of life still fueled the man’s heartbeat.

  Dr. Spencer had every wire imaginable attached to Lucas. He was being fed intravenously and his vital signs were being constantly monitored. Harlson stared hard at the scene before him. Lucas’ feeble body on the small bed. Tubes and wires coming out of his arms like extra appendages. Harlson would be in this position soon. Writhing in the starched white sheets. Cursing at the intolerable pain. Clasping Babb’s hand and begging God for an end to the torment.

  Shit, he thought, trying to shake the image.

  He rubbed his forehead and wished for just one painless moment. The cancer was really making its presence known. Once it had begun to progress, Harlson marveled that it traveled through him much like a brush fire. It moved quickly and it was consuming everything. It was closing in on him. He had thought that he could keep it controlled until his mission in life was complete, but now the agonizing reality was plaguing him almost constantly.

  He suddenly twisted in his chair, a wave of pain surging from his stomach to his chest, as if called into action by his thinking of it.

  “Lucas,” he muttered in a pain riddled rasp. “I’m trying to hang on, sport. I don’t have much time, so you have to open your eyes now. I can save your wife. I need to save your wife. It’s all I have left, so open your eyes. Come on, you bastard. Rise and shine. I can’t do it alone, man. For God’s sake, wake up.”

  Harlson gasped as an invisible hand seemed to dive into his abdomen and twist his stomach. He clutched himself and he fell to the floor. He began to pant, tears streaming down his face.

  Not now, he thought frantically, his body paralyzed from the pain.

  He was horrified at the prospect of cashing it in at that very moment. Memories began to play in his head. Lost loves. His parents. His sister, Babbs. He had thought his existence would be an easy one to shed, free of strings.

  There were too many burnt bridges behind him. Too many sins to be atoned for. So many people to make peace with. He couldn’t remember the last time he had told Babbs he loved her. Or treated any of the women he dated with the respect that they deserved (admittedly most were cop groupies). Or put flowers upon his grandmother Pearl's grave.

  And he hadn’t bagged the Keepsake Killer.

  “Dreg,” he muttered, hate issuing out of his lungs.

  He rose to his knees, his body trembling from the pain. He grasped the chair and he pulled himself into it. He forced himself to sit up straight, despite the urge to bend forward on the pain. No way, he thought, gritting his teeth and clutching the armchairs so tightly he thought he might rip them off. Not yet. I refuse to die now. He’ll wake up. I know he will. And when he does, he’ll give me the information I need. And this Keepsake Killer, this Dreg, will pay for what he’s done. And then I’ll die. And maybe I’ll go before I get a chance to tell the special people in my life how much I care, but I flat out fucking refuse to die while that son of a bitch maniac is still out there.

  The pain began to die down, but he had a deep feeling that the next time it had him in its clutches, it would keep twisting him until it had wrung the life out of him.

  “Come on, Lucas,” he appealed to the comatose man once more. “I
know you’re in there. So why not come out and play? You’ve got a life waiting out here for you. A woman who loves and needs you. She’s at his mercy. We’ve got to move soon. We don’t know how much time she has left. Please, open your eyes.”

  There was no response. Harlson settled back in his chair, sweating from his bout. He suddenly reached for the hospital phone. The detective had a pager for emergencies, but he had never owned a cell phone, and he figured it was a little late to start shopping for a plan now. He stretched his memory and found his sister's number. He called Babbs.

  He needed to say goodbye.

  CHAPTER 43

  Morning came. It was gray and menacing, thunderclouds sounding off in the angry sky. A sharp clap from the impending summer storm had shaken Tammy awake. She immediately checked her progress on the stud. There was a noticeable groove in the thick wood, but she was still inches from freedom. She had worked on it for hours until exhaustion had completely taken her. Her arms were so tired from the chore that she could barely lift them.

  I’m living on borrowed time, she thought, convinced that Dreg’s punishment the night before had only been an introduction for what was to come. You stupid girl. Why did you fall asleep?

  She still ached from last night's reprimand. Her face felt fat and swollen. But she didn’t have time to worry about her looks. She hauled the chain up and pulled against the board, leaning her weight back. There was an audible creak, but the board held fast. She began to manipulate the chain once more, her muscles burning from her previous labor. She heard the bolt on the door being moved.

  Oh, God, no, she thought, crawling into a corner as far from the door as she could.

  Dreg entered the shed, carrying a tray of bread and a mason jar of water. He approached her, his face expressionless and his eyes avoiding her. He placed the tray within her reach and then he sharply turned and left the shed, slamming the door behind him.

  He’s pissed, Tammy thought, more frightened by his inattention then she had been by his rage the night before. This is it. He’s going to kill me soon. When a psychopath doesn’t even rant and rave anymore, then he’s getting ready to lower the axe. Oh, God. Oh, sweet merciful God.

  Tammy urinated on the ground as far from the board as possible. When she was done, she moved back to her stake, working on it feverishly like a woman possessed. Her shoulders protested, quivering with pain. Rain began to patter the shed. At first, light pellets. Then a hard downpour fell on her prison. Thunder sounded, like a harbinger of tragedy.

  The symbolism wasn’t lost on her. She continued to carve at the wood, but a small part of her begged for rest.

  Just lie down and forget about it. He’ll just catch you again. What do you hope to gain?

  Tammy paused, reflecting on it.

  I want him to kill me while I’m standing on my feet, looking him in the eye, she concluded. I refuse to die like a cornered animal. No more cowering in shadow. I want this to end out there- outside. And I won’t beg and plead. I’ll fight. I’ll fight like I’ve never fought before.

  Thunder rang out again. Tammy went back to work.

