Texas Summer

by Hachtel, Leslie

  “Getting Kennedy naked and hurting her? That would be such fun.”

  “Why, I think I’d like to watch someone dig a hole.”

  “Really, Daddy, what kind of hole?” These two were clearly having the best time with this game.

  “How about a grave?”

  “What a good idea, Daddy. A grave for the soon-to-be-dead girl. I like it. But can’t we play with her a little first?”

  Freddie seemed to ponder this. He reached out and stroked Dolores’s right breast. “Do you want to touch her?”

  Dolores hesitated. “Do you?” The jealousy seeped through her tone.

  Freddie smiled. “Wouldn’t mind watching.”

  “You’re a dirty old man.” Dolores grinned at him.

  “I know. That’s why you like me.”

  “I like the idea of the grave. Let’s watch her dig it, then we can play with her a little. Like we used to do with Delie,” Dolores suggested.

  Kennedy sucked air into her nostrils at this last. Dear God, what kind of hideous creatures were these? She had always suspected they had terrorized the poor girl, but to hear the words and confirm the reality was nearly unbearable. Kennedy’s chest burned with disgust and outrage.

  With that Dolores moved to Kennedy and cut the ties around her ankles. Then she kicked her in the shin hard. Kennedy recoiled but refused to make a sound. “Get up. Get up or I’ll keep kicking you until you do.”

  Awkwardly, since her hands were still tied, Kennedy staggered to her feet. Freddie reached into his waistband and withdrew a gun, which he pointed at Kennedy’s chest. “Now, girlie, she’s going to untie your hands. But if you try to get cute or run off, I will shoot you where you stand. Are we clear?”

  Kennedy nodded, and Dolores cut the rope binding her wrists. Dolores picked up the shovel and shoved it at Kennedy. “Now dig, bitch.”

  Kennedy didn’t move.

  “Let me make this clear. You can do what we tell you, or you can stand there and let me shoot off your toes, one at a time. And when I finish with those, I will start on your fingers. Now I’m not that good of a shot, so I might miss and hit something more vital. When I have finished with you, the girlie here and I will go and pay a nice visit to your mama and do the same to her. Actually we would enjoy it to no end if you wouldn’t cooperate.”

  The idea of her mama being hurt was unthinkable. Kennedy gritted her teeth, took the shovel from Dolores, and started to dig. She prayed that once she was dead, if they managed to kill her after all, they would leave her mother alone. After all, Martha had never done anything to them. Please, God.

  “Daddy, don’t call me girlie. My name is Dolores.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I have to pee.”

  “So go pee,” Freddie said. “I know how you are, so go behind that cactus over there. No one will see you. You seem to pee a lot lately. Did somebody give you a bladder infection?”

  “I don’t know. Did you, Daddy?”

  “I don’t have any diseases. Maybe you got it from Judy Jane.”

  Dolores didn’t honor that with a response. “Watch her.”

  “You don’t have to tell me what to do, girlie.”

  Dolores nodded and walked away, soon disappearing behind some cover. Freddie looked over at Kennedy. She was sweating from her exertions. The sun was just breaking the horizon, changing the look of the landscape. The hole she had dug in the sand was about three feet deep.

  “Hurry up. Dig faster,” Freddie said. “I can’t be here all day, you know.” He was sitting near the hole, sipping coffee and watching every move Kennedy made. He looked around as if making sure Dolores was out of sight.

  He narrowed his eyes at Kennedy and reached out to her, grabbing her nipple through her cotton blouse. Kennedy pulled back; she fell onto the unforgiving ground. Freddie laughed. He licked his finger and shoved it up her skirt. Kennedy remembered with horror that no panties blocked his assault. She kicked out at him, but he moved faster than she anticipated. She missed, and he lunged again. She could see the hideous lust in his eyes, and the fury rose in her like a living thing. Before she could regain her feet or react, Dolores flew across the sand and slammed Freddie in the face with the top of her forehead. He fell backward. She straddled him, pummeling his face and neck. His blood stood out in vivid relief against his pallid flesh. Dolores got to her feet and kicked him over and over again in the head and into his fat, thick torso. The sounds of her feet slamming into his body were sickening. Red seeped out onto his shirt, and one of his eyes was lolling out of the socket, dripping gore. When Dolores finally stopped—probably tired—he didn’t move. His head flopped to the side. He was unconscious. Or dead.

