Follow You Down

by Bradley, Michael;

“Alcoholism and two failed marriages for me,” Jeremy said. “I’d wake up screaming at night. Still do. Neither of my wives could take it anymore.”

  “We’ve all been haunted by his death,” said Steve, moving closer to Neil. “I can’t see my two boys without supervision because of anger issues that stem from that night. Ten years of therapy, and I still hear his voice on quiet nights, calling from somewhere in the back of my mind. We’ve all paid the price for what we’ve done. All except you.”

  “You walked out of this camp and went off to follow your dreams while the rest of us picked up the pieces you left behind,” Rob said. “While you were becoming a big-shot city lawyer, our lives were crumbling around us. Each grappling with our overwhelming guilt over Chris’s death while you stood in your high tower acting like a god.”

  “You’ve never carried your share of the guilt,” Steve said. “We’ve paid for our sins. Now it’s your turn.”

  The movement was so quick that Sammy barely saw it happen. Jeremy and Steve lunged forward, grasping Neil’s arms, yanking them behind his back. Neil struggled against their grip but couldn’t pull himself free. Rob, stepping forward, drove his fist into Neil’s stomach. She turned her head away as Neil’s legs buckled beneath him. She heard the additional thuds and moans but refused to watch. As much as she wanted Neil to suffer, she couldn’t bring herself to turn her eyes back in the direction of the archery range. She flinched at the sound of every punch, hearing the agony behind every bellow that Neil made. She never wanted this, never wanted senseless violence. This wasn’t the suffering she had in mind.

  When the sounds died down, she turned back toward the archery range. Neil was laying on the ground, a motionless huddled mass. His four friends stood over him, looking as if they were deliberating over what they should do next. Sammy decided that she couldn’t watch any more. She had her own plan to execute. Trying to cautiously slip from the brambles, Sammy glanced once more back toward the archery range. While the others were still glaring down at Neil, Steve was gazing through the forest at her. Their eyes met for a moment, leaving no doubt that he’d seen her. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head in her direction, and then shifted his gaze back down onto Neil. She cursed under her breath. Her intention had been to slip away unnoticed. Sammy watched for a moment more, and then pushed her way through the forest toward her father’s cabin. There were still a few preparations to be made, and she didn’t have much time.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rob’s blows left Neil doubled over in the sand of the archery range, his ribs bruised and his abdomen on fire. He’d never taken a beating like that before. He remained motionless while they stood around him, talking amongst themselves.

  “Not feeling well, Brewster?” said Jeremy.

  “Poor Neil,” said Steve. “Bet you never expected your sins to catch up with you.”

  “Pick him up. I want a go at him,” said Patrick.

  A firm grip clamped onto each of Neil’s arms, lifting him to his feet. His legs felt weak, refusing to bear any weight without some form of protest. He opened his eyes to find Steve and Jeremy on either side, holding him tightly between them. With what strength he could muster, Neil shrugged his arms, trying to wrangle out of their grasp. With a swift movement, he raked his heel down Steve’s shin. A quick twist to his right enabled him to break free from Steve’s grasp. He threw a wild punch at Jeremy’s jaw. His fist missed its target and left him off balance. Jeremy’s grip tightened on his arm until Neil was forced to grimace with pain. Within moments, Steve had regained his hold on Neil. It had been a lame attempt to escape, but he knew he had to at least try. Now, another opportunity would need to be sought.

  Jeremy and Steve dragged him back against the archery range’s rear berm, pressing his back into the hard surface with ferocity. The uneven wood surface dug into his spine, seeming to hit every pressure point for maximum discomfort. Thoughts raced through his mind, wondering what they had planned for him. How would one make amends for driving someone to suicide? Was it to be a beating, each of them taking their punches? Or was it to be something worse?

  Patrick stepped forward, leaned in close, and came within inches of Neil’s face. “Are you ready, Neil?”

