by Dana Pratola
Not so engaged now by Caleb’s enthusiasm added to her own, she took a few moments to more closely inspect her new surroundings, but just a little bit. She didn’t want to discover everything at once, she wanted to uncover new details bit by bit as organically as possible. Like tiny surprises.
The first came in the form of an iron and wood umbrella stand next to the front door. It looked to be teak, or some dark wood, with an iron medallion with a unicorn. There was even an umbrella in it, rainbow striped with a green hook handle. It might come in very handy on the return trip to the house.
She took the blue enamel kettle on the stove and filled it, turning her new brushed copper faucet handle. Delighted to find the TEA canister held an assortment of tea, she took out a cinnamon vanilla bag and placed it in a mint green mug. But before she turned the kettle on, she leaned back against the counter, closed her eyes and just listened, to the sounds of the leaves rustling against the house, and the distant roll of thunder.
Winsome stayed like that for several seconds before something else broke through those sounds. She cocked her head, unsure what it had been. Some kind of muffled noise. She couldn’t tell what direction it had come from, or from how far away. She listened another minute, but didn’t hear anything else. Must be the wind kicking something around the property.
Just as her hand reached for the stove knob, more sounds caught her ear. Like the slight scrape and thud of boots on hard ground. Footsteps. She knew the sound well, from listening to Caleb and his men come and go so often over the past weeks. But Caleb couldn’t be home already, she’d spoken to him only twenty minutes ago and he’d said he had work to do. Who would be out here, uninvited? And why would they come to the treehouse instead of the main house?
The steps weren’t necessarily unhurried, and not hurried either, but consistent, and growing slightly louder. Just then, the phone rang in the main house, the old-fashioned ringer trilling on the wind. The footsteps stopped, and Winsome was instantly gripped with terror. A ringing phone shouldn’t cause someone to stop, unless they were waiting to hear if it was answered. Which told her that the person might not be sure that the house was empty. That either he hadn’t stopped to check, or that he had, found no one, and was now wondering if he’d missed someone.
Whatever the case, he was headed here now. Her heart bounced off her ribcage. The caller was probably Caleb. No one else but Finn called here, and he’d already given her his daily check-in. She wanted to run and answer the phone, but couldn’t risk running into the person out there. The uninvited guest.
In her heart, she knew who it was. She wanted to deny it, but her stomach confirmed it, as it churned a heavy ball of dread. Even before the name was fully formed in her mind, his voice rang out loud and full.
“Hey, Winnie! You up there?”
Dante!
Winsome gripped the edge of the counter, already in a full-blown panic. It couldn’t be! He was in jail! Why was he here? How? She needed Caleb, right here, right now, and she had no way to contact him!
She heard another step and immediately moved to the door to flip the lock.
“Come on, Winnie, don’t be like this. Come down and let’s talk,” Dante called up from below.
His voice ran through her like ice, freezing her heart to a sub-zero block that had all it could do to keep pumping. She tried to swallow, but her tongue was frozen as well. She couldn’t leave, neither could she stay here and be a sitting duck. He would definitely kill her. He might take her captive and drive off with her instead of doing it here, but the outcome would be the same. She was going to die.
The next sound she heard was the clunk of a boot heel on the ramp. That gave her about twenty feet to figure out what to do, and her options were extremely limited. She didn’t have any way to defend herself. She didn’t know where the knives were, and even if she did, the likelihood that he would get it away from her and use it for his own purposes was a far greater possibility than successfully fending him off.
“Winnie, you really don’t want to make me come after you, do you?” he asked. “You know how I hate when I have to chase you. Why don’t you be a good girl and just come out here?”
He could already have been at the top by now, but she decided he was coming slowly just to taunt her, his voice grating on her soul like nails on a chalkboard. She heard the phone again and closed her eyes tight, wishing with everything in her that she could transmit a message through the air to whoever was calling.
This time when Dante spoke, she heard that tone. The one that told her he was already over the edge and there would be absolutely no reasoning with him. Not that there ever was.
“You better come out here now, Winsome. I’m in no mood for your antics, especially after you went and had me thrown in jail,” he said, his voice growing more menacing and drawing nearer. “You know you shouldn’t have done that, right? You know that was a huge mistake on your part, right? And that you’re going to make it up to me?”
Winsome spun around, knocking her book to the kitchen floor as she started toward the work room. She could go out the sliding doors and around the back, but she heard him at the door, trying the handle. She turned and ran up to the bedroom, clearing the top step, just as the front door burst open with the clamor of wood cracking and the whack! of the door slamming into the wall. She screamed, but wasn’t sure if it was audible or just in her head.
“Get down here, you little bitch!”
Winsome darted out onto the top deck. What now?
She leaned over the rail, afraid to jump, but knowing it would be better to fall to her death than let Dante get his hands on her. At this height, however, she would get seriously hurt, but probably wouldn’t die. Then Dante would have her anyway. She heard him coming up the steps behind her, still in no hurry. He knew she was trapped.