  ***

  This is no good, Dreg thought. He sat in a straight back wooden chair on the porch of his den, watching the torrents of rain drown the woods. This was another bad sign. His duffle bag was packed and at his feet. He was ready to move. All he had to do was wait for nightfall, when Le Loup would be in observation, and offer his louve to the hunter of hunters.

  Then he would be free of this place and Tammy and the bad feelings he was having. He had very little wolf in him. The moon had diminished greatly since his recent hunt had began, and he hoped the storm would not ruin his ceremony that night. Le Loup had to see Dreg making his greatest sacrifice ever. The significance of it all would be useless, and he would have a greater burden to shoulder if his louve were not to become a part of Le Loup.

  The anxiety in him was as strong, and he had no more reassurance left. He never traveled in the daytime, when Le Loup wasn’t there to guide him. He would have to wait for darkness anyway. So let the voice in his head rattle on, as it had been. He was tired and too depressed to try and silence it.

  Something was going to happen that night. He felt it all the way down to his marrow. Something was going to happen and he was more man than wolf now. And though he could kill Tammy that instant and use the forest as camouflage until darkness, something kept him from doing that.

  An unseen force was heading at him. Be it the couchemal or the cowboy-men. And the old wolf was tired of scurrying away whenever his voice told him to. He would stand his ground. Leave on his terms this time. And then he would gorge himself on the livestock of Arkansas. He had weapons and the experience of several seasons. Many had tried to stop his sacred hunt. And many had fallen to him. Whatever would happen that night, he was prepared for it. He had a gift to bestow upon Le Loup.

  And no force on earth would stop him.

  CHAPTER 44

  Dawn.

  Lucas didn’t respond.

  Noon.

  Lucas still didn’t respond.

  Afternoon.

  No response.

  Harlson stared at his watch.

  Six pm. The summer nightfall was only a few hours away, but it was practically pitch black outside already. Harlson stood at the window of Luke's hospital room. The storm raged on, burying the day sky. The detective had been by Lucas for nearly twenty-four hours.

  Harlson had watched the weather forecast on a wall-anchored television set. There was a severe thunderstorm warning in effect. A tropical depression was brewing near Galveston and the powerful storms plaguing the area was the early indication of a hurricane.

  It’s a bad sign, he thought, watching as lightning lit up the darkness. The perfect ending to a perfect fucking day.

  “Uh- Harlson.”

  The voice was so slight that Harlson figured it was his own imagination teasing him. But when he turned around, Lucas Glover stared back at him, frantically pushing the tubes aside and trying to sit up.

  “Lucas,” Harlson said, rushing to the psychic’s bedside. “You came out of it. Son of a bitch. I knew you’d make it.”

  “We have to get to Tammy,” Luke said, still disorientated. His arms flailed around and he kicked his sheets away. He tried to climb out of the bed.

  “Easy, sport. Easy. Relax a minute. Here,” Harlson said, pouring a cup of water for Lucas from the pitcher on his night stand. “Drink this.”

  Luke gulped the liquid down and then he pushed the cup aside, his eyes a little clearer now.

  “We have to move,” he said still groggy,

  He tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

  “We aren’t moving anywhere,” Harlson replied. “You tell me what you know and I’ll be moving. I’ve almost gotten you killed twice now. The third time’s the charm and I don’t need your death on my conscience.”

  Luke grasped Harlson’s arm. “You have to take me with you,” he pleaded. “She’s my wife. Besides, the information I got was cloudy. I need to be in the car with you to figure it all out.”

  “Okay," Harlson relented, too desperate to argue anymore. "But you stay in the car. Shit, I must be crazy. I should be getting a doctor to check on you.”

  “There’s no time,” Luke argued. “I can take us to Dreg, but we have to move now.”

  “Where is he?” Harlson asked.

  “He’s on Interstate 45, that much I know. But there’s something to look for. Something that shields him.”

  “What?” Harlson said.

  “A red lantern,” Luke informed the detective. “He’s behind a red lantern." Lucas motioned to the needle in his arm and the monitor pads that were glued to chest. "Now help me get this stuff off. We have to hurry."

  CHAPTER 45

  Dreg had stepped into the shed only three times that day.

  He had shown up to serve breakfast, lunch and dinner.

  He had put the tray within Tammy's reach each time and the
n he had turned and left, his eyes down. Dreg had said nothing to her.

  He was going to kill her. The certainty of it was unquestionable to Tammy. She sat in the far corner of the shed, her arms too heavy to lift. She had made progress on the wood. She was halfway through. But the board was still strong and her strength had betrayed her. Tammy had given it a good race, but it was nearly over. And she was finally accepting it, praying for redemption to a God she had seldom ever called on. Options had run through her head earlier. Screaming at the top of her lungs, which she finally decided would bring death quicker. From the look of the woods, she was far from anyone who might hear her cries.

  She could humor him. She could proclaim to be his louve until she could find a way out. But the thought of him touching her. Fucking her. It wasn't an alternative.

  Dreg had haphazardly tacked the boards she had pried loose back up. If only she could get through that wooden plank with her chain. Tammy was sure that the slats she had brought down before would give easily. The screwdriver was gone- Dreg must have taken it- but Tammy was confident that she could work the boards loose again with her hands.

  But then, Dreg would give chase. And he would catch her. And he would beat her again.

  No, death was the only option left to Tammy. Her only escape. And compared to the other scenarios, it seemed her best. She had wept. Long and hard. Many hours. But now the tears were finished and her head felt light and she lost her thoughts in the patter of the falling rain.

  So she sat.

  Waiting.

  ***

  Dreg sat on the porch in the darkness. The rainfall was slacking. Soon, it would be calm enough for him to build a fire and commence with his ceremony.

  So he sat.