by Anna Furtado
She heard Joey’s muffled voice from outside. “Everything all right in there?”
She dreaded opening her mouth again, but knew she’d better respond or he might come in after her since she’d found no lock on the door.
“Yes, everything’s just great.” The irony of the situation made her stifle a laugh. Laughing meant breathing in with more than the shallow breaths she took now. Not a very good idea.
She wiggled around before standing and pulling up her jeans and tried not to feel too much disgust. When she opened the door, the sun blinded her after the darkness of the tiny place, but fresh air and a normal breath felt good. When her eyes focused, she found Joey standing a few feet from her, gun trained on her gut, a determined look on his young face.
As they trudged back to the jail, Tucker wondered how easily she might overcome the skinny kid walking behind her. She looked around trying to figure out an escape route, but this empty section of town spanned open, barren grassland. A tree shielded the outhouse behind her, probably in an attempt to keep the smell down in the blistering heat, but it didn’t have many leaves on it. The noxious contents of the outhouse must have seeped to the roots of the tree, killing it, making it ineffective.
She took in more of her surroundings as they trekked. Rocks, strewn here and there, didn’t offer anything big enough to hide behind. The only plant life, some scruffy looking shrubs and dry grass, wouldn’t provide any cover if Joey decided to shoot at her. By the time they approached the jail, Tucker concluded if she decided to run, even if she escaped past the gun-toting would-be deputy, there would be no place for her to hide from his bullets.
TUCKER WATCHED AS night fell outside the barred window of the jail. Joey disappeared after the trip to the outhouse. She wondered if she would be one of the lucky ones and the boy would be allowed to bring her some food. Her stomach growled as she realized her breakfast was the last meal she ate.
She considered the events bringing her to this point. Dunbar was her undoing. As soon as she thought about him, she heard the word again.
Forget.
She heard it over and over until she held her palms to her ears in an attempt to block it out. It did her no good. The gesture only served to make her injured hand throb. She felt sorry for herself now, wondering how long she’d be trapped in this cell. Maybe she’d never get out. Her incarceration plunged her into despair.
When she heard scraping outside, she wondered if she’d now be attacked by some wild animal. Then, she heard whispering, someone calling her name. She struggled to stand up and look through the bars of the jail window.
Olivia stood in the moonlight wrapped tightly in a shawl, with a basket draped over her arm. When Tucker appeared at the bars, she stepped closer. She looked solemn, frightened.
“I brought you some food,” she whispered.
Beautiful words to Tucker’s ears. She smiled and thanked Olivia.
While Tucker chewed on the slab of meat wrapped in the heel of a sourdough loaf, Olivia pushed a small canteen of water through the food slot. Then she looked around in the darkness and said, “Lily put a gun in the outhouse.”
Tucker looked up. “What? What the heck am I supposed to do with a gun?”
“I don’t know. I told her it wasn’t a very good idea, but she said it was the only one she could come up with. Next time you go to the outhouse, take it and use it at the best opportunity you can find. You’ve got to get out of here. Dunbar, the crazy beast of a barman, is telling everyone you need to be hanged and Cutter is riling up the sheriff, telling him you’re a dangerous outlaw who should be drawn and quartered.”
“I can’t use a gun, especially on Joey. He’s a little kid.”
Olivia frowned at her. “Don’t discount the danger Joey poses. He’s not as innocent as he looks.”
“He’s got a gun, too, so what advantage does a gun give me? Am I supposed to have a gunfight with him? Anyway, I’ve never even fired a gun, but I’ll bet he has.” Desperation swirled around her as she spoke. “And I’ll guarantee you he’s a much better shot than I am.”
“I don’t know what else to say. It’s the best we came up with. You’ll have to figure something out. All I know is, if you stay here, you’re dead.”
Tucker stopped chewing. When she swallowed, it felt as if the bread stuck in her throat. “You’re right. I don’t have much choice, do I?”