  The punches were ferocious, with a fiery anger fueling each blow. Hard knuckles plunged into his chest and stomach, pushing him toward a crescendo of pain before becoming numb to it all. Unable to do anything else, he allowed his body to go limp, dangling from the grasp of Jeremy and Steve. Each blow became nothing more than a punctuation on a sentence of pain.

  Neil dropped to the ground when released, huddled once again in the sand. Coughing, he spat blood from his mouth and wheezed as he tried to take a deep breath. He heard his friends speaking, but their voices seemed faint and incomprehensible. His face fell forward into the sand, tiny particles of grit grinding into his cheek. Five minutes. He just needed five minutes to gather his strength. He could take another round if he had just five minutes. Then, everything went black.

  When he opened his eyes, Neil thought he was alone. No voices. No noise. As his eyes tried to focus, he rolled onto his back, a move which sent waves of pain up his left ribs. He screwed his eyes closed, biting his lip until the pain subsided to a blunt throbbing.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon.”

  Looking up, Neil had found Rob standing nearby, the revolver hanging limply from his hand. No one else seemed to be around. Maybe this was his chance. He’d have to disarm Rob and make an escape before the others returned, but it’d be far from easy. He was in no condition to wrestle Rob to the ground in a fight over the gun. Probably never even get close enough to make a grab for it. There wasn’t much hope. He’d need a small miracle.

  “They’ve gone for some rope,” explained Rob.

  “Why? To string me up?”

  Rob laughed. “We’ve got plans for you.”

  Neil tried to sit up, but a momentary wave of nausea sent him falling back into the sand. Turning his head from right to left, he surveyed the area as best he could. His glance paused only for a second—just long enough to observe the feathers on the end of a buried arrow shaft. It must’ve been buried after he’d dropped it earlier. He returned his gaze to Rob.

  “Why don’t you just put a bullet through my head and get it done and over with?” said Neil. He added a slur to his words. “I’m tired of the games.”

  Rob took a step forward. “That’s what Patrick wants to do. A bullet through the temple, and a deep grave in the forest.”

  “What’s stopping him?”

  “The rest of us want to see you suffer. A bullet is too easy.”

  “Well, you’ve got me. I’ve got no more . . .” He allowed his words to fade. Neil outstretched his arms, allowing them to fall lazily onto the sand. He groaned, breathed deep, and rolled his head back and forth on a limp neck. Got to draw Rob closer, he thought. Can I make this look convincing? His eyes closed, and he muttered a short string of unintelligible words.

  “What was that?” said Rob.

  Got to get him closer. “I’m not feeling . . . I’m . . .”

  Rob stepped closer. “Neil. You still there?”

  Keeping his eyes closed, Neil mumbled once more, his voice soft and faint. His fingers burrowed into the sand. He opened his eyes just enough to see through his eye lashes, just enough to catch the blurred image of Rob leaning closer, the revolver held firm in his hand. Just a little more. Letting out a long breath, he allowed his head to fall to one side. Through fluttering eyelids, he saw Rob lean in closer. Neil had no idea when the others would return. It was now or never.

  His right hand jerked toward Rob’s face, flinging a fistful of sand upward. His other hand reached for his only hope. His fingers found the half-buried arrow shaft, encircling it in an iron grip. He saw Rob’s hands clawing at his eyes, desperate to wipe away the grit which had momentarily blinded him.
With all the strength he could garner, Neil drove the arrow into Rob’s thigh.

  The sound of the arrow entering Rob’s flesh was dull, seeming almost anti-climactic. For the briefest of moments, Neil thought he might have missed. Then, he heard Rob’s roar of pain and felt a warmth trickle down over his fingers. Rob’s leg buckled, and he fell to the ground. Wasting no time, Neil scrambled to his feet, letting out a yelp of his own as pain raked down his ribs. A flash of silver made him glance back behind him. Rob grasped the arrow shaft with one hand, while the other waved the revolver, unsteadily trying to take aim at Neil. Scrambling out of the archery range, he ducked his shoulders at the crack of the gunshot. A tree branch to his right shattered, sending a deluge of splinters and bark raining down on him as he ran off.

