by JD Salyers
Calling it a main road was being mighty generous anyway. It was a single paved lane, what they called chip and tar, rough on his tires and prone to breaking up under the temperature changes and the pressure of heavy traffic. It had been potholed to the point of dangerous before the first snow hit this winter, so he was going to have to be careful now. A bad pock or a fallen branch in the road could bend his frame if he hit it wrong. He wasn't too worried.
The road, once he got away from the house, was damned eerie in his headlights. More than once his tired old eyes saw fog that wasn't there when he blinked and looked again, like he was being followed by ghosts. It wisped between the trees and turned his head at nearly every turn, and by the time he got to the end of the driveway he was so on edge that his hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel too hard.
At the entrance to the public road he stopped and listened. He wasn't sure what he was listening for, exactly, but everything about this night was making his gut curl in apprehension.
Maybe Mary was right, he thought, not for the first time. She was a worrywart, but that didn't mean there was nothing to worry about. He reached over to his side and touched the rifle that lay across the bench seat beside him. Then he looked both ways and pulled out. The trip around the mountain to the Galloway place would take him about fifteen minutes on a good day, but in these conditions it was more likely to cost at least an hour. Maybe more, if no one had forged tracks in the snow. He could see it taking him half the night.
He took an inventory of his toolbox. It was actually a big black Tuff Box, strapped to the back of the Gator. It contained the usual - a small ratchet and socket set, a lug wrench, a spare tire, the usual fluids - gas, oil, transmission fluid. A few other odds and ends had found their way in there over the years, too - a shovel, a tow rope, extra ammo for the rifle and a handgun he liked to carry. There was even a rain jacket folded up in the bottom of the box, just in case. Regular stuff, but he felt better having it with him.
Cap was the kind of man who liked to be prepared.
The snow blowing in his headlights was mesmerizing if he stared at it too long. He needed to keep his eyes moving and watch for...what? He was starting to feel a little ashamed of himself. What did he think he was going to find out here in the middle of the night?
But he still couldn’t shake that creeping dread, so he drove on.
He didn't know, but that feeling was driving him hard, and he knew he'd be sick if he didn't follow up on it this time. If he was honest - and he was, generally - he knew he was trying to absolve some sin from the last time.
What sin, he didn't know. He'd been a child then, still in primary school. There was nothing he could have done besides begging his Pap to stay away from the mine that day. And he knew Pap would have rubbed his head, laughed, and reassured him. Then Pap would have walked into that mine anyway, same as he did every day of Cap's young life. It wouldn't have changed a thing.
He drove slowly, feeling the occasional lurch as his tires found a patch of ice here and there. Beyond his headlights, the night was as black as the inside of that mine he was just thinking about. He knew these roads, knew these woods. He knew that in general there was nothing to worry about, but he still couldn't shake the tension creeping up his neck and laying across his shoulders. It was there to stay, at least until he was finished with this unholy night.
He wondered if he shouldn't have at least called for back-up. There were a couple of neighbors within shouting distance, and he'd called on them once or twice to help with some farm chore or other over the years. Ollie Wake would have come, for sure. Probably Jersey too, if he wasn't busy birthing the calves that earned him his nickname.
Well, it was a little too late now.
Cap kept to the hilly side of the road, against the ditch, because the other side was a nearly sheer drop into a hollow below. It was at least fifty feet deep and he'd wind up at the bottom if a tree didn't stop him first. Problem was, they'd logged this area year before last, so any trees growing would be young and likely to snap under the weight of the Gator. If Cap didn't break his neck on the way down, he'd likely freeze to death in the creek at the bottom before somebody found him.
Well, that was a pleasant thought. It'd be tomorrow before Mary reported him missing, and, depending on the snow, it could be a week before somebody noticed the wreckage. “Being damned morbid tonight, Cap,” he told himself, even though he couldn't hear his voice over the grinding roar of the machine.
Chapter Sixteen
Rick and Patty's phone was dead, too. Quinn had known it was a long shot, but that didn't stop her frustrated tears as she hung up and looked around again. She carefully avoided looking at the blood.
Who was she going to call, anyway? No one could get here, most likely. Not the police, not anyone she knew. Tonight, there was only her and Abel Welch. She'd never felt so alone in her life.
Of course, she'd never actually been alone in her life, either. She'd gone from a comfortable, if sad, home to a college career with roommates. From there, she had almost immediately married Ethan, and they had been together ever since. To say she'd been sheltered her whole life, well, that was an understatement.
She needed to think, and this was as good a place as any to do it. For now, anyway. She had no idea where Abel was at the moment - was he headed down the road, following her here? Was he still at the house messing around? Had he passed out somewhere? The uncertainty gnawed at her because she had no idea what move to make.
If she knew he was gone, she would head back to the house. At least there she was familiar with her surroundings and had access to most anything she might need. Without him standing between her and Ethan, she could even get to the gun safe's key and defend herself properly.
But she wasn't there, and she wasn't sure she could go back. Meeting Abel on the road, in the dark, would be near suicide.
