“It has to,” Laura heard herself say. “It’s our only hope.”
⸙
LAURA YANKED OPEN the door on the passenger side of the Jeep and helped Bit crawl into the front seat. “Don’t worry about the seat belt,” she said, slamming the door shut and hurrying around to the other side.
“What about Teddy and Anastasia?” Bit asked.
“Just hold on to them."
Confused, Bit asked, "Where are we going, Mom?"
Laura reached across and gave her daughter a reassuring hug. "Home," she said.
⸙
WHILE LAURA FUMBLED through her pockets for the keys, she kept expecting to look up and see the black-clad intruder charging toward them out of the shadows, that long, gleaming knife raised high and dripping red with blood. She gave a nervous glance into the back seat to make sure nobody was hiding there. She’d seen enough horror movies to know that the car’s back seat is where the murderous villain’s often lie in wait of their fleeing victims.
“The keys?” she screeched. “Where are the damned keys?”
"Have you tried your purse? That's where you usually keep them."
Laura found the keys at the bottom of the bag underneath a roll of Kleenex. Her fingers were still bleeding and hurt so bad from her struggle with the attacker that she found it difficult to insert them inside the ignition. After several frantic attempts, she succeeded.
Relieved, she turned to her daughter and smiled. "When we get back to Atlanta, I'm going to order us the biggest pizza in town."
"With pepperoni and pineapple?"
"With whatever you want."
Bit smiled back at her mom. The whole time she had sat rigid against the seat, trying hard not to cry. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew that, whatever it was, it was pretty serious. Their lives might even be in peril. Otherwise, her mom would not be dragging them through hell like this.
She watched her mom turn the key.
Nothing happened.
Laura tried again.
Nothing.
She tried again and again, each time jamming the key harder and holding it longer.
It was no use.
Laura slammed her fist hard against the steering wheel. “Damn,” she cried out, trying not to cry. Laura was determined not to have a complete meltdown in front of her daughter.
She tried the key again.
Same results.
The Jeep was dead as doornail.
Either that or someone had deliberately yanked a wire loose or done something else to disable the motor. And that someone was probably the same person who had savagely attacked her back in the house.
All hope gone, Laura slammed her hand against the dashboard, leaned her head over the steering wheel and finally let loose.
As her mother wept, Bit reached over and touched her shoulder. “I told you the car wouldn’t start,” she said, lips quivering.
Laura continued to sloop over the wheel, sobbing uncontrollably until Bit said, “Mom, don’t cry. It's going to be okay."
Laura sat up and managed to pull herself together. "I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said, wiping back tears of rage. “I didn’t mean to swear like that.”
“Don’t worry,” Bit replied, rubbing her mother’s shoulder. “I’ve heard them all before.”
Laura leaned over and gave her daughter a kiss. They hugged for several seconds, then Laura pulled back. She glanced out the window, looked around and asked, “Think you’re up for some more walking tonight?”
Bit sighed. “Do I have any choice?”
“That’s my girl,” Laura laughed. “Because we can’t stay here, we’ve got to keep moving. I want you to be brave and come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just trust me, sweetie. I think I know a safe place.”
Chapter Fifty-One
LAURA LED THEM DOWN a sloping trail that meandered through the wet-dripping woods. She recognized it as the same wooded trail where she had seen the bear three days ago. Give me a break, one monster at a time, please!
She didn't really care about the bear right now. At the moment, she was more fearful of the two-legged creature back at the house than she was of any four-footed fur-face.
The MagLite held out most of the way, cutting a golden swath of light through the shadows. Gradually, the conical beam fanning out before them began to fade, then flickered before finally going out.
Laura slapped the flashlight hard, thumped it several times against her thigh. She was about to give up when, miracle of miracles, the bulb flared up. The beam was weak, but more than enough, she hoped, to guide them the rest of the way down the twisting, rain-drenched trail to Phyllis Coleman's little cottage in the trees.
⸙
IT TOOK THEM LESS than fifteen minutes to reach Phyllis’s house. Laura felt a surge of relief sweep through her when she saw a light in the front window of Phyllis’s cozy log cabin.
“Isn’t this where the professor lives?” Bit asked.
“Yes,” Laura replied. “Let's hope she's home.”
Where else would she be this time of night, Laura wondered.
∞
THEY STUMBLED UP to the porch. Dripping wet and still bleeding from her arm and head, Laura peeked inside the window and saw a fire blazing in the stone hearth. Never before had she seen a more magnificent sight! As she trudged toward the door, Laura wondered how Phyllis would react to seeing two wet and bleeding visitors descending on her place this time of night.
Laura started to knock—then noticed the door was ajar.
Not good.
A creepy feeling washed over her.
“Wait here, sweetheart,” Laura said to Bit.
“What's wrong, Mom?”
“Just stay out here on the porch until I get back.” Before going inside, she saw to it that Bit’s hood was pulled up then handed her the flashlight.
∞
LAURA PUSHED BACK the door and stepped inside the cramped, snug living room. Everything looked in place—the books, the chairs, the crackling log fire. But something didn't feel right. A cold, clammy feeling came over as she looked around, senses on high alert for any sound or movement out of the ordinary.