  Gripping his aching ribs, Neil stumbled across the sandy parking lot and threw furtive glances to his right and left. Deep breaths caused sharp pains in his chest. Maybe a cracked rib. His vision was blurred by the sweat that trickled down into his eyes. Running and hiding in the forest had left his arms and legs torn and bloody. Angry brambles and thickets had thrashed at his skin and clothing, tearing them both to shreds.

  His feet were unsteady as he made his way across the clearing toward the cars parked at the opposite side. Neil fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his keys with a trembling hand. The furtive glances over his shoulder were no more reassuring than the flash of the Mercedes’s brake lights when he pushed the button of the key fob to unlock the car. But when his hand touched the car door handle, he felt a mild sense of relief, knowing that escape was within his grasp. Pulling the door open, his eyes ran along the side of the car, more an unconscious action than a movement with intent and purpose. His hand fell away from the handle as he felt escape slip from his grasp. The rear tire had been flattened, a long gaping gash evident on the sidewall. His gaze moved forward, finding the same result on the front tire.

  Undeterred, Neil dropped into the driver’s seat. Flat tires or not, he was getting out of here. He could always replace the tires and rims. He only needed to drive ten or fifteen miles up the road. Just to the nearest phone. As he slid the key in the ignition, he smiled. But the smile faded quickly when the engine failed to start.

  Resting his hands on the car roof, his head bowed forward, heavy with a sense of defeat. He’d fought so hard to get free, only to find his escape cut off. It felt less like a setback and more like utter failure. The aching in his ribs served as a reminder of what he’d just escaped from, and what Neil would face if he didn’t get away.

  Leaning his head on the car, he wondered if he could walk out of camp. Perhaps he could make it to the nearest house and call for help. A deep breath and a sharp pain in his ribs told him he’d be hard pressed to outdistance his pursuers. And who knew how far the nearest house was? Or even in what direction? He could wander for hours on the back roads and never come any closer to civilization than he was at that very moment. He slammed his fist down on the roof of the Mercedes.

  Opening the car door, he reached into the compartment beneath the armrest, grabbing his mobile phone. A quick glance at the screen told him all he needed to know. No signal. Jeremy had said that there was no signal out here, but Neil had hoped that he’d been exaggerating. No such luck. He decided to try anyway, dialing 9-1-1. Seconds later, he threw the phone back into the car and slammed the door closed. “Damn it!”

  Leaning back against the Mercedes, Neil felt helpless, a feeling that frightened him. He grasped his hands together, hoping to stop them from trembling, but to no avail. Closing his eyes, he tried to slow his breathing, to calm his already overwrought mind. His racing thoughts had sent him into a mental paralysis. Indecision would be the death of him. If he wanted to get out of this alive, he’d have to start thinking straight.

  Neil jerked his head around as a voice echoed from the forest. It was Patrick. It was difficult to tell from which direction the voice came. He peered around the clearing, scanning for any sign of movement, but saw none. It wouldn’t be long before they made their way into the clearing. Glancing down the line of vehicles, he knew it would be a long shot, but it was one he had to investigate. He tried the Ford F150 first—locked. He ran to the Lexus only to be disappointed again. Another shout from the forest pressed him on with a new sense of urgency. They were getting closer.

  After finding the other two cars locked, Neil returned to the Mercedes, kneeling between it and the truck. He knew that to remain by the cars would be a bad idea. They’d come looking soon enough. But running aimlessly through the forest wasn’t an option either. Concealment was what he needed now. Concealment until he came up with a better strategy.

  He heard Steve’s voice echo somewhere in the nearby forest. “Let’s try over by the cars!”

  It was now or never. Neil needed to think fast. He needed to hide. Rising to his feet, he glanced into the Ford’s truck bed, finding it empty except for a canvas tarp balled up near the truck cab. With no other option immediately to hand, he clambered over the side into the truck bed, balling himself up as tight as he could, pulling the tarp on top of him. The canvas was damp and smelled of gasoline. The thick odor attacked his nostrils, making him nauseous.

