by Judy Clemens
The passenger lurched up and threw a punch at Casey. She ducked, easily avoiding his amateur attempt. His swing spun him halfway around, and Casey side-kicked him in the back. He fell forward, cracking his head on the fireplace ledge.
“Whoops,” Death said.
Casey felt the guy’s pulse. Still going strong. Was that good?
The driver held his nose and moaned, no longer a threat. So now it was only Crash.
A click sounded behind Casey and, very carefully, she turned.
Crash pointed a rifle at her. The truck door hung open, and light from the cab spilled over Crash’s back and shoulders, turning him into an even larger, silhouetted monster.
Death froze. “No sudden moves. He may be a drunk moron, but his finger’s on the trigger.”
Casey slowly raised her hands. “I just want to leave.”
Crash swallowed, and the rifle rose a couple of inches. “Who are you?”
“I’m nobody. Simply passing through.”
He shuffled forward a few steps. “Why’d you do that?” He frowned toward his friends, lying on the ground at Casey’s feet.
“Why did you threaten me?”
“I didn’t.”
“You grabbed me, said I was going to like you. We both know what you meant.”
“I didn’t mean nothing.”
“Okay. I believe you. I’m sorry.”
“I was surprised to find you here, that’s all.”
“Okay.”
“And I thought you were pretty.”
Oh, boy.
“And I did think you might like me, too.”
Because all women being manhandled fell in love with their inebriated attackers.
“Can I put my hands down now?”
“How did you do that?” He was back to sounding like a toddler.
“Do what?”
“Hurt my friends.”
She kept her eyes on his face. “I didn’t want to. But they scared me. They were trying to hurt me.”
He shook his head. “No. No, they wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Okay.” Gradually, she let her arms lower until they were at her sides. She took a step toward Crash, around the table. “And you wouldn’t either, right?”
He shuffled his feet. “Wouldn’t what?”
“Hurt me.”
“No. But why did you do that?” He looked at the driver, who still groaned quietly. The rifle lowered, since Crash was too impaired to multi-task.
As his face was turned, Casey slipped to the side into the darkness, and then behind him. She quietly slid the half-filled case of beer from the picnic table and fit her fingers into the carrying slot.
Crash turned back toward where she’d been. “Hey. Where are you?” He raised the gun.
Casey swung the box at Crash’s stomach and hit him square on. He doubled over. Casey swung the beer back around and clocked him in the face. He dropped like a brick.
“I’m right behind you.” She swayed and dropped to the ground, letting her head droop onto the patchy grass.
Death swirled around her head. “Let’s go. Before one of them realizes you’re still here.”
Casey rolled onto her knees, her head ringing from slamming the picnic table bench. Pain shot through her side.
Death nodded. “You can do it.”
Casey got to her feet and picked her way around the men to the fireplace ledge, where she gathered her things. “I can’t leave these guys here.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re a menace.”
“I wish I could take care of them for you.”
Casey glanced at Death. “Seriously?”
“Sometimes it would be nice.”
“I don’t want to let these guys get away with this. But I’m not exactly innocent in this carnage.”
Death let out a sharp laugh. “They were asking for it. Plus, you were defending yourself.”
“Sure. But what if one of them is the local chief’s son or cousin or something? I really don’t want to get stuck in this forgotten town because of them.”
They stood quietly, once again considering options. As she surveyed the scene, Casey’s eye caught on something glinting in the light from the truck. It was the driver’s phone, which had fallen during the fight. Painfully, she scooped it up and dialed 911.
“What is your emergency?” the dispatcher said.
“I’m at a playground in Beltmore. There are three men here who have been driving drunk, and they assaulted a woman. Me.”
“What is your name, please?”
“If someone comes soon, they’ll find them. I can give you the license plate on the truck.” She shone the phone’s light and called off the number.
“Can you give me any more idea of where you are?” the woman asked.
“Sure. You can track the GPS on this phone.”
Casey wiped her fingerprints from the case—because her info was definitely in the system—and set the phone on the picnic table.
“Ready to go?” Death asked.
Leaving the door of the truck ajar, they set off down the road.
Chapter Five
The night was cool and dark, and the rest of the town slept as Casey limped away, side aching, face on fire.
“You’ve got to take care of that.” Death indicated her cheek. “It looks nasty.”
“I don’t see an Urgent Care Center, do you?”
“No. Or even what could be a doctor’s office during the day. No matter how primitive it might be. The school might have a nurse, but I’m not going to guarantee it.”
“A school nurse would be home in bed right now.”
“Right. Human hours.”
Casey hobbled on, gently prodding her cheek, which had puffed out to an alarming size.
“Car,” Death said.
Casey ducked behind a tree as a cop cruiser raced past, headed in the direction of the playground.
Death watched it go. “You don’t want to stay and be a witness? Make sure those idiots don’t bother any more women?”
