by Brenda Novak
With concerted time and effort, he’d managed to traverse the half mile or so of forest separating their cabin and that of their closest neighbor. He’d use the phone to call for help. He’d tell the police everything that’d happened and everything Ink had planned and hope they’d believe he hadn’t killed anybody. He didn’t want to be a gangbanger anymore. He wanted to get his life in order, even if it meant serving more time. Punishing the world for his shitty childhood only insured he had a shitty adulthood, and nothing had been worse than the past week with Ink. It’d shown him that he wasn’t like Ink at all, and no longer aspired to be. He wanted to make his grandparents proud—because if there was a heaven, they were in it.
When he spotted the back of the cabin peeking through the pines, he felt a huge surge of relief. Not only was he tired, he needed a doctor, probably some antibiotics, as well, and he wanted to know he was safe from Ink’s unexpected return. But then he came across the white truck they’d been driving since Ink killed those dads and realized that he hadn’t gone far at all.
He was here at the Rogers cabin.
Why?
This couldn’t be about that bit of fluff they’d seen on the deck. Ink didn’t care about sex; he couldn’t even get a good boner. The bullet that’d jacked up his spinal cord had made him impotent. That was part of the reason he hated Laurel so much—the only part L.J. could sort of identify with. He wouldn’t want anyone to take his manhood away from him, either. But from what he’d seen, whatever happened to Ink, Ink deserved.
So what did his old cellie want here? A hostage? New transportation?
Knowing him, it could be anything.
But what Ink did now didn’t matter to L.J. If Ink had left the keys in the ignition, he was home free…?.
Careful not to make any more noise than was absolutely necessary, in case Ink was on his way back for whatever reason, L.J. slipped around to the driver’s side and opened the door. Sure enough, the keys dangled from the ignition. He could jump in and head for town. Get help. These past two weeks would finally come to an end.
He was about to do just that, but hesitated. With a twenty-minute drive, any help he brought would be pretty damn long in coming. By the time the police arrived, Ink could be done here and well on his way to Canada or somewhere else in the family’s Esplanade, if it was still parked out front.
Unless he was crazy enough to go after Laurel again…
Did he let his old cellie do whatever he was going to do? Or did he try to stop him?
Ink was so dangerous, L.J. preferred to escape unnoticed. But if he was scared, he knew this family had to be terrified.
Deciding to check out the situation to see what was going on, he left the truck and crept around the side of the house, looking in every window that wasn’t covered by a blind.
Most of the rooms were dark and empty. Maybe Ink had already boosted the Esplanade. If so, L.J. could get out of here. But when he came around the house, he realized that wasn’t the case. Probably because they had no close neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Rogers weren’t too cautious about lowering their blinds. They were raised as high as ever on the front windows, plenty high enough for L.J. to see that Ink had two younger girls, the bikini chick and her mother in the living room and was brandishing that damn gun.
Where was the dad?
Maybe he’d already been killed.
Or he wasn’t home in the first place.
L.J. hated Ink, wanted to help the Rogers family. But he didn’t have a weapon. The best he could do was use the bat he’d seen in the garage the last time they were here. His left shoulder was hurt, not his right. Still…did he have the strength to swing it?
“That’s crazy, man. A bat against a gun?” he whispered to himself. He started to turn away, to head back to the truck. But then he saw Ink grab the dark-haired girl by the hair and yank her up against him. The bastard was going to kill her.
Almost without thinking, L.J. picked up a rock from amid the plants at his feet and threw it at the window. He heard the shattering of glass as he ran for the cover of the garage. Then a gunshot rang out. Where that bullet had gone, he had no idea. Maybe Ink had killed the girl. Or maybe he’d shot in the direction of the rock.
The bat was where he’d seen it. He grabbed it and waited, hoping Ink would charge out of the house and head to the Esplanade so he could rush him from behind. But that didn’t happen. Nothing happened. Until several more shots rang out.
“Son of a bitch.” Had he killed them, anyway?