Realizing Olivia and Lily plotted for her to escape, Tucker added, “So, have you and Lily made up? You feel different about her now?”
Olivia gave her a serious look. She didn’t answer. Then she glanced around, her nervousness apparent. “Look, I’ve got to get out of here. They can’t know I brought you food or I’ll be joining you in there. Keep the canteen for now. Keep it out of sight. Joey won’t come inside there. It’s too dangerous. So chances are he won’t know you have it.”
Tucker put her hand out the food slot. “Thank you, Olivia.”
Olivia grasped it for a second then said, “Don’t thank me. Lily’s the one who put me up to it. I told her this sounded like a crazy idea,” she motioned toward the basket, now empty of food, “and the gun idea is even more foolish, but she wouldn’t listen. She said we shouldn’t let you waste away in here until they decided to do away with you.” She licked her lips as she looked around again. “I’ve got to go.”
“Wait,” Tucker said. “You didn’t answer me. It sounds like you and Lily came to a reconciliation of sorts. Is that true?”
Olivia gave her a weak smile. “You might say we’ve called a truce. After all, if we didn’t put our heads together to help you, who would?”
Who would indeed? Tucker watched Olivia disappear into the darkness. She took another long draw from the canteen, then she peered around her holding cell, looking for a place to hide the flask, wondering if she’d be able to get out of this predicament without harming someone else—or getting herself hurt—or worse.
TUCKER CONTORTED HER long body onto a munchkin-sized bench to try to get some sleep. She dozed for a while, but the pain in her shoulder woke her. She knew from her experience earlier in the evening, if she tried to change positions without standing up first, she’d find herself face down on the ground, spitting dirt out from between her teeth.
She sat up on the edge of the bench, feeling groggy, irritable. She smelled the pungent, earthy scent of dirt and wondered if some got up her nose when she hit the ground earlier. She pulled at her nose and blew out. Nothing. She took a deep breath in and smelled—what was that smell—musty oak? Fireplace smoke? There was no heat source in the jail.
Then she saw it. The glow beyond the bars outside, orange, flickering—fire!
She sprang to the window. Below it she saw the pile of debris, flames jumping from leaf to branch and other rubble piled up into a small cone shape. Maybe the smell of smoke woke her, not her aches and pains. Tucker put her hand on the wall beside her. The jail was built a long time ago. The wood felt rough and very dry. It wouldn’t take long to catch and start to burn. She knelt and felt along the bottom of the wall where she estimated the burning debris to be. She didn’t feel any heat yet. Time might be on her side. But she needed to figure out how to get out of the locked cell. Panic set in, her breathing rate increased. She felt claustrophobic.
She wondered if Joey lurked close by. She shouted his name through the bars. In response, she heard the echo of her own voice and the incessant crackle of the fire. She screamed again, louder, “Jo-ey!”
Nothing.
Calm down, Tucker. This is no time to panic. There’s a solution here. You simply need to find it. She took in a deep breath to try to calm herself, but when she smelled the smoke from the fire again, terror sprung up in her anew.
She tamped the panic back down, trying to get control over it, not allowing it to overwhelm her. She’d never be able to think if she did. Emotion propelled her back, away from the source of the smoke and fire. When her legs met the bench, she plopped down on it. Her foot hit something as she we
nt down. Metal. The canteen. Water.
She popped up again and grabbed it from its hiding place. In her frightened state, the cork stopper resisted, refusing to yield to her fingers. No, fear didn’t prevent her from opening the canteen, she realized. Her hand did. The hand she hit Dunbar with. Stiffness and swelling made it unyielding, unable to do her brain’s bidding. She switched hands, holding the canteen in the crook of her arm. This time, she pulled the plug out with ease.
Swirling the container around, she estimated there to be a little more than a cup of water left in it. She tried to aim the spout through the bars, but they were too closely spaced together. She’d have to use the food slot below the window, but she’d have a narrower view of where she aimed and less directional control. The orange flames glowed brighter. The heat indicated the wall may have ignited. She forced the canteen halfway through the slot, but couldn’t get enough of an angle on it to spill out the contents. While she tried to manipulate it, she screamed Joey’s name several more times into the black night.
