by Sarah Wynde
Natalya’s eyes opened to the sight of Thompson staring down at her. The moonlight cast terrifying shadows across his face but she could still see the tragic figure behind them.
“The lake,” Travis suggested. “You need to take her to the lake.”
Natalya swallowed, her throat feeling bruised and sore. What the hell was Travis doing? She supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t run away. She could be dead by now if he hadn’t intervened. She hadn’t expected Thompson to move so quickly, so aggressively. But still—drowning? The lake?
“Yes,” Thompson agreed again.
He grabbed Natalya’s upper arm and began pulling her toward the stairs, his fingers digging into her so hard she could almost feel the bruises forming underneath them. She stumbled after him, not resisting, confused and unsure. Thompson was too strong. She couldn’t fight him, not directly. She needed to get away. They needed to get help. Her mind raced in circles, unable to come up with a coherent plan.
Travis hadn’t run. He was right behind them, following so closely that his presence felt threatening. He wasn’t going to help Thompson drown her, was he? They hadn’t exactly hit it off, but Natalya had stopped thinking he was dangerous the moment he let his little adopted sister wave him off her porch. Was she wrong?
Natalya felt a bubble of hysteria rising. She let out a shaky, gasping breath, searching for the calming, cleansing breath she used to use when a three-car pile-up hit the emergency room on a Friday night, but not succeeding.
As they reached the stairs and Thompson started down, Travis grabbed her free hand and squeezed hard, not letting go. Natalya glanced at him. He jerked his chin down, before slipping by her, against the wall. Three steps down, four, and then Travis kicked the older man—hard—in the back of the knee.
Thompson stumbled, letting out a grunt of surprise, and his grip relaxed, but Travis hadn’t waited. He bolted up the stairs, not letting go of Natalya’s hand. For a moment, Natalya was caught between them, one arm yanked backward, the other pulled forward, Thompson two steps below her, Travis above. With a grimace and gritted teeth, she raised her foot and kicked Thompson in the kidneys.
It wasn’t the hardest kick, but it didn’t have to be. Thompson let go and reeled forward, falling down onto the landing a few steps below him. Natalya let Travis pull her away, following him as he ran through the open room to an archway in the wall on the other side, around a corner and through a door.
As soon as she was inside, he slammed the door shut behind them. She could hear him fumbling with the lock.
Natalya bent over, putting her hands on her knees, feeling as if she wanted to throw up. She’d never hit anyone before, much less kicked someone in the back.
Travis leaned against the door, breathing hard. “Shit, lady, you’re crazy, you know that?”
Natalya felt a strange urge to laugh. She straightened. “You could have run.”
“As if,” he muttered.
“Drowning?”
“It was the only thing I could think of. He was gonna kill ya.”
“Thanks for saving me.” Natalya looked toward the window. This room faced the front of the house, away from the water. The bright moonlight cast only a dim glow, leaving the room shadowed, mysterious.
“Ya ain’t saved yet.” Travis sounded grim.
“Are we trapped?”
The doorknob rattled. Travis shook his head and pointed toward the corner of the room, as Thompson began pounding on the door. The door shook in its frame, but the lock held.
Natalya followed the direction of Travis’s pointing finger but didn’t see a door. She took a few steps closer before spotting the metal railing marking a hole in the floor. A spiral staircase led down into blackness.
“We have to get help,” she told Travis. “How close is the nearest house?”
He shrugged. “No idea. You and Mac, you should get to the canoe. Paddle outta here.”
Natalya wasn’t about to leave the boys alone with a man in the midst of a psychotic breakdown. Who knew what delusions would attack him next? She shook her head. “Not likely.”
Travis was leaning against the door, pushing back against the wood as it shook with Thompson’s battering. “He wants to kill you. You got that, right?”
Thompson banged on the door, rhythmic thuds that sounded like a heartbeat.