Maybe she didn’t have to jump. She threw her leg over the top of the rail and reached for the nearest branch, thanking God she’d gotten the cast off today and was able to close her hand around it. By the time she pulled her feet free of the deck, Dante’s voice bellowed again, this time from inside the bedroom.
“You had it now. You don’t make me come after you, you come when you’re told.”
With speed and agility she hadn’t known she possessed, Winsome swung herself under the branch and beneath the top deck, starting down, using the tree and house supports as rungs and toeholds.
Dante’s feet stomped above her.
“You’re wasting my time, Winnie. We both know I’m gonna catch you, and we both know what’s gonna happen then. Stop making me chase you. Stop dragging this out, you’re just making it worse.”
She grabbed tight to a metal tab and froze, hearing his feet at the edge of the deck, knowing he was looking over. She was out of sight here, but not if he came back down and looked up. Should she run, or wait until he went outside, and try to climb back up? Up was much harder than down, and she didn’t know if she had the strength in her arm to attempt it. Anyway, if she did run, to where? He would catch her before she reached the house, and if by some miracle she made it inside, she definitely wouldn’t have time to dial the phone before he caught her. She glanced at the garage. Ruth’s car was in there. With her mind was so full of fear, she couldn’t remember if she’d left the key in it after returning from the doctor, but she had to take the chance.
The moment she heard Dante move, she scrambled down the rest of the way, sliding the last few feet and shredding the cushiony part of her hand on the remainder of a broken branch. Aside from a few smaller slices, it tore a one-inch gash in her left hand, but there was no time for pain. The instant her sneakers hit the dirt, she streaked off toward the garage.
At first, she didn’t think he saw her. Was it possible he’d gone back inside and missed her mad dash toward freedom?
She heard a slam. And then his voice.
“Running?” he yelled. “To where? You really are stupid, aren’t you?”
She could hear him crashing throu
gh the house, then his boots pounding down the ramp, but couldn’t risk looking back. There was no need.
“Where are you going? Where?” he yelled, his voice choppy with the exertion of chasing her. “There’s nowhere for you to run, where I won’t catch you!”
The garage was steps away now, but rather than stop to open the big barn doors, she ran around the side to the door that opened closest to the house. She heard his running feet not far behind her now, and knew even if she opened the car door and found the key, she wouldn’t have time to start it and get away before he smashed the window in.
Hopelessness was like a lasso around her waist, threatening to pull her to the ground and hold her there to await her punishment. Maybe she should just give up and take what was coming to her. It was a foolish thought, but he might go easier on her if she surrendered.
But something else welled up in her. Something stronger, even more urgent than the fear. Enough was enough. She might be about to die, but she was going to go down swinging. She was going to fight for every last breath, no matter how few they were. If only she had a weapon. Anything!
Winsome grabbed the first thing she saw, just as the door swung open again. With nowhere to run, she dropped to her knees and scrambled under the car. Dante lunged for her, grabbing one of her legs and dragging her back several feet, but she managed to kick free, landing a convulsive kick in his face. It would only make him angrier, but it didn’t matter at this point. If she was going to die, he was going to show the signs of a struggle. There would be no hiding the fact it was him that murdered her.
“Come out here, you…useless… little…whore,” he grunted, tugging her.
He still had hold of her other ankle, but she grabbed the tire as best she could with one hand, while feeling for the trigger of the nail gun in her other hand. She kicked free again and managed to turn to look back at him, aim and pull the trigger. But nothing happened.
“What do you think you’re gonna do, kill me with a nail gun?” he mocked, changing his position to better reach her foot. “Stupid bitch, that only happens in movies. You don’t even know how to use it.”
He propelled himself forward and took hold of her ankle. Winsome’s shirt rode up over her stomach as Dante pulled her backward across the cold, oil stained concrete. Her grip on the tire slipped and her arms flung out, desperately seeking anything to stop her. The gun came in contact with the tire and fired with a loud POP that stopped Dante in his progress. Somehow, she’d fired it. She tried to shoot it again, but again, nothing.
“You can’t imagine what I’m going to do to you for having me arrested, telling people I raped you,” Dante seethed. “And making me chase you down. Now you’re trying to shoot me? You’re going to wish you’d never been born, I promise you.”
Using the bumper of the car for leverage, his arm shot up and grabbed her by the back of her jeans. In a matter of seconds, he’d pulled her clear of the car. She rolled to her side and fired again, but with the same result. Dante laughed.
Well, if she couldn’t fire it, she could at least hit him with it. She swung, hitting him in the shoulder that held her. This time the loud POP was accompanied by Dante’s yelp.
“What the fuck! You shot me!” Releasing her, he grabbed his arm, as a small spot of blood seeped to the surface between his fingers.
She remembered then, watching Caleb work, he’d slam the gun onto the wood right before the pop. Of course! It had to come in contact with something. She kept her finger on the trigger and jabbed at him again, this time in the forearm. The gun popped, but the nail didn’t pierce his shirt, only fell away, harmless.
“You do that again and I’m going to break your neck,” Dante snarled.
But she did it again, this time in his wrist as he tried to block it. He wrapped his other hand around the wound, long enough for Winsome to clamber to her feet and toward the door.