The word caused her belly to churn.
She looked around and spotted the refrigerator. Thirsty. She was so thirsty. She went over and opened it, prepared for anything. But when the light flashed on there was only normal refrigerator stuff - a gallon of milk, half gone, a few of those plastic containers for leftovers, two slices of pizza on a saucer. It was so normal that tears burned her eyes again. What she wouldn't give for normal right now.
On the bottom shelf were two brightly colored cardboard boxes, one blue and one red. She had to smile a little - there was obviously a decent Coke-versus-Pepsi battle going on in this house. The Coke box was emptier.
She reached in for one and popped the tab. She normally didn't drink any sort of cola, because the acid and carbonation irritated her stomach. But tonight, she needed the calories and she needed the cold liquid to soothe her aching throat. It tasted like heaven, and she drank half the can before she stopped to breathe.
She finished it, shuddered, and threw it into the half-full trash can in the corner of the kitchen.
Then she froze, because she realized that if something terrible had happened here, she had just given the police cause to think she had something to do with it.
The thought gave her a flash of fear, but then it was just gone again. As if her brain had reached its limit of things to worry about, and this one thing was so far down the list it could be discarded. She had to agree, because at this point she couldn't see that far ahead. Police? Clues?
Quinn was willing to settle for survival.
And what exactly did survival mean, on this night?
Her husband was dead, her home wasn't safe, and she was on her own in a snowstorm. There was a madman chasing her. She had very few ways to defend herself if Abel caught her, especially now that he was armed with the rifle she so stupidly left outside earlier.
She knew that if she survived this, she was going to have to face the fact that Ethan was really gone, but right now her mind just wouldn't let her do it.
Right now, the fact that she was in a stranger's house made her nervous. She didn't want to be here, and she couldn't g
o home. So what were her options? She couldn't just keep running around in the woods until spring.
What would Ethan do?
It was another running joke between them. He was a little over five years her senior, and he liked to play that card as a last resort when he was losing an argument. It never worked. But now she saw the value of such a question, regardless of how many times she had rolled her eyes when he said it. She didn't know what to do right now, and she would have given her own beating heart to have him here with her. That was impossible, of course, but maybe in her own way, she could figure it out.
What would Ethan do?
Well, first of all, he would be armed, so that was out. What else? He wouldn't run into the woods, that was for sure. She had gambled on finding some help, but that had been wrong.
Ethan would have stood his ground. He was an easy-going man who let a lot of life's little insults slide, but he also defended his boundaries. Could she do that? If so, how?
She could check this place for weapons. She couldn't stay here - it was too weird - so that meant going home. Trying to get across the mountain to Cap's house would just be a different kind of suicide, because she would just end up frozen to death in the woods somewhere.
But here, she had access to at least some helpful things. There was a coat hanging by the door, for starters. It looked big for her, but not so big that she couldn't use it. She thought about Patty and the few times she'd seen the woman driving by, and guessed that maybe they were close to the same size. She might have dry clothes that would fit Quinn.
That is, if Quinn was brave enough to open those bedroom doors and look. She eyed the closest one and shivered.
Then anger surged through her - she was being pathetic. Now she was afraid of doors? How stupid could one woman be?
Come to think of it, everything she'd done tonight felt pathetic. She had fallen apart when she realized what Ethan had done, she had run away from her home and the drunk. She had defended herself with a crowbar, which was pretty cool, but that was a small blip in the general idiocy she had shown so far tonight.
In the years after her baby brother died, Quinn and her father had watched Quinn's mother slowly crumble into a woman they didn't know. She went from being a happy wife and good mother to living her life as an alcohol soaked shell that barely looked up from her television. It was terrifying as a child, and Quinn had so many times wished for her mother to toughen up, to remember that she still had a child who needed her. In the end, Quinn and her dad simply lived around her mother, taking up the slack and managing as best they could.
Her mother had never toughened up. Her mother had died under the weight of her weakness and pain and fear.
All of Quinn's reactions tonight would be understandable under the circumstances, but that was all they were - reactions. She was a grown woman. She could handle a drunken man, and she could take back her home. If she was lucky, he was the one passed out somewhere in the woods, freezing to death.
She wasn't lucky, not right now, but she wasn't a wilting flower, either. One way or another, she was going to have to face Abel Welch. She was going to have to go home and deal with Ethan's decisions. She was going to have to bury Burns, report to the authorities, and clean up the wreckage that was her life. It was going to be hard, but unless she wanted to follow Ethan into the afterlife tonight, she had to do it.
She heard movement outside on the porch and froze for a moment, then remembered that Retro was out there, waiting for her. He was a good dog, and she was glad that at least she had him for company tonight. But he was probably getting cold. She walked to the door, opened it, and let him inside to warm up.
He whined up at her, sniffed her hand, and then went to check out the rest of the room. He looked huge in the small space.