“I know.” Natalya swallowed. For a brief moment, she reached for knowledge she didn’t have. But her foresight stayed stubbornly silent. “But he could also kill any of you. He’s having a psychotic break. He’s not responsible for what he does.”
Travis snorted. “Ain’t gonna care too much about that if he murders me.” The words sounded full of bravado and in the darkness, Natalya couldn’t see his face. But she suspected grief and fear lay under the teenage machismo.
“Come to that, me neither,” she said, but her words were drowned out as Thompson roared with frustration, his pounding growing louder, harder. She waved at Travis to indicate they should go down the stairs, but he shook his head.
“Find Mac and get outta here. I’ll hold the door for as long as I can.”
“I’m not leaving all of you here with him.” Natalya took a deep breath and said, in a steadier voice, “We need to get help. And fast. What’s the best way?”
“The canoe,” Travis answered promptly. “It’s a long way by road, but we go fast across the lake so as not to get spotted by the house on the west shore. There’s folks living there.”
“Good. Take the canoe and go,” Natalya ordered.
“You and Mac should take it,” Travis insisted.
“You saw me paddling that canoe,” Natalya snapped at him. “We don’t have time for that. We need help fast and you’re the only one who knows where to go and how to get there.”
For a heartbeat, Travis paused in indecision. “Should I look for Mac?”
Natalya pressed her lips together, wishing desperately for better options, then shook her head and said, with an authority she did not feel, “We don’t know where she is and every second counts. You don’t have time to find her and you’ll move faster without her weight. Just go. Quickly.”
Travis scowled, before grunting in reluctant acknowledgement. “Yeah, okay. Be careful.” Pushing away from the door, he headed for the stairs, passing by her and starting down them without hesitation.
Natalya followed more carefully. It was dark. Seriously, thoroughly dark. Partway down the spiral, hand clenched tight on the metal railing, she paused. She’d heard a sound under Thompson’s pounds, a different sound. It took her a second to place it, but when she did, her breath stopped. It was the creak of wood giving way. The door frame must be bending under the force of his weight being thrown against it.
“He’s going to break down the door,” she warned Travis.
“You gotta find the kids,” he answered out of the darkness. “I’ll go as fast as I can. Don’t let him catch you.”
How the hell was she going to manage that?
She could hear Travis moving away. A door opened, creating a patch of lighter shadow against the dark and she saw his silhouette for a moment before he disappeared through it.
She hurried the rest of the way down the stairs, hand sweaty on the railing. At the bottom, she paused. Travis hadn’t stumbled or hesitated, so the room must be empty, but she stretched out her hands in front of her as she made her way to the door. As she got closer to the rectangle of light, she realized the walls were lined with shelves. The room must have been meant as a library or office. Perhaps the room they’d been in upstairs was the master bedroom.
In the hallway, she closed the door behind her. It would take Thompson longer to find his way out without the light. It might give her an extra minute or two.
Where would the children have hidden?
Natalya’s cheek ached and her throat felt sore and bruised. The adrenaline had drowned out the pain for a few short minutes, but it was back with a vengeance. And she was cold, bitterly cold, her fingers
and toes numb and stiff, despite the fear making her heart race.
The hallway extended to the right, toward the front of the house, and to the left, around a corner. The main staircase ought to be toward the left, she thought, so she started in that direction, moving as quickly as she dared in the dark.
She passed a door and opened it, sticking her head inside. “Kenzi? Jamie?” She kept her voice quiet, not wanting Thompson to follow its sound. No one answered. If she locked the door, would Thompson delay to try to break it down? She felt for the lock, trying to discover if it was the kind she could turn before pulling the door closed or whether she’d have to be inside the room to lock it.
The silence was eerie. All she could hear was the sound of her own harsh breathing. It reminded her of being young, playing hide-and-seek in the dark with her siblings and friends, while their parents enjoyed dinner downstairs. Or Ghost in the Graveyard, outside, after dark, with all the neighborhood kids on spring evenings when the mosquitoes were biting and bats darted across the sky.
