The P.U.R.E.

by Claire Gillian

  “I don’t know why.” Bob collapsed in the chair. “We need to call the police.”

  “The police? Are you crazy? And tell them what?”

  For a moment, I got so caught up in the drama, I almost forgot my own precarious situation. I took another baby step toward the door, ready to make a break for it if the opportunity presented itself.

  “Start from the beginning, and tell me what happened.” Jeff said with a small note of compassion in his voice. He lowered his gun.

  “I don’t know. When I got here, Leslie’s car was parked in the driveway, but nobody answered the door. It was unlocked, so I came inside. I heard a shot and ran upstairs. I found her like this. Dead. Marilyn stood over her, but when I went to check on Leslie, she ran past me.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “No.” Bob’s voice trembled, and his shoulders shook as he sobbed again.

  “What a mess,” Jeff said. “I don’t understand why she would come here.”

  “I don’t know either,” Bob said.

  I glanced around the room and spied one of those weighted bars for exercising peeking out from beneath Marilyn’s bed. A couple of strides separated us, but I doubted I could grab it faster than Jeff could lodge a bullet in me. I had been inching closer to the bedroom door and was almost close enough to have a fair shot at making a break for it.

  Where I would run after I fled, I hadn’t yet worked out. The darkened hallway favored me. The lights on the first floor did not. I’d be an easy target if I tried to run down the stairs. If I made it to one of the other bedrooms and locked the door behind me, I might be able to climb out a window onto the roof of the wraparound porch. If the gutters had an exterior downspout, clinging to it might slow my drop to the ground.

  I continued to inch toward the door. Adrenalin built as I drew closer.

  A loud crack at the bedroom window made me jump. Both Bob and Jeff jerked and scrambled to the site of the impact, giving me the chance I needed to slip out.

  I ran down the hallway into the first room I came to and locked the door.

  Voices and footsteps spilled out seconds later. Jeff yelled, “Get Gayle! You go downstairs, and I’ll check up here.”

  “Give me a gun,” Bob said.

  “You don’t need it. She can’t get far if we trap her in the house. Go!”

  Rapid footsteps thundered down the stairs. I opened the window and kicked out the screen.

  Jeff tried the locked door. His unsuccessful effort was followed by an eerie but short-lived snatch of silence. The soft scrape of metal against wood at the top of the doorjamb preceded a key sliding in the lock.

  With no time to climb out the window, I gambled and hid in the closet instead, hoping Jeff would continue his search on the roof. The bi-fold doors I closed were louvered, allowing me to spy into the room through the slats.

  Metal ground against metal until the doorknob surrendered. The door burst open. Jeff flicked on the overhead light and tossed the key to the floor. He walked straight to the open window where he leveled his gun, scanned outside and climbed onto the roof.

  I cracked open the closet doors and, seeing no sign of him, bolted from the room down the stairs. Footsteps pounded the floor upstairs as I ran toward the front door. Bob lurked somewhere on the lower level, but assuming Jeff hadn’t handed over one of his two guns, he wasn’t armed. On the other side of the front door he’d left open, Bob sat on the steps of the porch. I stifled a scream and turned back into the house, hoping I hadn’t given myself away.

  I scurried into the kitchen and opened the first door. Beyond was a tiny broom closet. For once, I considered my small size a blessing. Equally grateful the space was free of clutter, I ducked inside and closed the door.

  Like the closet I’d hidden in upstairs, the door was louvered, allowing light to enter and me to see out. My heart pounded so hard, I swear my pulse reverberated off the walls. Hopefully Jeff would linger with Bob a minute and take his search outside, letting me hide until Jon could take care of him.

  No sounds but my own ragged breathing filled my tiny space for a long stretch of time until two gunshots rang out in close succession. Jon and Jeff? Marilyn? I didn’t dare move until either Jeff left or Jon stood on the other side of the closet door.

  Sweat drenched my underarms and slid down my temples. I wiped my forehead with my palm and dried my hand on my jeans, but in doing so, I tipped over a broom. Its handle scuffed along the wall as it toppled backwards. The drumming of my heart began a new tattoo. I prayed I hadn’t betrayed my location.