Casey waited until the cops were out of sight and continued down the road, glad they couldn’t see her uneven gait. The police might mistake her as the drunk one, the way she weaved down the street. “They won’t be harassing anyone else tonight. Except maybe the cops, who are better equipped than most people to deal with idiots. Maybe once I’m settled I can call the station and give them more details.”
“Why would they believe you, seeing how you took off from the scene?”
“What woman would hang around with her attackers? I would think any woman without my—”
“—talents? Night vision? Rock-hard abs?”
“—knowledge of self-defense would run as far as she could get.”
“Not every woman would think as clearly as you in that situation.”
“Which means she would run.”
Death nodded. “You could have locked yourself in the truck.”
True. But then she would have been stuck in town indefinitely, and have to explain why she took on and defeated three men. It would be her story against a bunch of locals. “I’ll take some selfies once I find a place. Document my injuries.”
“Or…”
“Or what?”
“You make a return visit and track them down. You do know the license plate number.”
“I’ll never remember that.”
“I will. And I don’t want to see it at an accident some future night when they kill someone.”
Casey held up her hands. “Okay. We’ll take care of them. I promise.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
They walked through what would have been the village’s downtown, had any of the stores not been boarded up. No motels, city buildin
gs, or even a convenience store with a restroom. Houses crouched dark and dingy with overgrown lawns, cars on blocks, and cracked plastic toys cluttering the broken sidewalks. The roofs held peeling shingles, and the homes were covered either with flaking paint or siding that had seen better days. Casey shuddered at the thought of living in one of the derelict houses, but within a few minutes she and Death were on the other side of the occupied lots, headed into open land once again, where she could breathe.
“Ghost town,” Casey said.
Death grunted.
Casey dug in her bag for some ibuprofen and swallowed two of them dry. She heaved her pack onto her back, wincing at the pain in her side. “I can’t go much longer. It might have to be a field this time. Only for a few hours. At least it’s corn, rather than the short crops we were seeing earlier today.”
“You’re in no condition to be lying on damp ground.”
“I might not have a choice.”
“Give it a few more minutes. I have a feeling…”
Casey pounded out another mile before a light rain began to fall. “Great. I’m stopping.” Corn, especially at this time of year when it was ready for harvest, offered minimal shelter, but if she made her way far enough in, she could drape her waterproof blanket over some stalks and make herself a little lean-to.
“Hang on.” Death pointed. “What’s that? Think it’s open?”
A small white church loomed out of the darkness, smack on the corner of an intersection of two township roads. Its sign lit up the night, declaring the building the home of the Harvest Church of Saints.
“Sounds kinda creepy,” Death said. “Like they’re kidnapping people for their kidneys.”
Casey laughed, then stopped, holding her side. “Let’s check the doors. Sometimes churches take the idea of hospitality literally.”
But the double doors in the front were locked. Casey peered through the glass, hands on either side of her face. She yearned to be inside, out of the mist, with a pack of ice on her face and a something soft underneath her.
Death left, then swooped back immediately. “Back door.”
“It’s open?”
“Don’t know. But at least there is one.”
Casey trudged around the building, across the gravel parking lot. She tried not to get her hopes up when she spied the small brown door. “Well, here goes nothing.”
The door opened.
Casey’s eyes watered as she stepped inside, and she swiped away tears of relief. She reached for a light switch.
“I wouldn’t,” Death said.
“Oh. Right.” Who knew what other drunks were cruising the roads that night? Or even those cops.
The church was tiny. Using the glow from her phone, Casey found two rooms on the main floor, both locked, most likely the pastor’s office and a library, and two classrooms in the basement. She finally located a restroom, where she could close the door and turn on the light. Not such a good idea. The mirror told her more than she wanted to know, and she palpated her swollen cheek.
“Anything broken?” Death asked.
“Don’t think so.” She pushed on her side with the flat of her hand, wincing at the sharp pain. She’d bruised ribs before, but this felt like more than that. God, please don’t let them be broken. “I’m going to have a pretty rainbow on my face by morning.”
“But for posterity’s sake, you need to document how it looks tonight.”
Casey stood against the plain white of the far wall to take some pictures of her swollen face. It took a few tries, as selfies weren’t something she’d had much practice doing, but eventually she figured out how to get the camera pointed toward herself and angled correctly. It took a little more effort to get shots of her ribs and still have her face in the photo for identification, but she did the best she could.
“Probably want to do that again in the morning, once the colors start to show,” Death said.
Casey agreed.
After the photo session, Casey cleaned up as well as paper towels and hand soap would allow, while Death took a tour of the church.
“Found a kitchen.” Death now wore ministers’ garb, black shirt with white collar, gray pants, and shiny black shoes. “Hopefully, there’s ice.”