Now that he’d committed himself he was actually eager to fight. He’d wanted to stop Ink when Ink had attacked that real-estate guy. He’d wanted to step in when Ink had shot those four men walking into the cabin. He’d even wanted to keep Ink from going to Laurel’s house last night. He’d had no stake in coming to Pineview, no reason to kill innocent people. It was time he put a stop to his old cellie for good.
Wishing the bat didn’t feel quite so heavy, he lifted it over his right shoulder and peered around the corner. The front window had been shattered; he’d expected that. But as he crept closer, using the darkness and the trees for cover, he saw that the living room was empty. If Ink had killed this family, they were lying somewhere else. And if he hadn’t killed them, L.J. had done all he could.
Tossing the bat aside, he gave up searching for Ink and began to run for the truck.
But he didn’t make it. Another gunshot ripped through the night, pain flared in his head, then he landed on the ground, face-first.
L.J. had thrown that rock? Ink couldn’t believe it. That was gratitude for you. He should’ve let him die instead of removing that damn bullet.
His former cellie was dead now. Ink had shot him twice just to be sure, but it brought little satisfaction. There was no repairing the damage the bastard had done. When he’d thrown that rock at the window, Ink had thought a S.W.A.T. team was coming after him. He’d turned and fired, but then Mrs. Rogers had hit him with a lamp and just about knocked him senseless. By the time he could think straight, everyone was gone—they’d scattered all over the house or run to the same room. He hadn’t bothered to look. He’d fired a few shots in frustration, just to scare the shit out of them, and hurried out to catch L.J. before he could do anything else.
Now it was no use trying to chase them down. For all he knew, Mrs. Rogers had come up with her husband’s hunting rifle or some other firearm and would shoot him if he tried to go back inside. It was best to disable the remaining vehicles and leave. Hopefully, by the time they found help, he’d be finished with Laurel and well on his way to Canada.
She was the one he wanted, anyway. The only one who mattered here in Pineview. And, if Mrs. Rogers had given him adequate directions, he had a good chance of finding her.
The doctors were taking forever with Virgil. Vivian had spoken to Rex two more times, but he had nothing new to report. An hour ago, the nurse had said Rex was asleep in the lobby and had refused to wake him. “He looks like death warmed over, that one. I suggest you let him sleep.”
Apparently the nurse could tell he was going through withdrawal. Earlier he’d complained that she didn’t like him, that she had a bad attitude about letting him use the phone, but he must’ve won her over. Vivian could hear it in the woman’s voice—and had to smile regardless of her concern for Virgil. Not many women could remain immune to Rex’s charm. If she hadn’t met Myles, if Myles wasn’t exactly what she needed and wanted in a man, she feared she’d fall right back into the same old situation with Rex. As it was, she was happy with what she’d found, hopeful that she and Myles might be able to build the kind of life she’d always dreamed of.
She was equally hopeful that Rex could stay clean and find the happiness he deserved.
“Keep a close eye on him,” she’d told the nurse. “He might need some medical help himself.”
“My thoughts exactly,” came the reply. The woman told her Virgil was still in surgery, and that was it—all she’d learned after waiting the entire day.
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“Can it really take this long?” she complained to Claire. They were sitting on Claire’s small porch, drinking herbal tea and watching the moths dance around the porch light, the stars overhead brighter than ever. Excited as she was by what was happening between her and Myles, it would’ve been a perfect night.
Except for the agonizing worry.
Myles had called once and claimed his leg wasn’t even bothering him, but Vivian knew that couldn’t be true. From what he’d said on the phone, he was no closer to finding Ink than when they’d separated at the motel, but he refused to give up. She had no idea how long it’d be before he came to get her, but she was looking forward to another night at the motel.
“I can’t believe you’re with the sheriff now. I knew you’d be good for each other.”
“Yeah, well, don’t jinx it,” she teased.
“I think you make a perfect couple.”
“You’ve been telling me that for a while.” Vivian had enjoyed discussing Myles, but the worry lurking underneath all the chitchat was starting to get to her. “Do you think I should call the hospital again?”
