Twilight

by Kristen Heitzmann

  Luìs turned to her. “Where is he? Your loco fireman.”

  She cleared the night from her throat. “I don’t know.”

  “Has he gone to sell it?”

  “He doesn’t know anything about it.”

  Luìs came toward her, reached into his pocket, and drew out Dieter’s knife. He flicked the blade up with a touch of his thumb. “Do you know what happens to people who lie?” He leaned and touched the blade to her chin. “They go to hell.”

  Hell. Was that her destination? The tip pricked, slicing in just enough to draw blood. She closed her eyes against the pain and fear. How could it still be there? She kept coming to the point of oblivion where she thought she could feel no more, and then they found a new source and plumbed it. Would he slice her face? She had to make them understand.

  She opened her eyes. “I told you I flushed it down the pool drain. That’s the truth. Now, why don’t you just finish this?” They’d ended it for Brian; why prolong her terror?

  Luìs’s eyes were like plates, no human emotion at all. The blade reflected her face as he held it pressed into her chin. She no longer felt it, but she would if he sliced. She tried not to think of her face in ribbons, tried to keep the fear from her eyes. Luke and Maddie were safe. She fastened on that thought and held it.

  “Luìs.” Dieter’s voice broke through her concentration.

  The blade came away from her chin as Luìs turned. Another tiny jerk of Dieter’s head and Luìs stood up and backed away. Dieter took out his cell phone, and for the moment she was free of either gaze. But they weren’t through with her yet. Not until they had the cocaine. How long would they wait before they realized Cal was gone and she had told them the truth?

  “Always tell the truth, Laurie. Jesus hates lying lips.” She’d looked into Gram’s eyes and known she could not tell Daddy she’d lost his watch. She had taken the gold pocket watch to show her friend the little tune it played when the lid opened. Daddy kept it in a box and never looked at it, but it was one of her favorite things to sneak out and play with. Now it was gone from her pocket, and Grams wanted her to tell Daddy what she’d done. Jesus wanted her to tell the truth. She’d started by lying to Grams. “I’ll tell him, Grams.” “Good girl.”

  Of course she hadn’t. The watch wasn’t missed for years. When it was, Daddy couldn’t remember exactly where he’d kept it, though he’d thought it was the box on his dresser. “Do you know what happens to people who lie?” Her whole life was a lie. “They go to hell.” Laurie started to shake. What if this life was only the start? What if what waited for her on the other side of the bullet was worse?

  How could she turn to Jesus now, when she’d had so many chances and refused? She had wanted her independence, left her parents behind, married a man she didn’t love because he had what she wanted—the wealth and power to let her be whatever she chose. Would she surrender it now to a God who wanted complete control, just like Daddy?

  Tears stung her eyes and she forced them back. She would not show these men her fear, her weakness. She would not show God her weakness. Something inside her shrank. Was she doing it again? Making the wrong choice? She couldn’t help it. She would never be perfect. Soon she would not even be alive.

  Cal had run upstairs for his coat and one last chance to think before he headed out on this escapade. He looked around the room, pictured Laurie in the chair, hair loose and soft, her half smile. Beautiful scent. He could almost smell it.

  He jumped when the phone rang, all his nerves tensing. Reaching out he snatched the phone and croaked his name.

  “You okay, man?”

  The rush of relief was immediate. His system couldn’t take much more of this. “Yeah.”

  Reggie’s voice was none too certain. “You sure?”

  Cal laughed dryly. “What have you heard?”

  “What should I have?”

  Cal sobered. “Nothing.”

  “You in trouble?”

  Cal hesitated, then, “Yeah.”

  “Can I help?”

  Cal pictured Reggie. Between him and Ray … “No.”

  “Then you remember one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You got the Big Man in charge.”

  Cal slumped against the wall. “I know, Reg. But last time I said a word to Him, things didn’t work out so well.”

  “That’s His business. All you gotta do is ask.”

  “Yeah. Well, if you have an inside line, put in a call for me, okay?”

  Reggie’s voice softened. “I’ll do that.”