  Kennedy was frozen. She felt disconnected, as if this was some sick horror film and not happening in real time. Dolores stared at Freddie’s lifeless form for a minute, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Kennedy was surprised at Dolores’s soft tone.

  “You brought this on yourself, Daddy. You shouldn’t have cheated on me like that.” She rolled Freddie into the hole Kennedy had been digging. Dolores straightened, and her body stiffened with apparent anger. “You son of a bitch. You couldn’t stand it, could you? You had to touch her. You son of a bitch.”

  Still unsatisfied, Dolores grabbed a rock about the size of a baseball. She heaved it at Freddie’s head. It connected. Blood oozed from his temple. He didn’t react.

  Kennedy knew she should be relieved that one of them was dead, but she was still lost in disbelief. After a moment, she realized she held a shovel. Dolores was too close for leverage. Kennedy would have one chance. She needed to make it count. If she could just get Dolores to step back a little.

  Dolores glared her rage at Kennedy. “He said he never touched you. That you made him puke. He said he loved only me.” Dolores was screeching now. The sound pierced through and brought Kennedy back to reality. She needed to think fast and use Dolores’s anger in her favor.

  “That’s why he’s the one who deserved to die, Dolores. We’re sisters. We can do this together and let him take the blame for all of it.”

  Dolores was still out of breath. She took a moment to calm down. She cocked her head, looked at Freddie, then at Kennedy. “But I hate you, Kennedy. I’ve always hated you. And I loved him. At least, until something better came along.” She indicated the unconscious form curled up in the hole.

  Kennedy had to choose her next words carefully. “Do you really hate me, Dolores? What did I ever do? I’ve always thought you were wonderful, and you were my big sister. I looked up to you.”

  “Really? You looked up to me?” Dolores clearly wanted to believe this.

  “Always. I wanted to be just like you. You were the pretty one. Everyone loved you. I wanted to be just like you.”

  Dolores pondered this. “Oh, well, I’m so sorry, Kennedy. I had no idea. You know, PJ was so ashamed of you. He told my mama you were a terrible mistake and he would never love you.”

  The old pain reared up, and Kennedy had to swallow it. This was no time for self-pity. She had to survive. The crazy woman in front of her obviously had a different outcome in mind.

  “You’re right. I should never have been born. PJ never loved anyone but you. Everyone loves you, you know. Me included.”

  Were the lies working?

  “As if I would believe that,” Dolores spit at her. “You are such a bitch. Everyone knows PJ loved you best. Me? I hate you, and now I’m not sure what to do. Daddy always knows, but now he can’t tell me. This is all your fault. If you hadn’t tried to tempt him, I wouldn’t have gotten so mad.” She looked at the man in the hole, staring up with sightless eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I know it was all her doing.”

  The compassionate child was back. Kennedy was more unnerved. Dolores was fragmented, and Kennedy had to appeal to the childlike persona.

  “Dolores. I love you. I am your sister, although I’m not worthy. If you could give me another chance, I can prove to you my only desire is your happiness.�
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  Dolores was disconnecting again. Kennedy could see it in her eyes. There was no more time for convincing. Kennedy sucked in a silent breath, stepped back, swung the shovel high, and brought it down on Dolores’s shoulder. She tried for her head, but the thing was awkward and difficult to aim.

  Dolores was knocked off balance, but she regained herself almost immediately. She head-butted Kennedy, who fell into the hole on top of Freddie. Her head thunked against his, and she faded into the abyss of black.

  Kennedy blinked awake. She was in the makeshift grave, lying atop Freddie. She refused to let the horror of the reality permeate. Dirt flew around her. She looked up, squinting against the flying sand. Dolores stood over the hole, her face streaked with grime. She was shoveling. Sunlight touched Dolores’s face. She was smiling, as if some great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She took a moment to catch her breath and gaze around. Satisfied there was nothing but sand and scrub to watch her efforts, she shoveled again.

