Wolf at the Door: A Novel of Suspense

by JD Salyers

  By the time she made it the bottom of the ravine, she was nearly too weak to stand. The cold seemed to be stealing the energy from her bones and leaving only dead stumps behind. She wasn't positive how she was still moving, unless she was running on pure adrenaline.

  How long would that last? Till she got to Rick and Patty's house? Or would she fall somewhere beside the river and be unable to get up again? Maybe they would find her in the spring.

  God, she hoped the kids wouldn't find her. That would be gruesome, and the experience would probably scar them for life. Especially if some animal found her first. The thought made her stomach lurch with nausea, and she blinked the idea away.

  And what about Ethan? If she died out here what would become of his poor remains? She didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to think about his dad, either, who would have to spend maybe his last bit of time on earth burying the last of his loved ones. That thought almost brought her to her knees. Earnest was nothing but a wonderful man, a good dad, and a loving and loyal husband even though his wife had been gone for a while now. Quinn had never seen him down so low that he didn't have a smile and a hug for her. The thought of breaking his heart even once nearly broke hers.

  But it also brought her to her senses. She pushed off the tree trunk and started walking again, following the little frozen creek that cut through the bottom of the ravine. Retro turned his attention back to her and trotted along, keeping his eyes on the hill ahead of them. She didn't know what he saw or heard, but it definitely had him concerned. She even heard a growl rumble up from his throat now and again, soft but menacing. Whatever it turned out to be, he was ready for it.

  By the time she got to the river, she was practically crawling. Every part of her body was either numb or aching, including her head. It felt like one more step and her eyes would pop right out of their sockets, they hurt so badly. She wondered if this was what freezing to death felt like. She hadn't thought it would hurt so much. She thought she read that it was like being warm and slowly losing focus, until the person simply laid down for an eternal nap. It wasn't supposed to hurt.

  But it did, and the hurt kept her going. She was surprised to find this reserve of strength inside herself, bubbling up every time she thought about sitting down to rest. It kept her heart beating steady and her eyes on the trail ahead. It also seemed to be keeping an inventory of her aches and pains, but maybe that was her fuel right now. If she felt anything at all, there was still a chance, right? That became her mantra - there's still a chance, there's still a chance - right up until the moment she spotted lights through the trees. Rick and Patty were just ahead, and she almost cried with relief.

  The riverbank was covered with snow, but underneath she could feel her feet sliding in mud that sucked at her heels. She was taking her time, feeling for every next step, being careful to keep from sliding into the icy water. She couldn't see it, but the roar of the water meant that it was moving fast. If she went in, she might not get back out.

  But now, with the end in sight, she sped up. Deadfall cracked under her steps and she had to grab a branch here and there to keep her feet under her, but she was practically running by the time she broke through into the small clearing.

  Three big floodlights flashed on, illuminating both Quinn and the rest of the clearing, which covered about an acre and fronted the riverbank. No one would call the area a lawn, exactly, but there were brightly colored toys poking up through the snow here and there, two or three old trucks parked nearby, and she thought she saw a swing bench over near the water, where two people could sit and talk and watch the wide river pass. A wall of trees rose up beyond the clearing, lending almost perfect privacy.

  In front of the trailer was a black patch. It was apparently a parking spot, because there was an older sedan sitting there. Beside it, a blank, car-shaped spot told Quinn that there was a vehicle missing.

  Rick and Patty's trailer was once blue, but the color had powdered and faded over too many years in the weather. Rust streaked the metal vertically, where rivets and bolts had begun to disintegrate. The tongue of the trailer, also rusted, poked out of one end. It looked like the young couple had tried to brighten it up - or camouflage it - with various plants, but there were only empty plastic pots there now, trailing a few dead leaves and vines. Above that, a wide skinny window shone dully, covered by what looked like a yellow curtain with a ruffle at the bottom.