  “Come out, Gayle!” Jeff’s voice drifted in from the house somewhere on the lower level, but not in the kitchen. “Jon can’t help you now. Sorry about that. Looks like he’s abandoned you and run away scared with Marilyn. No matter. We’ll catch up to them later.”

  His voice sounded like he was at least a room away. I made my breathing a little shallower as I listened through the slats.

  “I know you’re hiding down here somewhere. Come on out so we can talk about your options. We won’t hurt you—just want to talk. I might have a nice deal you can’t refuse. We could use someone with your … talents.”

  I’ll just bet he had a sweet deal for me—one that no doubt included silencing me forever. Please, please, please, God, don’t let him find me.

  “Don’t make me keep hunting for you! I’m really sick of your little games—yours and Marilyn’s and Jon’s. Hopefully Bob has taken care of that snitch by now, just like I’m going to take care of you.”

  I guessed negotiating was off the table.

  Footsteps sounded in the kitchen, and a trickle of light seeped in through the slats. I had enough to make out a few objects in the closet with me—a feather duster, a plunger, various cleaners, including Comet, Windex, ammonia and bleach.

  Housekeeping had never been my forte, but I remembered a warning I’d read on the cleaning bottles and online. Chemical warfare might be my only option.

  I grabbed and uncapped the bleach bottle. The ammonia I positioned nearby and loosened its cap. With the bleach in my left hand and the nasty end of the plunger in my right, I mentally rehearsed a move I hoped I wouldn’t need to use.

  Jeff paced the kitchen tiles. “I will find you, Gayle, because you are one of the dumbest staff Anderson-Blakely has ever hired. As a matter of fact … you’re fired. We should have let Doug take care of you a long time ago. Too bad he’s not here now, eh? You’d squirm like a worm on a hook if I dangled you in front of him. No boyfriend to dash to your rescue—not this time. I told you he ran away, didn’t I?”

  A sliding glass door moved in its tracks as it eased open and shut. I hoped he’d gone out back, thinking I’d left the house, but I didn’t dare bank on that assumption. Movement within the kitchen and the sound of him throwing open the door proved my worries justified. Thank God I had been smart enough not to hide in the pantry, though the canned goods might have made debilitating missiles. I tensed, ready to strike if and when he opened the broom closet door.

  “Olly-olly all come free.” He sang off key.

  Through the louvers, a flash of dark clothing passed on its way toward the sink. Jeff stood still for a second, his back to me. He spun and focused his gaze at the broom closet, almost right at me.

  I froze—no breathing, no blinking, only the tiny thud of a single drop of sweat as it landed on my shoe. He covered the distance between the sink and closet in three steps and stopped in front of the door. Another sweat drop plummeted to the floor as my fight or flight hormones surged.

  He lifted his hand to grasp the door handle.

  Him or me.

  When the latch disengaged, I kicked the door into Jeff, sending him reeling backwards. I burst out and jabbed him in the stomach with the plunger handle. He fell to the floor, gasping for breath. I struck him on the head with the rubber end of my makeshift weapon and poured bleach on him and the floor where he lay.

  I scrambled back into the closet and seized the bottle of ammon
ia. Holding my breath, I splashed the liquid onto the puddle of bleach and ran out of the kitchen, away from the noxious chlorine gas I’d created.

  Jeff’s gun went off, but I didn’t hear any bullets whiz past, so chances were he hadn’t come close to hitting me.

  Bob walked in the door as I entered the living room, so I had to make a hard left and run back up the stairs. He lunged for me but wasn’t fast enough.

  Into Marilyn’s room I fled, with Bob panting behind me as he gave chase. I grabbed the weighted bar under her bed, drew back and swung with all my strength into his kneecaps as he entered the room. Bob crumpled to the floor, writhing and yelping. I struck him again near his neck. Jumping over his groaning form. I ran to the office for the second time and climbed out onto the roof, still carrying my bar. The cool evening breeze lifted the damp strands of hair stuck to my cheeks and re-energized me.