  Terror rose from Kennedy’s center and radiated outward. The thought of being buried alive was horrific. The vision of clawing her way out of the smothering dirt while the air was pressed from her lungs almost stopped her heart. Calm. I need to be calm.

  No! Settle down. Think!

  Something was digging into Kennedy’s side. It was hard and unyielding. She reached around. Her hand touched it. Freddie’s gun. She grabbed for it. Panic rose with the increasing lack of air, but she controlled it. She closed her fingers around the weapon.

  She turned her head away from the sand that threatened to smother her and sucked in power with the now limited amount of available air. Like an ancient Phoenix, Kennedy rose from her near grave, sputtering, full of rage. Everything seemed to slow down. Dolores lifted the tool to strike.

  Kennedy aimed the gun and squeezed the trigger. The explosion was louder than she anticipated. The force threw the gun upward. Motion stopped.

  The force of the shot staggered Dolores backward. Kennedy couldn’t be sure she’d actually hit her captor. She pulled herself out of the hole and braced her feet on the sand, the gun trained on her half-sister. Dolores somehow managed to keep her feet underneath her. A bright red stain marred the front of her shirt near the left breast. Seeming to notice this for the first time, her face flushed with fury. She hefted the shovel once again. In spite of the fact that Kennedy had the gun aimed at her chest, Dolores lunged, swinging.

  Kennedy fired again. Another spot of red appeared, this one on Dolores’s right shoulder. The impact threw her backward. Dolores managed to throw the shovel forward. The tumbling tool grazed Kennedy’s hand, and the gun sailed back into the hole on top of the partially obscured corpse. Kennedy charged at Dolores. Dolores sidestepped. Kennedy landed on her face, hard.

  Dolores was on top of her in an instant. The air was slammed out her lungs. Her face was shoved into the sand, and it filled her mouth. Kennedy twisted her body around to throw her off. Dolores loomed over her, fists tight and ready. Kennedy yelled and heaved her hips upward. Dolores flew off to the side, shrieking. Kennedy scrambled up. The gun was gone, and the shovel was on the other side of Dolores, out of reach. Two bullet holes and the bitch just kept on coming. Kennedy knew her only chance was to get to the car before Dolores got back up. Fueled by determination, she kicked Dolores in the head. The sound was satisfying. Dolores’s eyes rolled back. Kennedy sprinted forward, but Dolores recovered and was coming at her from behind, screaming the feral cry of an outraged animal. The sound unnerved Kennedy. She was almost at the car now. Dolores leaped forward and landed on Kennedy’s back. The strength of the assault from behind threw her forward, slamming her against the vehicle full force. Her left arm snapped with the contact, the radius breaking cleanly. Kennedy cried out in agony. Dolores responded with a shout of victory as she stood up and moved in. Kennedy managed to right herself and spun to see Dolores’s face contorted with unreasoning animal hate, a bloodthirsty, unthinking thing, driven by demons. Dolores was now so much more than dangerous. Her blouse was soaked in red gore, but her obvious fury and adrenaline rush overpowered any pain.

  Kennedy could do nothing but attack. She grasped her damaged arm against her chest and threw the entire weight of her body against her adversary. Dolores was caught unaware and knocked decisively off balance. She smacked down into the sand. Kennedy leaned back against the car to catch her breath.

  A movement in the distance caught her eye. It was a car. She could see it approaching. She ran toward the highway. Please, God, let it be help. Let it be Wylie.

  Kennedy was beyond the limits of exhaustion, but she knew she had to keep going. This irrational monster chasing her wanted nothing more than to destroy her. Kennedy was broken, her strength diminished. She was terrified the damage would override her will to live. She had to choose now. Life or surrender.

  Kennedy was aware of the shadow behind her, stretching out and gaining ground. She feinted left, hoping that if Dolores struck out, she would hit the stronger side. Dolores was on her and managed to entangle her foot between Kennedy’s legs. Kennedy flew forward into the ground, knocking the air from her lungs. Kennedy scrambled over onto her back. The pain was exquisite in her injured arm, but she had no time for that now. They could fix her broken arm if she survived. That was the key.