There was. Casey crushed some of it in two Ziplocs she found in a drawer, and lay on a cushioned pew in the sanctuary, one bag on her ribs, one on her face. She’d taken off her wet sweatshirt and hung it on the pew in front of her, along with her jeans, socks, and underthings. Her sneakers sat with their laces loosened and their tongues sticking out. Casey hoped everything would dry out before morning, because she didn’t want to resume her journey in her T-shirt and pajama shorts.
Her phone chirped.
Death read the screen. “Eric.”
Casey didn’t open her eyes. What would she say to him? She didn’t want to admit that on her first night she’d incapacitated three men and gotten herself bruised and battered. She wasn’t a good enough liar to get away with saying everything was fine.
“He’s worried.”
Casey didn’t move.
“You should at least answer him. Let him know you’re all right.”
“Am I?”
“You’re talking to me, aren’t you?”
Casey sighed and felt blindly for her phone, which she’d set on the floor. She located it and held it above her face as she thumbed a response, squinting with the one eye not covered by the ice pack.
Doing fine. Sleeping in a church. Hope all is well with you.
She set the phone back down.
Death’s eyes rolled. “You sound like you’re talking to someone you hardly know.”
Casey didn’t respond. Did she know him? They’d met half a year earlier, and spent only a couple of months in each other’s company. She liked him, sure, but how well had she actually gotten to know him? Or let him get to know her? He was sweet, kind, funny, smart, good-looking…everything one would want. But then, Reuben had been all of those things, too, plus exotic and a little bit dangerous. He’d also been the father of her son. Her partner. Her everything. How could she throw that away for a guy she’d accidentally found in some small Ohio town?
“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Death said. “Comparing him to your dead husband.”
Casey stayed quiet.
“I understand it, honey, I do. But it’s been two and a half years. It’s time to move on. And don’t get all on your high horse. I’m not saying forget Reuben, and certainly not Omar. I’m saying…Reuben loved you. He would want you to find it again.”
“Find what? I can’t find him again.”
“Exactly.” Death patted her shoulder, leaving it chilled. She could have just used Death as an ice pack. “You aren’t supposed to find him again. He was special. Unique.”
“I know that!” Casey jerked, sending her face’s ice pack to the floor. “That’s the whole problem! I can’t replace him.”
“You’re not supposed to replace him. No one will fill the place he had in your life. That will always be his. But you can fill a different place, with a different person. Reuben would be okay with it. I promise. He’d want you to find—”
“Will you shut up?” Casey snatched the ice pack off the floor, sending shards of pain through her side. She smacked it back onto her face and dropped her arm over her eyes. What did Death know? Had Death lost a spouse? A child? She thought not.
The quiet in the church grew, until Casey felt the emptiness.
When the guilt of her outburst got the best of her she opened her eye, ready to apologize.
But Death was gone.
Chapter Six
Casey woke with a start. A woman stood over her, her expression unreadable.
Casey shot to her feet, gasping at the pain in her side. The now melted bags of ice slid to the floor with wet splats, and Case
y quickly took in the rest of the sanctuary. No other people. Exit free and clear at the back of the room. The woman held no weapon, unless you counted two cups of takeout coffee, and a plastic bag draped over her arm. The woman’s noncommittal expression changed to a smile, and Casey let out the breath she’d been holding. She yanked her sweatshirt from where it hung on the pew and painstakingly pulled it on. She wished she could put on all of her clothes, but it felt a little weird to be getting dressed with some strange woman watching.
“I didn’t wake you,” Death said from the next bench, “because she doesn’t look like much of a threat. Besides, I think she’s the minister.” Death had apparently joined another branch of the Church this morning, and now wore Catholic robes. Probably from some horror movie where the priest killed everyone. “From what I see in their pamphlets and such, the Harvest Church of Saints leans toward the pacifistic variety of Christian organizations, and does not, as its name suggests, participate in the black market of human organs.”
Casey returned her attention to the woman, who, as opposed to Death, wore normal, everyday clothes. Jeans and Nikes and a sweatshirt declaring, “I don’t know how it happened. God just made me this way.” She was in her forties, probably, with dark hair streaked gray, a cushiony build, and something active and lively behind her eyes. A woman to be watched.
“She can’t see me,” Death said, “which is interesting, seeing how a woman of the cloth should believe in the afterlife and all. But I guess pastors are human too. I mean, they are, right?”
“Hey, there,” the woman said. “I brought you this.” She handed Casey a steaming cup of coffee, Styrofoam with a Shell insignia.
Casey hesitated, then took it, wrapping her hands around its warmth.
“May I sit?” the woman asked.
Casey used a foot to scoot her bag and blanket closer, making room for the pastor, if that was what she was.
The woman sat. “I’m Sheila. The pastor here.”
Casey ignored Death, who was giving her an “I told you so” look, and took a sip of coffee. “My name’s Casey. Casey Brown.”