She managed to thrust some of the water through the slot and heard it sizzle as it hit the flames, but it didn’t do much good. She looked out to the horizon and saw the first light of dawn and watched as an animal crested the top of Tenderfoot Hill. She concentrated on the outline—no, not an animal, a person. The specter stopped for a minute then took off running in her direction. As the form sped toward her, she recognized it. Joey. She hoped to God he held the key in his pocket. As she saw him coming toward her, she yelled his name again and grabbed one of the bars on the window.
The delay between her brain registering the searing heat and screaming at her to let go made her curse as she pulled away. When she glanced down at her palm, she watched several blisters form.
Much to Tucker’s dismay, when Joey reached the jail, he kept going, running around the side of the building out of sight again. Panic overwhelmed her brief relief, but in seconds he materialized again with an old burlap sack and started beating at the fire with it. It did little to beat back the flames and forced him to retreat, giving up when the bag caught. To Tucker’s horror, he threw it into the fire where it flared up even more, giving the flames more fuel.
“Joey, the key. Let me out. Please.”
He stopped for a second and looked at her then tried to stomp out the edge of the flames. These attempts were even less effective than the sack.
“Joey, listen to me, the fire isn’t near the door yet, but it will be. Soon. You’ve got to unlock the door and let me out before it gets there. Please, Joey.”
The anguish in her voice may have caught his attention. Uncertainty filled her. She did know this would be her last chance. She tried again. “Joey, please. I don’t want to die.”
He stopped again, considering. “I can’t.” Smoke from the fire swirled all around him. The bright orange flames reflected off his skin and clothes.
Anger flared up in Tucker, fueled by desperation, matching the flames outside. Beyond begging now, she shouted, “Yes, you can and you will. Open. The damn. Door. Now!”
Joey jumped back, his eyes wide. He reached into his pants pocket, hesitated, looking at her again. Finally, he pulled out the key and Tucker breathed out a sigh of relief.
He fumbled the key in the lock. Tucker heard him groping, the metal scratching and scraping as he tried over and over to put the key in the keyhole. She waited and felt her anxiety crawling over her skin, like so many insects moving over her. She heard one final grinding noise and the door swung open with a grating squeal of its rusty hinges.
Tucker lunged for the opening in case Joey changed his mind and slammed it shut again. She knew she’d never get another chance. She pushed the door the rest of the way, harder than she’d planned. Adrenalin, she thought, as the door hit the boy in the shoulder and knocked him into the dirt. Tucker jumped over him like a gazelle.
As she landed, part of her thought she should stop, pick him up, dust him off, and make sure he wasn’t hurt. But part of her, the part engaged in survival mode, kept running, faster than she ever knew herself capable.
With her first few steps, she heard him yell for her to stop. By then, she lost control over her feet. The rush coursing through her veins and muscles propelled her forward and she sped away from the fire and the jail—away from Tenderfoot Hill in the distance, away from Elder Creek.
By the time she reached the forested area of the foothills, tears flowed freely. She thought she might be crying in relief because she knew she could hide among the trees, find protection, and rest from her ordeal.
Then she realized the real reason for her tears. By escaping, she knew she’d never return to this Elder Creek. She would never see Lily Hart and Olivia Justice again. She escaped more than the jail, though. She escaped something deep within her psyche.
She kept running. A new sense of freedom washed over her.
Chapter Eight
TUCKER AWOKE TO the smell of pine forest. Her body hurt. Her hand hurt. When she tried to open her eyes, she found her eyelids unyielding, stuck together by dried tears. She needed to open them. Her mind insisted she run, get out of the forest, away from Elder Creek, make sure she held on to this new freedom she felt inside and out.