  Quinn noticed that a small porch jutted out from the back of the trailer, another spot to sit and watch the water. There was no matching porch on the other side, near the parking spots. Just a set of what looked like concrete steps leading up to a door. Since those steps had been cleared at some point today, she headed that way.

  Pounding on the door hurt her hand, but she didn't stop. She wasn't sure she could stop, not until someone with a friendly face answered.

  But no one did. She called out a painful hello, but only silence greeted her when she finally stopped to listen. There was only the softly falling snow and the wind moving through the trees up on the ridge, which sounded more mournful than the coyotes, if that was possible. No shuffling from inside. No voices, not even the muted tones of a television.

  She stood on tiptoe and leaned as far to the right as she could, where a small window acted as a sort of sidelight. It was covered by another curtain, this one some washed out shade of green, but it was sheer. She was just able to get one eye close enough to peer inside.

  Brown carpet, pizza boxes, and several cups and glasses littered the living room in front of a TV that was too large for the space. A few toy cars and trucks were piled together on one of the gray sofa cushions. A stack of children's books sat on the end table.

  Beyond those things, the brown living room carpet ended at gray linoleum. The kitchen, which looked spotlessly clean from here. It stood out, compared to the rest of the room. White appliances gleamed under the fluorescents, and a single yellow cup sat beside a black coffee pot on the wood counter.

  In fact, there was only one thing out of place in the entire room, but it was enough to draw a small gasp from Quinn. A bloodstain smeared the linoleum and two of the lower cabinet doors, dark red against all the white cleanliness. Above it, on the countertop, was a slim white phone, it's curled cord handing halfway down to the floor.

  She lowered herself firmly back to the porch and stood there, trying to figure out what to do. First of all, where was everyone? Had the dad or mom done something to one of the kids? Had they done something to each other? That had definitely been blood.

  Worse, what if Abel had hurt these people before he left? What if the whole family was dead, piled in the back yard? Or in the river, where they might never be found?

  Her mind kept throwing out horror stories, and her body kept sinking, until she was crouched on the top step, pressed against the side of the trailer. She knew she needed to get a handle on herself, but she couldn't seem to do that. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure that Abel had caused this...whatever...that happened here. It just seemed too convenient that she'd caught him out moving around in this kind of weather, in his condition.

  Why on earth would he have left the safety and shelter of his home, unless he didn't want to be caught there?

  The leaps of logic were large and inexplicable, but Quinn didn't even care. In truth, she knew that all sorts of explanations might be the right one - maybe the blood was from a deer. Maybe this Rick guy had a tendency to hurt his wife or kids. Maybe Patty had the same tendencies and took them out on her husband. Maybe Abel had nothing to do with any of this.

  But she'd seen that wildness in his eyes when he showed up at her barn door, and she was comfortable assuming that he had done something to the small family. In fact, she would have bet her life on it.

  One thing was certain, she wasn't going around to the other porch.

  Instead, she forced herself to stand up straight and knock again, just in case. When that didn't get any results, she took a deep breat
h and tried the door knob. It clicked a little, but then it turned and the door swung open.

  Retro nosed in near her knees, but she told him to stay. She knew he would bark if someone came, and she needed him outside right now, on guard.

  The smell hit her first. A tangy sort of odor that made her wrinkle her nose, even though she couldn't quite place it. Underneath that she caught a whiff of cooked meat, maybe hamburger. The smell turned her stomach.

  A pile of muddy shoes sat beside the door on a rug. All sizes, from men's work boots to the small pairs of sneakers that obviously belonged to a little girl. On the wall above, several jackets and coats hung from hooks. A few framed pictures, mostly of the kids, hung on the walls of the living room. She made her way inside, closed the door very quietly behind her, and called out, “Hello? Anybody home?”

  There was no answer, except for the creaking of the trailer as the wind gusted around it. Still, she did the same thing twice more, just in case. She didn't want to end up getting shot for trespassing, or scare somebody to death if they were just asleep.