  Cal placed the phone in its cradle. Wiping his forehead with his palm, he blew the breath between his lips. Now there was nothing but … His hand jumped from the receiver as the phone rang again. What if it was Danson? What if it was Laurie?

  He picked it up. “Cal Morrison.”

  “If you think this is a game, you’re mistaken.” The voice sent a shiver down his spine.

  “No game.”

  “Where is it?”

  Did the man think he was a fool? Cal swallowed. “I’m bringing it now.”

  Silence for a full two seconds’ count. “No cops.” A click and then nothing.

  Again Cal hung up and released his breath. Why hadn’t he asked if Laurie was all right, demanded to speak to her? Why hadn’t he done anything but act the sheep? Because he was a sheep. A stupid damaged sheep.

  “Cal?” Ray’s voice came up the stairs.

  “Yeah, I’m coming.” He held the delete button until zeros flashed on his machine, then took up his coat and threw it over his shoulder and headed down.

  He lifted the suitcase, now increased in weight by several army stews’ worth of cornstarch, and left Cissy fretting in the kitchen. “You stay here for a minute, Ray. Let Cissy cool down while I get this into the jeep. No sense her knowing you’re coming.”

  He nodded. “I’ll go out the front and walk around.”

  “Okay.”

  Cal headed for the side door. He reached the jeep, set down the case, and dug into his pocket for the key.

  “That’s far enough, Morrison.”

  Cal’s head jerked as Chuck Danson stood up and came around the far side of the jeep. “Look, Chuck …”

  Danson came on, chest at full sail, taking in the suitcase with his eyes. He must think Cal had packed to leave town. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Brian Prelane. Anything you say can and will be held against you …”

  Cal spread his hands. “Why would I kill Brian Prelane?”

  “The oldest reason in the book after Cain and Abel.”

  “What?”

  Danson reached for the cuffs in his back pocket. “Never mind. I’m bringin’ you in. You can do your talking at the station.”

  Panic rising up, Cal held out his arms. Danson reached for Cal’s wrist, but not quickly enough to catch it. The first blow to the jaw was lucky; it stunned Danson and gave Cal the chance for a second, which caught Danson in the left temple. His head jerked back and hit the side of the jeep, and the big man went down. He wouldn’t stay out for long, though, and Cal worked fast to slap the cuffs onto Danson’s wrists behind his back.

  As he yanked the bandanna from Danson’s pocket and used it for a gag, he heard Ray lumbering along the side of the house. Rounding the corner, Ray stopped and stared.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Give me a hand.” Cal tucked his arms under Danson’s shoulders.

  Ray hurried over. Together they dragged Danson to the shed. Cal pulled the packing blanket off the old tractor and wrapped Danson with it for good measure. No sense letting him freeze waiting for someone to find him out there.

  Cal closed the shed door behind them. He wished he had a dead bolt, but the rusty rod would have to do. He shoved it through the latch and tested its hold, then headed for the jeep. Hands shoved into his overalls, Ray kept step. Cal glanced his way. “Welcome to the world of crime, Sundance.”

  Ray gulped back whatever he meant to say. They climbed i
nto the jeep from opposite sides, and Cal fired the engine. Ray rested his hands on the dashboard as Cal backed and turned, then dropped them to his lap as the jeep pulled out shooting gravel behind.

  Ray turned his head. “You mean Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?”

  Cal gave him a quick glance. “You ever see the movie?”

  Ray nodded and looked straight ahead. Cal guessed they were both picturing the ending scene. It wasn’t reassuring.

  17

  HE HAS NOT LEARNED THE LESSON OF

  LIFE WHO DOES NOT EVERY DAY

  SURMOUNT A FEAR.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  REGGIE HELD THE STEERING WHEEL and watched the road, but even on his way to work, he was praying, praying hard. Whatever Cal was doing, it wasn’t good. Reggie could only hope it was right. At any rate, it was the first time Cal had asked him to pray.

  That was a bigger step than it seemed for a man like Cal. Just his acknowledging the need was enough to pump Reggie’s spirit. Maybe some of what he’d said the other night had taken root. He pulled into the lot and parked.