Claire pulled her gaze away from her sister’s house, which was set back even farther than hers. It was just the two of them on this little lane. Most of the homes in the surrounding area were impoverished—this was the poor side of town, farther from the lake—but both their houses were unique and more artsy than ghetto. They were right next to the old city park. That park wasn’t used anymore but it was a pretty piece of land, except for the ugly cement restrooms. “Does it matter what I say?”
“What does that mean?” Vivian asked.
“I think Rex will contact you when it’s over. But that isn’t what you want to hear.”
“Because I can’t rely on it. Maybe the nurse doesn’t want to wake him. Or she went off duty and the new nurse isn’t even aware of what’s going on.”
Claire reached out to squeeze her hand. “Go call. It might ease your mind.”
Vivian had just slipped inside and picked up the phone when she heard the roar of an engine revved way too high, followed by the sound of squealing brakes. This was a dirt road that dead-ended into the old park; there was no need to be traveling at such speed. She was about to duck her head out to see what was going on when the pop…pop of gunfire turned her knees to water.
The call Myles received came from dispatch. Nadine Archer said she had Trudie Jenson on the phone, which meant he was hearing from Trudie for the second time in as many days. But this call wasn’t because she had Ink or Lloyd in her store. This was because Trudie’s Grocery was the first open business one reached when approaching town from the east and Brett Hamerschlit had stopped there to get help. According to Nadine, he had Janet Rogers in his Suburban.
When Myles heard what Trudie passed along to the dispatcher, it felt like someone had wrapped barbed wire around his heart. It hurt just to breathe. “What’d you say?”
Nadine repeated herself, slowly and distinctly, but her earlier rush of words had nothing to do with why he hadn’t been able to understand her. He’d quit listening after hearing the name Rogers, flipped on his cop lights and floored the accelerator in order to get out there as fast as possible. Marley…
Fortunately, he’d already been headed in that direction. Allen had called a couple of hours ago to report seeing a white pickup turn down a dirt road about a mile or so from his house. Myles wouldn’t have thought much of it. He’d been following up on calls from various citizens who’d spotted white pickups all evening. But there was the coincidence of Ned Green dropping Ink and Lloyd off in that general area. So once he’d exhausted any leads he’d considered more promising, he’d decided to have a look. Although there’d been no reports from up the mountain, he’d begun to wonder if Ink and Lloyd might’ve broken into an empty cabin and simply holed up there. They certainly weren’t in town. He’d searched everywhere.
“Where is Marley?” he asked.
“Home with Alexis. So is Elizabeth. Janet drove a four-wheeler to the road and flagged down Brett. He brought her into town. They need you up there, Sheriff. There’s a dead man in the backyard and the place has been shot up. Everyone’s rattled.”
“But Marley’s okay, right?” He needed to hear that part again. “Elizabeth and Marley—all of them—they’re fine?”
“Everyone’s fine, except the dead man.”
Yes, she’d mentioned a body. “Who is it?”
“They don’t know. Janet says he came out of nowhere to save them, and a tattooed guy, obviously the guy in the flyer you put out, must’ve shot him when he tried to get away.”
Myles asked a few more questions, but Nadine said Trudie couldn’t get any more out of Janet, who was crying and babbling hysterically. It was a miracle Brett, Trudie and Nadine had been able to piece together as much of the story as they had.
“I’m halfway there already,” he said, and almost disconnected.
Nadine stopped him. “Hang on. Trudie’s saying something. Sounds like Janet thinks Claire’s in trouble.”
That cold wave of terror he’d felt a moment before returned. He’d barely had time to let Marley’s safety sink in. Now he had to worry about Claire?
No, not Claire. Vivian…
Claire was screaming. The sound scraped Vivian’s spine like nails on a chalkboard because she didn’t know what it meant. Had Claire been hit? Or was she just scared half to death?
She’d acted so casual all afternoon, as if she wasn’t even worried. She probably couldn’t imagine anything like this really happening, despite Vivian’s insistence that it could.