  Remaining as still as possible, he listened for any sound. Less than a minute later, Neil heard someone pushing through the nearby underbrush. He drew in a breath and held it, afraid that his own breathing might give him away. The footfalls in the sand were soft, and he strained to hear them. Someone was walking between the truck and the Mercedes. The footsteps paced back and forth for a moment, paused, and then all went silent. He wanted to peek out from under the tarp to see what was happening, but he didn’t dare move. At any moment, he expected the tarp to be ripped from over him, leaving him at the mercy of his pursuers.

  The silence stretched from a moment to eternity, and Neil fought to keep himself from making any sound or movement. But he couldn’t stop his body from trembling. He was certain someone was still standing beside the truck. He hadn’t heard them walk away. All he could do was remain where he was and be still, very still.

  Neil didn’t know how long he lay there. His left arm was pinned beneath his body, making it impossible to check his watch. It must have been five minutes, maybe ten, by his estimation. He began to wonder if he may have been wrong. Should he try to peek out from under the tarp? The slightest move would give away his hiding place to anyone standing nearby. But if no one was there, he was wasting valuable time underneath this tarp that could be used to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers.

  With his eyes closed, Neil focused all his concentration on listening for the faintest sound, the smallest hint of someone standing nearby. The silence was thick and heavy, so much so that he thought he heard his own heartbeat roaring from out of his chest. In a moment of fancy, he panicked, thinking that anyone standing even ten feet from the truck could hear the rhythmic pounding, but the moment faded almost as soon as it started.

  The sound of distant footsteps in the sand reached his ears, and, as they drew closer, Neil heard a shuffle in the sand beside the truck, almost to his immediate right. He caught a thud as something brushed the side of the truck, rocking it slightly. As the footsteps approached, he heard someone shout, “You see him?” It was Steve.

  “Nah! But he’s been here,” came the reply. It was Patrick’s voice.

  “He was bound to come by here,” Steve said. “The fastest way out of here is his car. Neil won’t wander around the forest too long.”

  There was movement near the side of the truck. It swayed as someone leaned against its side.

  “Look at this piece of shit. Ostentatious as always,” Patrick said. “He probably keeps this thing locked up in a private garage. Do you know how much that would cost in New York?”

  Steve’s only reply was an affirmative grunt. Neil answered Patrick’s question in his mind. Six hundred a month.

  “Never liked Mercs,�
� said Steve.

  “Me neither,” replied Patrick.

  Neil heard a sharp click, and then a thunderous crack ripped through the forest, causing him to shudder involuntarily. The gunshot was followed by the tinkle of shattered glass. He fought to keep from trembling as the dull ringing in his ears quickly faded to be replaced by the laughter of his two pursuers.

  “That’ll teach the bastard,” said Patrick.

  Steve asked, “Whatcha do that for?”

  “Something to do while we wait for the others. Come on. Let’s sit down.”

  He heard them move toward the back of the truck. When he heard the truck tailgate drop open, Neil froze, not daring to even breathe. When the truck rocked, he figured they must have both sat down on the edge of the tailgate. Only a few feet away, he knew that even the slightest movement would give him away. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and most of all, terrified. He knew enough about ballistics to understand that one shot from a .357 Magnum could rip him to pieces. What if they knew he was there? What if this was all just a game to throw him off his guard? What if Patrick was taking aim right now? Imagining a bullet ripping through the flimsy tarp caused him to shudder.

  “I still think we should kill him,” said Patrick abruptly.

  “No. No. We’re sticking to plan. You know what we must do. We all agreed.”

  “It just seems like we’re letting him off easy.”

  “Trust me, it’ll be better this way—far more humiliating,” said Steve.

  Hearing Steve’s words left Neil to wonder what had caused his childhood best friend to turn on him. Steve and his other friends had been just as eager to abuse Bateman as he had been back then. They’d always acted as one entity. “All for one and one for all,” had been their motto. They’d all taken their shots at Bateman, often all at once. The hypocrisy would be laughable if he hadn’t been so frightened for his own life.

  He heard Steve say, “Look! Over there! Is that him?”