  With his hands pressed to his face he drew a long slow breath and released it. “Father, into your hands I commit my fr iend.” He climbed out and headed into the psychiatric center.

  Rita was at her desk. She looked up with a sharp face. “Have you heard from him?”

  “From whom?”

  “Cal.” Her eyebrow rose in a peak.

  “I just spoke with him.”

  She pushed back from her desk. “When? How?”

  “I called his place.” He wasn’t sure why; he’d just had an urging. And obviously it had been right.

  “He’s home?” Rita looked more agitated than he’d ever seen her. She reached for the phone, then set the receiver down and stared at it.

  Reggie cocked his head. “What’s going on?”

  Rita stood up and paced to the window. “I should have seen it. I would never have released him if I’d thought … There was no sign of this kind of psychosis.”

  What was she saying, psychosis? Cal was not psychotic, and they should both know that. “Dr. James?” Reggie took a step her way.

  She turned and tears brightened her eyes. “Could I have failed so completely?”

  Regg ie sucked his cheeks. “We all fail completely. It’s our nature.”

  Rita half laughed, rested her palm on the desk. “Did you see it, Reg?”

  “Maybe you should tell me what you’re worried about.”

  She shook her head. “He said Laurie was in trouble. I should have known he meant himself. Was it a cry for help?”

  “Rita, what kind of trouble is Cal in?”

  Rita raised a hand and let it fall. “The murder of Laurie’s husband.”

  Reggie’s heart thumped. “Cal killed Laurie’s husband?”

  “Sergeant Danson thinks so.” She stood up and stalked to the window. “You saw him, Reggie. Like a man drowning every time he looked at her.”

  Reggie sensed the darkness, a presence seeping into the room, tugging at his faith, hammering his foundations. He’d seen how Cal felt about her, heard him admit it. There hadn’t been any talk about a husband, though. Only an old love that hadn’t worked. Was it possible?

  He had just spoken with Cal. Surely his spir it would have recoiled, sensed something more than concer n for a fr iend. He sensed doubt now. Was it an attack on his mind? Rita had no defense against it, nothing but her own human judgment. He had to stand in the gap for her. “I don’t believe it.”

  She turned, the dark wedge of her hair spinning and settling back. Her face was pinched. “Don’t you?”

  “I don’t believe Cal killed anyone.”

  Her voice took on a higher pitch. “Do you think I want to? You know I care about him. But …”

  He spread his hands. “What’s the proof?”

  She crossed the room to the file cabinet, pulled open the drawer and from that the folder. “This.” She held it out. “Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. An inability to discern the real from the unreal. Lack of debriefing. Self-destructive behavior. Violence under the influence. He beat up his best friend, shot out the tire of Danson’s cruiser.”

  All true. Reggie knew what the file held. But God knew there was more than that to the story. Cal was haunted, not vicious. And he was clean. Reggie could swear he was clean.

  She dropped the folder onto the desk and returned to the window, arms crossed against her chest. “Add to that his obsession with the woman. Any third-rate shrink should have seen it.”

  Reggie folded his hands and dropped his head. Lord, show me. He still did not believe Cal had killed anyone. That wasn’t the man he knew. But Rita had the facts, and they didn’t look good.

  She expelled a sharp breath. “I never should have made it personal. If I hadn’t been taken in by his smile and his jokes. If I hadn’t been more interested in his friendship than his … sickness… .”

  Reggie saw her not as the confident physician but as a lonely, fragile woman. What would it be like as the only doctor inside these walls, trying to do her job without faith to show her the way?

  “I compromised my professional abilities.” She turned, her face no longer pained, but barren.

  “Rita.” Reggie stood up. “You are not God.”

  Her lips came together silently, and she looked at him.

  At the inner urging, Reggie went on. “These people in here … they’re not yours to save. They’re not mine. They’re God’s.”

  Her brow furrowed, but still she said nothing.

  “And whatever the truth of this is, Cal’s in God’s hands.” Reggie held out his own. “And so are you. The question is whether either one of you will realize it.”