The specter of young Joey, lying on the ground, haunted her. Her last image of him as the fire raged nearby, of him flat on his back with the large skeleton key still firmly in his grip, loomed before her. She didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Then she thought she remembered seeing him stir when she glanced over her shoulder as she ran.
A small pinpoint of light formed in the darkness of her psyche. Hope. Perhaps she only knocked the wind out of him when she escaped. She’d have to believe he’d escaped the fire, too. She didn’t need to add another worry to her already overflowing bag of them. She tried to open her eyes again, desperate to be able to move away from this place. This time, she succeeded. When everything came into focus, confusion burned in her chest and her mind. She didn’t see the forest as she expected. Instead, she saw her hotel room, but which hotel? Then? Or now?
She forced herself into a sitting position in her bed and concentrated on the nightstand. The digital clock read six forty-five. Morning, she thought, realizing the early morning sun streamed through an opening in the window curtain—on the window whose position also confirmed her presence in the here and now.
She blew out a breath of relief. Her hand trembled as she reached for her cell phone. She needed help. Her grip on reality felt so tentative. She made a phone call, exchanged a few words. Then, she blacked out.
WHEN SHE CAME to, she felt a little more in control—just a little. She no longer thought she’d find herself in the forest. When she concentrated on the clock on the nightstand again, she realized she’d only been out for about ten minutes. Her attempt at getting dressed proved to be awkward because her hand hurt so much, but she managed.
After dressing, she sat on the bed and stared at her palm. A bright red slash mark crossed it, but the skin appeared undamaged. But damn, it hurt as if it were blistered.
She remembered grabbing the bar on the jail window. Realized seconds later it burned too hot. Her muscles refused to obey her brain as it screamed at her to let go. She jerked her hand in pantomime, repeating the memory of pulling away from the searing heat of the jail bar. She fought to gain control again, panting, then slowly, with each breath, calm returned. Her breathing became more normal. The terror receded.
BY THE TIME Tucker stumbled out the front door of the hotel, she found Jackie sitting in her Mini Cooper, waiting for her. A thought crossed Tucker’s mind as she folded herself into the car. After they implemented the living history plan for the town, motorized vehicles should no longer be allowed on Main Street to add to the authenticity. She didn’t have the energy to voice the idea.
Once she settled herself inside the car and closed the door, Jackie took off like a bullet without waiting for Tucker to put on her seatbelt, something she usually insisted on. She looked over at Tucker as s
he drove and said, “You look like hell.”
“Thanks. I love you, too.” Tucker gripped her seat with her good hand. “Seriously, thanks for picking me up, Jackie. I’m not sure I’m fit to drive right now and I’m too sore to walk.”
The car slowed and Jackie glanced over toward her. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.”
Jackie picked up speed again and Tucker realized she was heading away from her house.
“Where are we going?”
“I called Leah. She’s making us breakfast.”
Tucker decided she shouldn’t argue. She remained quiet for the remainder of the short trip.
LEAH OPENED THE front door when Tucker came toward her up the walkway. Her concern registered on her face. When Tucker stepped into the living room, the aroma wafting from the kitchen reminded her of her childhood and good days with her mom, and she felt comforted.
“Come into the kitchen.” Leah motioned them to the back of the house. “Breakfast is almost ready. I have a vegetable frittata in the oven and the muffins are already cooling. I thought I’d make it an easy breakfast, so we can talk without interruption.”
She walked over to the tiny TV sitting on the corner of the kitchen counter and turned the volume off. Tucker recognized the morning news program by the Portero local newscaster. A timer sounded, drawing Tucker’s interest from the images on the screen.
Leah said, “The timer’s for the frittata. Please, sit anywhere you two. I’ll serve it up.”
Tucker saw there were already three glasses of orange juice on the table along with coffee cups and silverware. Leah instructed them to pour their own coffee from the carafe in the middle of the table. When Tucker didn’t act, Jackie grabbed her cup from in front of her and poured, doing the same with her own cup afterward.