  When she finally decided to move, she wasn't sure whether to go check the bedrooms or go straight to the phone on the kitchen counter. She stared at the closed door off the far side of the living room for a while, trying to decide. Then, with a last regretful look at the doors, she headed over to the phone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dupree Captin, known to pretty much everyone around as just Cap, finished splitting the last of the wood and buried the head of his maul in the remaining stump. No need to put it away - he'd be using it again first thing in the morning. Then he crossed his arms, reared back, and checked the cloud cover. Snow coming in the next fifteen minutes or so. He grunted to himself and headed for the house.

  He didn't need the wood, his gas furnace ran just fine, but he had discovered that splitting wood got the kinks out. Men his age had a tendency to cuddle up with Judge Judy and The Guiding Light, but Cap didn't much like sitting around watching TV. He had better things to do. Besides, if he sat around too long his joints would get stiff. This weather didn't help, either. This way, he stayed limber and he also made a little spending money on the side.

  He didn't spend much of it, to be honest. No, his pension was plenty for their needs. He kept most of it in a jelly jar under the corner of his bed, waiting for the day that his nephew Brice snooped around long enough to find it. That'd be a fun day.

  He walked through the snow to the back porch, then up the steps and into what his sister Mary called the mud room. He didn't call it that, he just called it the place he kept his boots and coveralls. It was actually the original back porch, until his dad, rest his soul, built it in for the washer and dryer. That was, oh, going on forty years ago now. Cap had liked it better as a porch.

  But it kept Mary from fussing that he tracked in mud, and that made it all right.

  Inside, he kicked off his brogans and swiped his toboggan from his head. It was an old, raveled thing, but it kept the cold out. Chill air swept across his bald head and gave him a shiver, but he ignored it, shrugged out of his coveralls, stripped them off his legs and hung 'em up in a nail to dry.

  Through the kitchen door he could see Mary at the stove, stirring something that smelled warm and meaty. She was holding a dish towel in her free hand. Her red hair, streaked with plenty of silver these days, was pulled back into a short ponytail. “You makin' stew?” he asked, coming through the door and closing it behind him to keep out the cold.

  She was dressed in jeans and a green t-shirt, with a different kind of green cardigan over that. She turned to him and smiled, shifting the wrinkles around her mouth a little. “I thought pork and sweet potato stew would be good. They're calling for eighteen inches,” she answered, looking his up and down to make sure he wasn't dripping on her floors.

  “You make bread today?” He came over and sniffed at the pot she was stirring. His belly growled.

  She swished her dish towel at him. “Scoot. I'll do biscuits.”

  He studied a spot on the ceiling for a moment. “How long?”

  She put the dish towel on the counter beside the stove and turned to him. Her gaze was serious, and a little worried. “Are you still thinking about the Galloways?”

  “I am.”

  “Why don't you just call? I'm sure everything is fine.”

  “Tried that, got that busy tone you get when the line's down.”

  “Well, it happens. You aren't in any shape to do what you're thinking about doing.” She pursed her lips and turned away, to the sink. Sudsy water sloshed a little when she started scrubbing a plate.

  “And what do you think I'm thinking about doing?”

  “Going over there.” She tossed a look over her shoulder. “You know you are, and I know you are.”

  “What makes you think that?” He scratched his head and stared at her.

  She answered without bothering to look at him. “Oh, come on, Cap. I know you better than I know myself.”

  He chuckled at that. “I doubt I can make it. Roads will be bad.”

  “You'll take the Gator.”

  He knew he would, but he was surprised she'd thought of it. Maybe she did know him better than he thought. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and stayed quiet a minute, pretending to think it through. “That'd work.”

  “Why?” This time she turned around and grabbed the dish towel again. She wiped her hands. “Why worry about it? They're probably fine, and you're an eighty year old man.”

  “Seventy-seven.”