  As I ran around the roof to the front of the house, matching footsteps echoed on the porch beneath me. Jagged pieces of roof shingles flew up in my face as a bullet exploded through them. I screamed. Jeff shot once more, but I hugged the side of the house, out of his range.

  By my count, he’d fired at least five times if the two I’d heard when I was hiding were both his. Assuming he hadn’t reloaded, he had one shot left if his revolver was like most of the ones I’d seen and used. I’d learned a few facts about guns growing up. My brothers thought it amusing to have a little sister able to outshoot all of their friends and win their sucker bets for them.

  I found a loose shingle and threw it behind me but remained still except for the rapid rise and fall of my chest. The footsteps below reversed and ran toward the shingle’s resting spot. Another shot blasted through the roof—the sixth and the last if I was lucky, but I couldn’t be sure.

  I side-stepped toward the front corner and crept to the edge of the roof where the drainpipe ran to the ground near the driveway. Marilyn’s silver Volvo was gone. The cable van hadn’t moved.

  Had Jon left with Marilyn and abandoned me to fend for myself? He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have. I knew in my heart he’d never do that to me, but wherever he was, I needed his help.

  I clamped my feet around the drainpipe to slow my descent, taking the bar with me. When my feet hit the ground, I turned to run into the woods. Instead, I nearly smashed noses with Jeff Hardinger.

  He raised his gun and pointed it at me. Cocking his head to one side, he said, “Hi Gayle. Remember me?”

  42

  Did I take a chance Jeff was out of ammunition, or did I try to wait him out and hope Jon would intervene? I opted for the latter.

  “You said you wanted to talk?” My voice shook.

  “I did before you tried to kill me. We’re through talking, you and me. Drop the stick.” He put the gun to my temple. I dropped the bar and squeezed my eyes shut.

  Oh dear Lord, he really means to kill me. Please let the gun be empty.

  My head fogged as I breathed in and out in quick, shallow breaths. A single tear escaped the vise of my eyelids and rolled down my cheek.

  “Are you crying? Aw, sweetheart, there’s no crying in public accounting.” He snickered at his stupid joke.

  Maybe he’d already killed Jon with one of those earlier shots. He wore gloves and carried a gun as if murder had always been on his agenda. If killing Marilyn had been his original intent, he had nothing to lose killing two more.

  The cold pressure of the gun against my head fell away. I opened my eyes.

  “Move. Back in the house. We need to find Bob to wrap up the last loose ends.”

  I’d never been married nor had any children. I kept thinking, what a waste if I had to die before I experienced either of those milestones in my short twenty-four years.

  What would my brothers think when they found out their little sister had been murdered? How would they and my parents react?

  Would they find my body in shallow grave in the woods near Marilyn’s house, or would I become one of those people who disappeared, my face on flyers plastered on convenience store windows and bus stops? The media would interview my teary-eyed parents holding my last photo, my mother begging for help from the public to help find me.

  The anguish my family would suffer was unfathomable.

  Dear God, I can’t do it to them. I can’t.

  The stress built to unbearable levels. Screw him. If he planned to kill me anyway, I’d be damned if I’d roll over and let him. I had to make a move soon.

  After climbing the second step to the porch, my next leg motion wasn’t forward but a powerful back kick into Jeff’s soft middle. I loved kickboxing for exercise and hoped what had never been more than an aerobics move before might have a life-or-death application.

  With a loud grunt, Jeff toppled backwards to the sidewalk. His head sounded like a bowling ball being released as it hit the pavement. I bolted past him and around the side of the house. His gun clicked, but no shot rang out. He was out of ammunition, but he knew it, too. Whether or not he had the ability to reload was the huge unknown.

  Where the darkness swallowed up the light, I made a hard left and veered toward the woods on the side of Marilyn’s house. I ran as fast as my former eight hundred meter sprinter’s legs would carry me and immediately regretted dropping wind sprints from my running program.

  “There’s nowhere to run out here, Gayle,” Jeff called out in a singsong voice.