"Phyllis?" she called out softly.
The only sounds she heard were the hissing logs in the fireplace and a low, steady whistling noise coming from the kitchen.
She wandered into the kitchen to investigate. "Phyllis?"
On the kitchen woodstove she saw a thin cloud of steam rising from the kettle. She closed off the burner, then noticed the kettle was black as soot. All the water had been boiled out.
She looked around, half-expecting the professor to come strolling in from the garden clutching a basket of radishes.
“Phyllis?" she called out. "It’s me, Laura.”
Laura's voice echoed eerily through the empty kitchen.
She moved quietly down the hallway, peeking into each room as she went and calling out for the professor.
She came to Phyllis’s bedroom and found the door shut. “Phyllis?” She pressed her ear against the door. “Are you in there?”
She turned the knob, pushed open the door and stared inside.
The room was dark, settled in shadows. A curious smell filled the room, one that almost made Laura wretch. “Dr, Coleman?" she whispered, trying not to gag from that awful stench.
Holding her nose, Laura crossed the threshold and went inside. She had been in Phyllis's bedroom only once, but even in the diminished light she recognized most of the features--the hand-carved dresser and matching chest, the black Kennedy rocking chair with the Williamsburg throw, and, of course, the bed, the massive, plantation-style canopied rice bed that had seemed oddly out of place amid the rustic charm of a mountain cabin.
Something wet and sticky dripped onto her shoulder. She looked down, touched it with her finger and smelled.
Even in the dark, even in that room of tumbling shadows and the repugnant stench of death, Laura knew at once what the
sticky liquid was that had trickled down onto her shoulder:
Blood.
∞
IN THAT INSTANT, Laura wanted to flee that room, to turn around and go to her daughter who waited patiently outside on the porch, to take her by the hand and run as fast and far as they possibly could into the unending forest, anywhere to escape the unimaginable horrors that she knew awaited her in Phyllis's ink-dark bedroom. She should have, she later realized, because what she saw next would stay with her forever, an image so chilling and unnaturally horrific it would haunt her dreams for the rest of her days.
What Laura saw, hanging over Phyllis’s bloodied bed, was a headless body—crucified and naked upside down, arms splayed out Christ-like, bloated feet nailed together one on top of the other.
Long trails of blood and globs of entrails oozed fresh down the wall, sliming the handsome, hand-carved headboard and slathering the bed. Phyllis's white chenille bedspread and home-made star coverlet were bathed in crimson, as were the down pillows and lacy cushions piled high below the gaping hole at the corpse’s shoulders.
The final horror lay propped up against one of the pillows—Phyllis’s own severed head, her gray frizzy hair wild and uncombed as always, her wide red lips pulled back in a macabre death grin, her lifeless eyes peering out from blood-gorged sockets.
Something inside Laura came unraveled. She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry out. Instead, she dropped to her knees and heaved. Hot vomit spewed from her guts, wave after wave pouring from her burning mouth until her stomach was empty and there was nothing left inside but vapors.
Trembling, Laura rose wobbly to her feet and lurched from the room. Before going to her daughter, she straightened, reached back and pulled the door shut.
Bit was waiting for her outside the door in the hallway.
“Where's Phyllis, Mom?”
Laura jumped, as if whacked by an electrical jolt. “You shouldn't be here!" she cried, grabbing her by the arm and leading her quickly down the hall toward the living room where she stopped to catch her breath.
Bit saw the weird glaze in her mom’s eyes, the cotton-white color of her skin. “Mom, are you all right?”
Laura dropped to her knees and hugged her daughter tight. “I’m so sorry, darling,” she choked, “I should have never brought you to this horrible place."
Chapter Fifty-Two
THE WAY BACK TO DANNY’S house seemed to take forever. One of the shallow streams crossing the trail had flooded, forcing them to detour through the woods. Before long, they came to a thick wall of rhododendron and had to stop.
“Are we lost?” Bit cried.
Laura had trouble hearing her over the roar of wind and rain.
“No," she finally said, cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting over the storm. "I remember this spot. The house is just on the other side of those trees.”
But Laura misjudged the trail and wound up at the same small cemetery she had investigated three days ago. She froze, recalling this was also the place where she had nearly been eaten by the bear.
“Mom, it’s a graveyard,” Bit yelped. “Graveyards give me the willies.”
“There are no such things as the willies,” Laura replied, looking around. When she realized this was the same trail that led back to Danny’s house, she grabbed her daughter’s hand and said, “Come on, this way.”
They’d hadn’t gone fifty yards when they came to a flooded stream cutting across the narrow path. Laura quickly realized the current was too strong for them to cross.
“What now?” Bit asked.
“This way,” Laura groaned, leading Bit down a clearing on their left.
Within minutes they came to what Laura thought was another clearing.
Only it was a road.
Puzzled, Bit yelled, “Isn’t this the road we drove in on?”
It took Laura a second to realize this was Yonah Trail, the same slippery, slimy little road that had nearly killed them on their way up to Danny’s house. “So it is,” she groaned, angry at herself for making another mistake.