  Laurie trembled. She had heard Dieter on the phone, but it couldn’t be real. Was he messing with her mind, trying to trip her up, make her change her story? Cal was coming? Bringing cocaine? What about the children? “No, no, no,” she moaned. Luke and Maddie. They were the ones who mattered.

  She’d believed them safely away. But how could they be if Cal was home answering his phone? He hadn’t taken them. Hadn’t hidden them. And when Dieter learned there was no cocaine … “You have lovely children, Mrs. Prelane.” Her breath came in tight gasps.

  The door banged open, and Luìs came inside with two large gasoline cans. He set them down, turned to Dieter, and said something in Spanish.

  Dieter grunted. “Put her in the hole.”

  Laurie cringed as Luìs approached. He tied a smelly rag into her mouth, and then he grabbed her into his arms and carried her to the center of the floor. He laid her down and yanked open a rotting trapdoor. Then he pushed. It wasn’t a long fall, but with her arms tied, the impact jarred the breath from her, and she lay gasping until it returned. Sobs caught in her chest as she rolled to her side and lay there. Overhead, she heard a sound of splashing, and the smell of gasoline stung her nose. She stared frantically into the darkness under the floor. Would they burn her?

  A scream rose up in her chest and caught there, though the gag would make it futile. Only Dieter and Luìs would hear. And God. She struggled to her knees, the rope between her wrists and ankles pulling painfully tight as it tangled. Oh God.

  How could she pray? She remembered sitting on Gram’s knee. “Jesus, tender shepherd, look down upon this child …” She started to cry, tears choking and burning their way out. What was the use? What was the use?

  Cal approached slowly with Ray beside him, the jeep’s low rumble sounding loud against the silence of the deserted farm. Only the barn and the blocks on which the house had rested were left standing. Had the house been lifted and removed? There was something unnatural about a home being carried away, but just now Cal was glad. It meant there was only one structure to search.

  He braked the jeep far enough away to scope the situation. He would have liked to assess from three sides according to his training. But that would mean getting out of the jeep and circling on foot. He wasn’t sure yet
that was the best plan. He glanced at Ray. “Looks quiet.”

  Ray nodded.

  Cal regretted having brought him. It was one thing to risk his own neck …

  “There’s someone in the barn.” Ray pointed.

  Cal riveted his focus. “How do you know?”

  “I saw someone move. In that crack there next to the door.”

  Cal squinted. “You have good eyes. Well, guess this is the place. I’ll go on alone.”

  Ray shook his head. “You take the suitcase. I’ll carry the gun.”

  “No way.”

  “The way Aunt Millie does. Just holding it like I mean business.” Looking at Ray’s face, Cal’s nerves tensed. Ray didn’t look concerned at all. That wasn’t a good thing. “If we walk up with a shotgun, we’ll start more trouble than we can finish.”

  “I won’t start shooting unless I have to.”

  “No, Ray. Listen. You stay in the jeep. Give me cover, but don’t be seen. Don’t touch the gun unless you have to. I’ll make the switch, then hope they leave town without sampling the wares. Cornstarch could wreak havoc with the sinuses.”

  Ray didn’t get it, but that was all right.

  “Get down behind the seats.” That was no easy task for Ray, but he obeyed. Cal pulled the jeep in closer, certain they’d heard him by now. “Stay in the jeep, Ray.” Cal climbed out and pulled the suitcase behind him, then walked to the center of the dirt yard. He made no move to go inside. Neither did he holler. He waited.

  After a moment, the door opened. A blond-spiked punk stepped out. The sort of drug dealer you’d see in a bad comedy and know his role immediately. But there was nothing comic in this scene. It was deadly serious. Cal wished he hadn’t risked Ray, but there was some comfort knowing someone guarded his back. Cal only hoped Ray wouldn’t shoot while he was still in front.

  The punk held a gun, a handgun like the one Laurie had wielded. Why hadn’t she used hers to protect herself? Or had she thought killing Brian was enough? The gun barrel was leveled at his chest. And here he was armed with cornstarch. Cal leaned the suitcase against his leg. “Where’s Laurie?”