  As I hit the tree line, shots rang out, but they didn’t sound like they’d been fired toward me. I ducked behind a cluster of trees. The darkness offered cover, but rustling leaves and crackling twigs grew louder, closer.

  Oh shit!

  I started moving again, but the farther away I ventured, the less light penetrated the forest. My face and arms bore the brunt of several low-lying branches as I pushed on. Tripping or crashing into a tree and knocking myself out rose higher on the probability graph. I slowed and found what felt to my hands like a fairly dense bush. I wormed in as close to the low center as I could, froze and cocked my ear toward Marilyn’s house.

  Nature’s graveyard of dead foliage sounded the alarm as Jeff moved closer to my spot. A beam of light danced through the tree trunks at waist level. I hoped my cover would be dense enough to keep me hidden if he lowered the angle of his flashlight.

  Running was no longer an option.

  He paused, his labored breathing far too loud and far too close. The light searched for me, piercing the space above my head. I held my breath for several heartbeats until the footsteps continued past.

  Only then did I take a few shallow breaths.

  From the direction of Marilyn’s house, an engine rumbled to life, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel. I assumed Bob was the driver, pursuing Marilyn to avenge Leslie’s death or fleeing to save his skin.

  The footsteps returned my way. Their maker swore as he crashed into an obstacle.

  More tires on gravel, accompanied by strobe lights, wormed their way into my hidey hole. The police?

  Jeff’s movements stopped a few feet past where I crouched. He retraced his steps away from Marilyn’s house and continued through the trees.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The glow of his flashlight illuminated a path. Perhaps Bob waited for him on the other side of the trees, or he had his own vehicle parked in the vicinity. I emerged from my hiding spot and ran toward Marilyn’s house.

  Jon was the first person I saw. “Gayle!” He ran and captured me in his arms, smothering my cries of joy, saying for the both of us, “Oh, thank God! Thank God.” He kissed the top of my head. “Where’s Jeff?”

  “In the woods, heading away from here.” I rattled all my words off against his chest because I had my arms locked around his waist.

  Jon broke free of my death grip and relayed my information to the officer in the police car. The vehicle made a wide turn and departed, flipping up gravel in its haste. Another squad car and an ambulance arrived. The officers and emergency personnel spoke to Jon, who pointed to the house and the
upper floor. I assumed he told them about Leslie and where to find her body.

  The FBI had had an unsuccessful evening—Marilyn missing, Leslie killed, Bob and Jeff on the run.

  I remembered my deadly chemical cocktail and yelled to the officers and EMT personnel. “Don’t go in the kitchen, there’s chlorine gas from a mix of bleach and ammonia.”

  Jon held me by the shoulders. “Since I tossed a rock at Marilyn’s window to distract them, I’ve been running around trying to find you and Marilyn while remaining out of sight. Where were you the whole time? In the woods?”

  “Jeff took me from the van at gunpoint, but I managed to get away, hiding and running all over the place. I capped Bob upstairs and went out on the roof, then down the drainpipe. That’s when Jeff caught me again, but I escaped into the woods. He chased me there. I guess I hid long enough for flashing police lights to convince him to flee instead of hunting me down.”

  “Oh dear God!” He drew me into a new, tighter embrace. “But you’re okay?”

  I nodded against his chest, and he released me.

  “I need to check in and start looking for Marilyn.” He leaned against the van, pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

  He gave the person on the other end of the line a brief update. There were some other exchanges of information that made no sense to me, probably some kind of code or jargon—secret FBI stuff off limits to my civilian ears.

  He sounded very professional, like he did that sort of thing every day … when he wasn’t adding up columns of numbers or wading through stacks of invoices. What a weird combination of skills he possessed. Those might tend to make a person a little odd. Had his secretiveness drawn him to the FBI, or had the FBI made him that way? Perhaps it was a chicken and egg thing.

  I climbed in the van after he did. “Where should we start looking?”

  “I have a few places in mind, but—”

  “Oh no, you are not dumping me off again, Jon Cripps.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest and slammed back against the seat.

  “I wasn’t going to dump you off, Gayle.”