  Dolores was up, standing over her, taking a moment to savor her victory. She was so full of rage and the relentless desire for revenge it was as if the wounds she suffered still went unnoticed. She grinned, reached into her belt. She pulled out a knife. She looked down at Kennedy, now at her mercy.

  “I’ve heard that killing with a blade is so much more personal. Dear sister, I want this to be personal. I want to hurt you and punish you for everything you’ve taken from me, beginning with PJ’s love. I know you were lying. He loved you best. And ending with Daddy. I will so miss my daddy.”

  Dolores leaned slightly forward on the balls of her feet, aimed, poised to strike. With all the strength she had left, fueled by the pumping of her blood and sheer survival instinct, Kennedy launched herself up at Dolores. At the same time, she grabbed for Dolores’s wrist and control of the knife. They twisted, body against body. They fell. The knife found its mark and plunged into Dolores’s chest. She wheezed out her last breath as Kennedy fell with her, limp and spent.

  * * *

  Kennedy squinted. White. Everything was so white. Blinding white. Was this heaven? She’d heard about the stark whiteness. Yes. Definitely. She was dead.

  How unfair. She had finally found true love and to have to end her life now? Hadn’t she suffered enough? Her arm was on fire. I thought pain stopped when you died. Unless you went to hell. Is that what happened? The devil has claimed me?

  Something brushed the side of her face. Angel wings? It wasn’t hot, so maybe she wasn’t in hell. Could she still be alive? Well, at least she’d gotten out of the hell Dolores and Freddie had in mind.

  She opened her eyes a little wider. A face came into focus. Could it be? Where is this place? I was in the mesa.

  Wylie was leaning over her. His cheeks were wet with tears. It was her funeral. She hadn’t survived. Kennedy focused on his handsome face, but he was smiling. She shifted, and pain shot through her from her left arm again.

  “Welcome back,” he said.

  “Where am I?” Reality seeped through.

  “The hospital in Abilene. How do you feel?”

  “I’m alive? I guess I’m tougher than I thought. What happened?”

  “It seems Dolores and Freddie kidnapped you and took you out into the desert. They were going to kill you and make it look like you were responsible for the other deaths. It was their only chance, I suppose, to clear themselves.”

  “There wasn’t even any money. What a waste.”

  “I suppose they wanted the money in the beginning. Then their plotting just took on a life of its own. Delie probably tried to double deal them, and Sweet certainly knew what was going on. They had to get rid of all the witnesses, inc
luding Judy Jane. And make sure someone else took the blame,” Wylie said.

  “I guess I was just too mean to die.”

  “No, baby. Never too mean. I’m just glad you survived. I would end up another casualty if anything happened to you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I would die without you. Get it now?”

  “I love you too. They said you might be dead. I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “My death was greatly exaggerated.” Wylie smiled. He’d always wanted to use that line.

  “Wylie, can you ever forgive me?”

  “Forgive you? For what?”

  “For dragging you into this mess.”

  “I was hoping to swoop in and be your hero.”

  “You are my hero. It was you who kept me going. My love for you.”

  “I still wanted to be the one to save you,” he complained.

  She shook her head. “Where’s Mama?”

  “Martha’s gone to talk to the nurse. She’ll be right back. How are you doing?” This was from Miller. He was standing in the doorway.

  “You sound worried about your mama. She’s fine,” Wylie said.

  “They threatened to hurt her. Dolores. Freddie. They’re—?”

  “Both dead,” Miller stated. “They will never hurt anyone ever again.”

  “Miller? Do you know the truth now?” Kennedy asked.

  “Miller believes we’re innocent. He figured it out. There’s no question it was all Dolores and Freddie,” Wylie reassured her.

  “They told me everything when they had me out there. They thought I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone. I didn’t want to die with people thinking I killed anyone.”

  “Well, you can give me the details when you’re feeling better,” Miller said.

  A thought occurred to her. “How did you know where to find me?” Kennedy asked.

  “I’m the sheriff. I know everything,” Miller declared.

  “Weir told him,” Wylie said, shaking his head.

  “It cost me two hundred bucks,” Miller groused.