⸙
THE HOUSE COULDN'T BE MORE than a quarter of a mile straight up the road. Laura motioned for Bit to follow her, then, hunching her shoulders into the wind, started moving.
“Look, Mom, a car!” Bit yelled.
Laura looked back and saw a pair of headlights heading up the road in their direction.
“So it is,” Laura said without slowing down.
Bit was confused. “Shouldn’t we wait on them?”
Bit's suggestion made perfect sense, of course—unless he person driving that car happened to be the same one who had attacked her with the knife, the same maniac who most likely had killed poor Phyllis and left her mutilated body hanging upside down on the wall of her lonely cabin in the woods.
“We don’t know who it is,” Laura said flatly. She grabbed Bit by the arm and pushed her toward the edge of the woods. "Quick," she said, "get down behind these bushes!"
Bit could not understand why her mother didn’t want to wave the approaching car down. “But, Mom…”
“Do as I say, hurry,” Laura commanded.
But it was already too late. The Jeep blinked its headlights, rumbled to a halt beside them.
The Jeep was an old Sports model, at least ten years old. A window screeched down on the driver's side and a familiar face leaned out.
⸙
LAURA RECOGNIZED the shaggy hair and beard, the twinkling eyes and broad, smooth smile.
“Evening, ladies," Paul Wilson said, a big grin on his face. "Hate to be nosy, but don’t you think this is kind of an odd time to be out taking a stroll?”
Bit started for Paul, but Laura held her back. “Mom, it’s Paul,” the girl said, confused.
What was Paul doing here, Laura wondered. He was supposed to be in Denver.
There could be only one explanation.
Laura snatched Bit's arm and pulled her away from the Jeep. The bastard was supposed to be in Denver. “Run!” she ordered her, pushing and half-dragging the girl deeper into the woods. "Don't stop, keep going!"
As she struggled to keep up with her mom, she had no idea why they were running away from Paul, while her half-crazed mother had steered her away from Paul’s warm Jeep and was now dragging her through the woods. “Mom," she protested. "Have you gone totally insane?”
“Just keep going, I'll explain later.”
They ran through the dark, veering left and right past thick rhododendron clusters and trying desperately to avoid low-hanging tree limbs that dangled and swayed in the sharp wind. Brambles smacked and tore at their legs, but they kept up the pace until Laura, finally out of breath, slowed, then stopped.
“Mom!” Bit wailed hysterically. “I can’t run anymore! Please tell me what we’re doing out here!”
Laura leaned over, placed her hands on her knees while she caught her breath. “Sweetheart,” she wheezed, “I know you can’t possibly understand… why I did what I did back there.” She paused, frantically trying to collect herself. “But…I promise you’ll understand when we’re somewhere safe.”
While Bit stood sobbing in the rain, Laura mulled over their options. She could try to lead them through the woods and cut back around to the main road that led down to the little town of Greeley where they could find help—at least a phone so she could call the police. Or, they could go back to Danny's house and wait it out until morning. By then, hopefully, the power crews would show up to check on them.
Maybe Brad would show up.
At any rate, Laura knew she had to find a way to hide them from Paul until somebody arrived who could help them.
One thing was certain: they had to find shelter soon. If they stayed outside in this storm much longer, the masked killer wouldn't be the only danger. There was pneumonia to think about, as well as hypothermia.
Glancing back through the trees, Laura watched the tail-lights of Paul's old Jeep turn around, then head back up the road in the opposite direction. Sh
e waited until the lights had been swallowed up by the darkness before turning to Bit.
“Sweetheart,” she began, trying to choose her words carefully. “I want you to listen to me very closely.” She used her hand to wipe some of the rain from her daughter’s face. “That man, Paul, is not who you think he is. He has done some terrible things…"
Chapter Fifty-Three
BIT TRUDGED SILENTLY beside her mother, unable to believe all the bad things she had said about Paul. Paul was her friend. He had taken her sailing. He had given her the Vincent van Gogh book. He had painted that beautiful portrait of her, brought her the Dreamcatcher all the way back from Colorado. He was funny and sweet, and she liked him. There was no way Paul could have killed Phyllis or done all those other bad things, no way!
Yet, she knew her mother never told her a fib. She wouldn’t have said all those things about Paul unless…unless they were true.
Halfway down the road, Laura spotted something glinting in the darkness. It was black and metallic, and it lay parked under some trees, partially hidden behind a thick clump of laurel bushes.
Bit noticed it too. “Mom, isn’t that Brad's car?” she asked.
“Wait here. I’ll go take a look.”
Laura worked her way through the thick brush, clambering over downed limbs and scattered clumps of storm-tossed debris, until she reached the car.
Laura's heart sank when she recognized her husband's black Mercedes.
Oh, God, she moaned, pointing the flashlight inside the car and looking around. What was Brad's car doing way out here in the woods?
More importantly, where was Brad?
Cold panic seized her when she wondered if the same person who had attacked her had done something bad to Brad?
⸙
A JAGGED CLAW of lightning split the black sky. Thunder bellowed and rolled across the dark mountains in the distance.
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