The truck that’d come barreling up to the house had stopped in the middle of the natural landscape and cobblestone path that was Claire’s front yard. The hub-hub-hub of a motor at idle filled the air and the door cre-e-e-a-ked open as Ink got out.
Vivian was crawling on the wooden floorboards of the porch, trying to get to Claire, so she couldn’t see his face. Only his feet, clad in a pair of cheap tennis shoes, showed from underneath. But she didn’t need to see the rest to know who he was. He’d found her. At last. This was the moment he’d been waiting for—and the moment that’d haunted her nightmares—for the past four years.
The dust and dirt kicked up by his tires when he skidded to a halt combined with the truck’s exhaust to clog her nostrils. Coughing, she gasped for clean air as she grabbed hold of Claire.
Fortunately, Claire was finished screaming. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” she kept saying as if she didn’t quite believe it herself.
“I’ve got you.” Vivian had her gun, too, and planned to use it, but she couldn’t get off a good shot. She wanted to drag her friend into the house before Ink was upon them. She wouldn’t put it past him to shoot Claire just because she was vulnerable. The only reason he’d missed with the first couple of shots was that the bullets had to go through his windshield. Now he was out of the truck, and the windshield wouldn’t be there to deflect the next one.
“Hi, honey, I’m home!” he called.
Fearing she might not have a better chance, Vivian knocked over the chairs they’d been sitting on so she and Claire had the benefit of a barrier and fired before he could. The blast deafened her, but she knew instantly that she hadn’t hit him. She’d seen the spark of the bullet as it struck the hood of the truck.
“Is this any kind of welcome from the girl I’ve been dreaming about since we met?” He added a taunting laugh to that question, but he didn’t fire back and he didn’t advance. He was crouching behind the truck, using it for cover. She figured he wouldn’t have walked into the clear the first time if he’d expected her to be armed.
What was he hoping to do? Get her to waste all her bullets before he used his?
“Claire? Are you okay? What’s going on?” The voice came from farther down the lane. Leanne, Claire’s crippled sister, had heard the truck, the shots and screams, and was coming to investigate. Moonlight bounced off the metal of her wheelchair as she rolled toward t
hem.
“Go back!” Vivian shouted. “Go inside and lock your doors! Now!”
Leanne must’ve recognized the urgency of the situation because she immediately reversed. But Ink wasn’t about to let her go. No doubt he knew she’d call the cops. He fired in her direction, missed, then jumped into his truck to chase her down.
Or run her over…
“Oh, God!” Claire jumped up as if there was something she could do. But Vivian pushed her aside. She couldn’t have Claire getting in the way. Her gun was their only hope of stopping him.
“Call Myles!” she yelled, and ran after Ink herself, firing at the back window in hopes of hitting him.
The window cracked and splintered. Even in the dark, she could make out the holes she’d made. A web of lines connected them. But she ran out of bullets before she could bring him to a stop, and she didn’t have another clip. Virgil hadn’t even given her one. They’d always imagined a close encounter, the chance to fire once or twice at most, had never dreamed she’d use so much ammunition.
There was a huge crash, then the grating of metal on rock as Ink plowed into what was left of the concrete restrooms. Leanne had managed to reach one of the openings before he could run her down, but he had her blocked in.
When he realized she wasn’t going anywhere, he abandoned the truck, keeping her barricaded there, and started back.
That was when Vivian got her first real look at his face.
He hadn’t changed much. One leg appeared to be shorter than the other, or his spine had been fused, because he had an awkward gait. A grimace revealed what it cost him to move so fast. But his tattoos were as grotesque as ever, both in their abundance and the macabre nature of the designs he’d chosen.
And his eyes were still as devoid of human emotion as a snake’s…?.
He didn’t seem afraid that she’d use her gun. Obviously he knew how many bullets a typical handgun could hold and had already guessed she was out.
Hoping he couldn’t see her well enough to shoot her, she ducked behind any tree or shrub she could find. As she made her way back to the house, she was surprised he didn’t even attempt to fire at her. Was he saving his bullets? Or did he have other plans?