She finally worked up the nerve to open the closest closed door and flip on the light. It was a bedroom, like she'd guessed, but that was stretching the definition. A mattress lay flat on the floor, covered in a stained brown quilt. She didn't want to touch it, so she scooted sideways around the wall to the closet. Inside, she found pink - this had to be the little girl's room.
She left and went to the next room, picking up an extra hair band from a small dresser as she left.
The next room had to belong to the boys. It smelled like sweat and food, and a set of bunk beds lined one wall. She closed the door without going inside.
Where was Rick and Patty's room? Or Abel's, for that matter? She didn't want anything of his, but she wondered where he had been sleeping, at least. Maybe he lived on their sofa.
She turned in a slow circle and scanned the room, then realized that there was a hallway. It was separated from the rest of the room by a tall bookshelf that looked homemade. Walking around it - carefully, just in case - she discovered two more doors. No, wait. Three - two on one side of the hall and one across from them. All were closed. She opened the one that was alone on her right and found a bathroom with a pile of clothes on the floor and an inch of water in the tub, as if someone had left in the middle of running their bath water. There was even moisture on the mirror with the faint hint of a finger drawn smiley face. One of the kids had been bathing, maybe. She closed the door again.
She felt lucky that she hadn't run across anything horrific so far, but she was getting nervous again now. “Well,” she said out loud, “Didn't I just say it was time to toughen up? What's behind door number four?”
Before she could think anymore, she reached out and twisted the knob. The door swung open, revealing a laundry room that smelled like stale cigarette smoke, strong enough to make her eyes water a little. There was another mattress in here, in the opposite corner as the ancient looking washer and dryer. Maybe Abel stayed in here.
There was a duffle bag at the foot of the mattress, and a pile of grungy looking clothes near the head, like he was using it for a pillow. She made a face and went to see what was in the bag.
On top she found a few balled up pair of socks that had been white about a decade ago. Under that she found a glass jar with clear liquid. Opening the lid, she sniffed and jerked her head back. Whoa - Abel liked his home brew strong. The last thing in the bag was a small picture album, the kind that was on one picture to a page. It was nearly in shreds, as if he looked through it every single day at least once. The first picture in the album was an old one - two boys in cut off pants and cowboy boots, both about ten years old. They were grinning hard at the camera and had an arm flung across each other's neck. Was this Abel as a child?
She wanted to look through the rest of the photos, but something told her not to worry about it right now. She felt the need to hurry up, to get out of this place and go home. The longer she spent here, the more likely the chance that she would end up facing Abel here in this unfamiliar place. She didn't want that. She wanted to be home.
She was going to face him. She'd never been the type to run, and her actions this evening, now that she had a moment to regroup, felt shameful. Ethan had made her life so comfortable that she was unused to dealing with things herself.
Not that she had ever in her life been in this situation. Maybe it was natural to run, but she felt like Ethan would be ashamed of her actions.
Of course, if Ethan was here, she wouldn't be in this situation, would she?
Shaking that thought out of her head, she stuffed the skinny album into the back pocket of her jeans. There would be time to check it out later. Right now, she had one more door to check, and time was ticking. She shut off the lights and closed the door to that room.
Then she stopped in the hall. Wait a minute - was the electricity back on? Had someone come and fixed it? Or had it always been on and Abel had sabotaged her electricity specifically? The thought made her cold all over again.
She walked quickly to the final door. This one was ajar, so she used a toe to push it the rest of the way open.
This room, compared to the rest of the house, was lovely. Done in cabbage roses and pale yellow, it was nearly spotle
ss. Patty cared about this room.
The queen sized bed sat against one wall, the foot jutting out into the center of the room. Across from that, on the opposite wall, there was a door that led into a master bathroom. The bed was made - it even had one of those devilsome bedskirts - and turned down, like the couple was getting ready for bed at any moment. A pair of soft looking lavender slippers sat in the floor on one side of the bed and the whole room smelled nice. Some scent that reminded her of baby powder.
So where were they? Quinn hadn't found any bodies. She hadn't seen any sign of a struggle besides that one area in the kitchen. It had to be at least three in the morning right now. Where was everyone?
There were two dressers in the room, the low kind with wide mirrors on top. An assortment of pretty trinket boxes graced the surfaces of both of them. For jewelry, maybe? Quinn walked over and opened on, and saw a collection of small colorful rocks. She smiled, thinking that this was probably a child's treasure, kept safe by mom.
In this room, she went to the closet and opened the door. She'd left the kids closets alone, because she doubted there would be anything helpful inside, but mom and dad's room was a different story. Clothes, shoes, a few shelves in the back, but they only held random books and boxes. Mostly the closet was full of scrubs.
The bathroom didn't hold anything of value to her, either. A shower, a toilet, and a pile of makeup on the vanity.
She turned away and decided that she'd wasted enough time in this house. She needed to leave.
Retro had taken off, exploring the rest of the house, but now he found her in the master bedroom. He had something in his mouth. When she looked closer, she saw that it was a bloody strip of material, maybe flannel. Somebody's shirt?
She gave him the command to drop it and he obeyed. “Come on, boy, let's get out of here.”