  “Whatever. You'll get out there and get yourself killed, and they'll be snug inside. They won't even know you're there.” Mary leaned awkwardly against the stove, favoring her left leg. It was a gesture most people would miss, but not Cap. He’d seen it too many times. She was hurting again. He nodded at it. “You need to get that checked?”

  “No. Just rest.”

  “What if they ain't, Mary? Snug inside, I mean?” He paused and tried to articulate the niggling worries that had been growing in the back of his mind all day like seeds pushing up out of the ground. “I know damned well what I heard this morning. I also know how Quinn sounded on the phone.”

  “The gunshots, right?”

  “Gun shot. One. Yes. Also, Quinn sounded messed up, Mary. You should have heard her.”

  “So? She said Ethan was missing, right? She was just concerned.”

  Cap shook his head and walked on through to the living room instead of bothering to answer. Mary made logical sense, but he couldn't really explain this hunch that something bad was happening across the mountain. Hell, he couldn't explain it to himself, much less her.

  Part of it was probably because of that dream he had last week, and he acknowledged that. In it, Ethan came to Cap's house, carrying a rifle. Mary gave them supper and asked where Quinn was. Ethan said he didn't know. Cap remembered that, plain as if it was real. “I don't know,” Ethan said around a mouthful of biscuit, shaking his head. In the dream, that had scared Cap. He tried to ask more questions, tried to make Ethan tell him where Quinn might be, but he found he couldn't talk.

  The whole thing made no sense, and Cap forgot all about it until this morning when Quinn called. By the time he hung up the phone, uneasiness was gnawing at the base of his skull. It had only ever happened one other time in his life, that feeling - knowing - that something bad was happening. The last time, he'd watched his dad walk into a mine. He'd been about ten, he reckoned, and he walked with his dad to work every morning before he went on past to school. Every morning they walked together, and every morning Cap watched his father disappear into the earth before going on. On the morning he had this feeling, his dad never walked out again. There was an accident with some of the explosives, and by the time they righted the rail car, his dad was dead.

  It was an awful feeling back then and he'd ignored it.

  He didn't want to make that mistake again.

  Mary called him a little later and they ate. He stayed quiet, not wa
nting to hear her harping at him. Maybe, if he was honest, he was trying to talk himself out of going, too. When he finally looked up from his empty bowl, she was shaking her head at him.

  “Don't bother,” he said, carrying his bowl from the table to the sink about ten feet away.

  “I won't,” she answered. “You old bat.”

  He laughed at that, then went to his gun safe in the hall to get some steel courage.

  The Gator was like a dune buggy, but built rugged for challenging terrain. Big knobby tires, a steel frame with a roll bar, and highly engineered suspension made it ideal for traversing Cap's Abel mountainous surroundings. It had a windshield, too, but that wouldn't be enough to shield him from the cold by much. But it wasn't too far, and hopefully this was a wild goose chase anyway. Maybe he'd get there, find them as safe as Mary said, and feel like a damned fool.

  That'd be just fine with him. He'd have a laugh and a cup of coffee and take his leave.

  By the time he got dressed and hit the road, it was snowing harder and dark. On the one hand, he agreed with Mary that he was being a damned fool, but on the other he didn't want to be the damned fool that let a friend down. And he considered Ethan and Quinn Galloway his friends. Not too many folks, even around here, thought to stay in touch with their older acquaintances, even ones that had been around as long as Cap had. The world moved on, and mostly he was fine with that, but it was nice to sit around a back yard fire with a few friends and a snort of brandy now and then. Ethan and Quinn provided those opportunities for old Cap, and even Mary, when she was feeling up to it. All by itself, that felt like a true thing to Cap.

  He considered the younger couple his friends, and friends helped one another.

  The road off his property was a half-mile of good driveway if he went out to the main road. It was a full mile of rutted mess if he went the back way. Normally the back way was faster, but tonight he wasn't so sure. If he hit deep snow and dug in the Gator, he was stuck. The main road would take longer, but he knew he'd make it. He decided on the main road.