Except, she realized abruptly, the silence was because Thompson had stopped battering the upstairs door. He must have finally broken through it.
She was out of time.
She pulled the door closed, unlocked, and ran down the hallway, skidding around the corner, and raced down the next hallway to the main staircase. She passed door after door, knowing the kids might be hidden behind any of them. But she didn’t want to call out. If they were safely hidden, maybe she should let them stay hidden.
She had no idea how long it would take Travis to get help. An hour? More? The house was big, but it couldn’t possibly be so big they could all stay hidden indefinitely. And with five of them hiding, Thompson only needed to get lucky to catch one of them. This was a game of hide-and-seek they were destined to lose.
But what if they were playing Ghost in the Graveyard instead?
Not literally, not with the children chasing Thompson, but the outside world offered more scope for getting away. He wouldn’t be able to corner her, speed would count as much as size, and in the dark night, hiding could even be a matter of standing still in the shadows. Once upon a time, she’d hidden from her brothers for a solid twenty minutes by standing pressed against the house in the corner by their garage.
Unless going outside was horror movie stupidity equivalent to splitting up.
Oh, wait. They had split up.
Natalya wished her brain would shut up as she reached the main staircase and headed down.
She’d get to his car. Smash the window if it was locked, honk the horn as loudly as she could. If she could force Thompson to come outside, maybe she could even lead him away from the house and the children. All she needed to do was distract him until help arrived.
At the bottom of the stairs, she paused, uncertain. She could leave the way they’d entered, but… snakes. And Thompson wanted to drown her. If he caught up with her next to that pool… she didn’t want to drown one way or another, but she definitely didn’t want to be fighting for her life in that slimy, murky water.
Decision made, she headed in the other direction. She’d find the front door.
Seconds later, she did. It was locked.
Deadbolted, with no key in sight.
She rested her hand against the wood of the door, trying to catch her breath and not to scream with frustration.
It was a big house. It must have a garage, with a door leading to the outside. Teeth gritted, she headed in the direction she thought the garage must be, ignoring the pain in her face and the cold surrounding her.
Despite her fear, she couldn’t help noticing the house was beautiful. She’d dismissed it as a McMansion from outside, but the interior was actually stunning. Not the fake glamour of a nouveau riche home, with marble and ostentatious chandeliers, but lovely hardwood floors, plain walls, lots of windows overlooking the lake. She passed through the kitchen and paused.
Had she heard something?
“Hello?” she said the word softly.
A door opened. One of the twins stuck his head out. “What’s happening?” he hissed.
She pointed at him. “Stay hidden,” she ordered. “Travis is getting help. Barricade the door if you can and don’t come out until the police come find you.”
He nodded and disappeared behind the closing door.
She took a deep breath. Was she making the right choices? She couldn’t help worrying as she hurried through the kitchen. Were the boys safer in hiding than they would be if they came outside with her?
She started through a sunroom and paused for a split second. This room would be incredible to paint in. All the windows, light from multiple directions, the view of the lake—and French doors, thank God. They were bolted, too, but with the type of bolt that could be opened without a key.
She crossed to the doors and slid the lock to the side. Opening the doors, she stepped outside. Surprisingly, it felt warmer, as if the exterior air were more temperate than the interior air. The sunroom led onto the patio that held the outside pool, so she stayed as far away from it as she could as she worked her way around to the door that led outside the enclosed space.
The moment she stepped onto the path leading around the house she realized her mistake. She wasn’t wearing shoes. The builders must not have finished the landscaping because the path was gravel, not paved and so was the driveway. Swearing under her breath, she winced her way to Thompson’s car.
It was an old four-door sedan and he hadn’t locked it. She pulled the driver’s side door open and leaned on the horn. The sound blared into the night, sounding as loud as a siren. She relaxed her push, then leaned on it again. And again. And again.
When should she run? When she saw him at the door or sooner? But even as she asked herself the question, it was too late. He stepped out of the darkness from the pool side of the house, so close.
Too close.