But Dante was intent on his mission, and hurtled his body at hers, tackling her to the floor, and causing her to drop the nail gun with a clatter beside her. He sat on her stomach, knocking the wind from her, then grabbed both of her wrists and held her down, letting out a stream of expletives that would make a sailor blush.
She’d been verbally abused like this before, called every conceivable name he could think of, but this time she didn’t cry. That fact seemed to anger him further, and he increased his intensity, screaming in her face and squeezing her wrists as hard as he could even with a nail protruding half an inch from his flesh.
She was going to die, and her only thought was, please don’t let Caleb be the one who finds me.
CHAPTER 19
Cal finally remembered what he’d forgotten to tell Winsome: not to bother making dinner tonight, that they were going out to celebrate her cast removal. He called back, but there was no answer, so he shrugged and hung up. She was probably reading her book on the porch, and didn’t want to be interrupted again, so she hadn’t answered. It could be just that simple. It made sense.
But it didn’t feel right. Knowing it was probably him, she would answer the phone. She just would. Unless she was in the bathroom. Yeah, that might be it. She was in the bathroom and would call him when she got out.
A couple minutes later, when she hadn’t called him back, he tried again. Still no answer. Still no cause for alarm.
Yet, a stab of panic in his gut told him otherwise.
When his phone rang in his hand, his relief was sharp, but short-lived, when he saw Finn’s number.
“Hello?”
“Cal, are you with Winsome?” Finn asked.
“No, I’m at work, why?”
“It’s not good. It’s not good,” Finn’s thin, troubled voice panted over the phone.
“What? Finn, what are you talking about?” His heart rate gathered speed quickly, like a huge ball of terror rolling down a steep hill.
“They let him go, Cal. Dante Davis is out, free. They let him out by mistake. Clerical error.”
Cal tightened his grip on the phone. “How do you know? Are you sure?”
“Lorinda Johnson told me herself. She works in the clerk’s office. Some prisoners were being transferred, a few others released. He was put on the wrong list. The wrong list, can you believe it?”
“How long ago? How long’s he been out?”
“Since a little after three. And the whole town knows you have Winsome staying out at your place,” Finn reminded him.
As if Cal needed reminding. His place would be the first place Dante would go. He didn’t wait to finish the conversation, or to tell his boss he was leaving. He jumped in his car and drove, kicking dust and rock up behind him as he fishtailed onto the road.
He was more scared than he’d been in his entire life. Winsome was fine the last time he’d spoken with her a little over twenty minutes ago. A lot could happen in twenty minutes.
The sky picked that moment to open up, dumping sheets of rain in front of him blocking his view, taxing his wipers, and challenging his tires to find a grip along the curving road. He didn’t dare slow his speed, even when he almost collided head on with another driver, equally blinded by the rain and on the wrong side.
Skill and instinct had Cal arriving safely at the house in record time, sliding to a stop in the empty yard. He flung the car door open and ran into the house, calling her name as he raced through.
“Winsome! Where are you?!”
The answering silence was terrifying.
He ran back outside and to the treehouse. From the ground, looking up, his heart stopped dead in his chest. The door was open, the framing around it cracked and splintered. But before his foot touched the ramp, he heard noise behind him. A man’s voice coming from the garage, barely audible over the rain, threatening and obscene.
In the way his brain had of erasing traumatic events, it also had the capability of slowing things down, bringing them into laser sharp focus and imprinting them in his psyche forever. The next few moments, he was sure, would be branded in his mind for
the rest of his days, as he burst through the garage door to find Winsome on the floor with Dante sitting on her, his fist raised in that split second pause before it would come down and strike her in the face. The sudden interruption drew Dante’s attention, giving her time to grab the object at her fingertips.
In the next seconds there were several POPs, and an agonized scream. Dante clutched at the back of his neck, then fell sideways off her like a lifeless dummy. Winsome immediately pushed away from him, using his body to lever herself up, inadvertently driving a nail into the front of his neck this time. She struggled to her feet, Cal reaching out to pull her into his arms, away from her assailant.
Cal could hardly breathe, stunned by what he’d seen, by what he could have seen, and by what could have happened had he not arrived just then. It was all too much to take in now.
To his further alarm, Winsome wasn’t hysterical. She was staring calmly at Dante, and if Cal had been asked in that moment to describe the look on her face, he would have said confused and satisfied. He feared she might be in shock, and took her by the shoulders to look in her eyes.
“Are you all right, Baby?” He ran his shaking hands over her. “Did he hurt you?”
She had blood on her hand, arm and shirt, but he didn’t know where it came from. Her shirt was torn and half covered in black stains, and she smelled of motor oil, but other than that she looked okay.
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Great.”
Dante groaned and closed his eyes. His hand fell away from his neck onto the concrete floor, and he made no move to get up.
Whether he was dead or unconscious, Cal couldn’t care less. He steered Winsome outside, covering her head with his open button-down shirt, and quickly shuffled her through the pouring rain, back to the house.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” she said.
Her voice was trembling. That was good, right? She might not be in shock if she was exhibiting signs that she understood what had happened here. Hell, he didn’t know, he was no doctor.