She yelped and jumped away from the car. Her foot landed hard on sharp gravel and her yelp turned into a cry of pain as the stones dug into her flesh.
Thompson’s voice was rich with sorrow as he said, “Satan’s minions oppose our heavenly Father’s plans. I did not ask for this burden, but I must bear it.”
Natalya scowled at him. “That’s bullshit.”
Thompson paused in his advance.
“God gave you free will and a set of commandments,” Natalya continued, her voice rising. “Thou shalt not kill. There’s no way around that one. It’s not optional. He didn’t put any outs in there, no wiggle room. Thou shalt not kill. Period. End of the law. You don’t get to say, well, he didn’t really mean that, this time it’s okay. No, it’s not okay.”
Thompson rubbed his hand across his face. He sounded confused as he muttered, “The devil quotes scripture.”
“Oh, I am not,” Natalya snapped. “I couldn’t even tell you what book the Ten Commandments are in.”
She ought to be afraid. She ought to be running for her life. But the feeling heating her veins was rage. Why hadn’t this man gotten help the moment his symptoms started getting out of control? Why hadn’t anyone noticed he was spiraling into insanity? Bipolar disorder was a treatable illness. A nice hefty dose of lithium and none of them would be here.
“Get away from her!” Travis’s voice was hoarse, ragged with misery.
Natalya looked beyond Thompson. Travis stood by the corner of the garage, both hands gripping the gun, its barrel pointed in their general direction.
“Travis, no,” Natalya shouted. And then she froze. Her foresight had kicked into action, exactly the way it used to. She knew everything that would happen in the next five seconds. But she had no way to stop it, no way to avoid it.
Thompson roared with rage as he turned toward the boy.
Travis pulled the trigger.
It felt like slow motion to Natalya. That gun—it was so ridiculously large. Where the hell had Travis found a gun so big?
The bullet tore through Thompson.
Through an
d through, in and out, the blood already staining his shirt, black in the night. Maybe hit a lung, thought the analytical part of Natalya’s brain. Passed right through, tissue only, no deflecting off any hard bones.
But the expression on his face—the wide eyes, the lips parting with shock—how could she have forgotten that? How could she have not remembered that sight? Why hadn’t it starred in her nightmares for years?
Her hands fluttered toward her chest. It was going to hurt. Oh, hell, it was going to hurt.
But she was already falling backward as the bullet broke through her skin, penetrated her tissue, lodged deep inside.
It was hot. Shockingly hot. The pain exploded inside her, agony running along her nerve endings. How had she thought her bruised cheek hurt? That was a sparkler compared to a mortar, a gentle rain to a hurricane.
She pressed her hand against her chest.
The blood, so sticky against her fingers. So warm. She could smell it, the metallic earthiness of it. Salt and sewage and death.
She turned her head. The gravel looked huge, gigantic jagged white rocks, like a surreal moonscape.
She let out a breath.
Oh, how it hurt.
Leaves on water.
Clouds in the sky.
But oh, it hurt.
She hurt.
Chapter Nineteen
“Got a shot fired on Elsinore Lake,” Colin radioed in, keeping his voice calm. He was driving slowly, searching for a driveway. It wasn’t marked on his GPS and there were no streetlights showing the turn, but it had to be close.
“10-4, Sheriff. You requesting backup?” Rudean sounded eager to send all units blazing to the rescue.
Colin didn’t respond immediately. He’d spotted the entrance, a gap in the trees opening into a long dirt and gravel driveway. Turning in, he coasted along the road, his overhead lights off, his siren silent. He didn’t want to alert the shooter to his presence before he had to.
The sound he’d heard might mean nothing. Guns were fired all the time around these parts. Not after midnight, usually, but a local homeowner might be scaring off raccoons messing with the garbage cans. Or the sound could have been a firecracker, set off by someone celebrating the New Year a little too early. While fireworks weren’t technically legal in Florida, giant loopholes in the law meant they’d be going off all over the county in about twenty-four hours.