Home At Last

by Raney, Deborah;

  He led the way to where he’d seen the light turn the gravel to glitter. Their breaths hovered and mingled in the cold night air.

  “Is Portia okay? She won’t be scared?”

  “She fell back asleep.”

  Link prayed she’d stay that way. The glimmer in the gravel caught his eye again.

  Michaels saw it too and ran ahead, squatted down to inspect it. “Look at this.” He held up a shard of red plastic.

  “From a taillight?”

  “Looks like it. Or a driveway reflector.”

  But there were no driveways nearby.

  Michaels studied the jagged piece. “One of Shay’s taillights was busted. I don’t know if this is the same type. But I never got around to fixing it. I should’ve.”

  “You think it might have fallen out while she was driving?”

  “I don’t know why it would. It wasn’t jagged. Just cracked.”

  “Where’s the rest of it?” Link knew Mike Michaels had to be thinking the same thing he was. And it wasn’t good. But neither of them mentioned Mohawk—as if they could keep the worst from being true if they didn’t talk about it.

  Michaels shook his head, then rose. He walked back and forth, kicking at the gravel, hoping, Link knew, to find another clue.

  Link dialed Shayla’s phone again. And again, it rang three times and went to voice mail. “I don’t like this at all. I think we need to call the police, Mr. Michaels. Or my dad knows the sheriff. He’s a good guy. Are you okay with calling him?”

  “Yes.” For once, he didn’t hesitate. “Something ain’t right. I just know it. We need help.”

  “I’m going to drive up to the next crossroad, drive down some of these side roads and see if maybe she took a wrong turn or something.” There were no wrong turns to take. But Michaels didn’t argue with him.

  Link started to get in his truck, then turned back to Shay’s dad. “Listen, let me call my parents to come and get Portia. She can sleep at their house so you can help me search.”

  “I don’t want to interfere—”

  “She’ll be in good hands with them. Two of us can cover more territory.”

  “All right. Call them. I’ll wait here until they can come and get her. If they can.”

  “They will. Don’t worry.”

  Link called his dad and explained what was going on.

  “You go find her,” his dad said. “I’ll get the sheriff out there. And Mom and I will come and get Portia. We’re praying, son.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Link relayed the message to Michaels. “Do you mind staying here until my Dad arrives? He can wait and tell the sheriff what’s going on. Unless Sheriff Peterson beats him here.”

  “I’ll stay.” Michaels pointed back toward his car. “I don’t want to be driving on any back roads with her this late.”

  “I understand.” Link understood what the man wasn’t saying.

  They agreed Link would take the east-west roads and Shay’s father would start traveling the north-south crossroads, covering a four-mile grid—not that Southeast Missouri had anything resembling a square grid, but they’d cover as much territory as possible this way.

  “I’ll call you if I find anything at all.” Link gave the man’s shoulder an awkward clap.

  “You do that. I’ll let you know when your parents get here and I get started. You call me when you find her. When, son. I don’t want any other answer.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll find her.”

  “And Link?”

  “Yes sir?”

  “Pray. Pray like you’ve never prayed before.”

  He tried to smile—and failed. “I’m already on it.” He climbed in the truck and revved the engine, backing around as quickly as he could, trying to think how Shayla might have been thinking if she’d had car trouble. Or if she’d run into some kind of trouble. Please, Lord . . .

  He never thought he’d pray that it was only his lousy mechanical skills that had caused her trouble. But it didn’t make sense that she wouldn’t be on this road. It didn’t make sense at all.

  ***

  Link drove with the radio off and the heater on. Still, he felt chilled to the bone. The night had suddenly turned ominous, every tree sporting claws, every shadow a demon. His eyes started playing tricks on him, seeing light where there was none, and turning every wisp of steam rising off the creeks into smoke.

  Michaels called him less than ten minutes out. “Your dad let the authorities know what’s going on, then he and your mom took Portia back with them.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m gonna head south a mile, then backtrack. You seeing anything out there? Anything at all?”

  “Not yet. I’ll call you when I do.”

  They exchanged location information and Link drove on. They talked twice more, about three minutes apart. Three of the longest minutes of Link’s life.

  He and Michaels should converge about a mile up the road. He slowed down, now watching the side roads for Michaels, as well as scouring the ditches for Shay.

  His phone chirped again. “Yes?”

  “I found the van!” Michaels sounded out of breath. “It’s not good, Link. You need to get here. We need an ambulance.”

  His blood ran cold. “How bad is she hurt?”

  “I don’t see her yet, Link. I can’t get to the car, but if she’s in there, it’s serious.”

  “Where are you?” He leaned over the steering wheel panning the horizon. Trying to get his bearings.

  “I think I see your headlights through the trees. Come on about a half mile east on Pritchell Trail.”

  “On my way.” His gut sank. He punched the accelerator, no longer needing to check the ditches. He dialed 9-1-1 and told the dispatcher to send an ambulance. He could only approximate the location, but surely they’d see the lights from their vehicles out here. Hopefully the sheriff would arrive about the same time.

  Link saw Michaels’s vehicle in the road and slowed. He wasn’t inside the car. Link scanned the pitch black horizon, listening. But the man was nowhere in sight.

  “Michaels?” he called out.

  Then he saw it—a hazy glow below road level. Way below. He looked over the side of the embankment into a deep ravine. Two beams of light shot into the woods at odd angles, eerily illuminating the lower foot of pines and poplars. A hushed, steady hiss rose up from the ravine. He hoped it was nothing more than the radiator leaking coolant.

  Still, if Shayla was in there, they had to get her out. “Shayla! Mike?”

  He stopped to listen, then hollered again. “Shayla! Michaels? You down there?” He shined the flashlight into the ravine. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get down into it in the dark when he needed both hands to climb. He hoped Shay’s father hadn’t fallen. He yelled for him again. “Mike?”

  Nothing. What was going on?

  28

  Shayla!” Link shouted into the night, inching his way down the steep embankment, the flashlight mostly worthless since he’d threaded it through a belt loop to free his hands.

  “Michaels?” It was muddy and slick in the freezing December temps and his breath formed a cloud in front of his face. Shayla had to be freezing.

  “Link? You down there?” The voice came from above him.

  Michaels. Link turned, grappling for something to hang on to. “You on the road still?”

  “Over here!”

  Link turned toward the voice. He could barely make out Michaels’s silhouette in the dark.

  “I don’t think I can get down there.” Michaels’s breath came hard. “You don’t need two of us hurt. I’ll direct the ambulance. Get her out of there!”

  Link slid down a few more feet, praying he didn’t fall.

  “Wait! Wait, Link! Come back! She’s here!” Michaels was struggling to breathe.

  What? He scrambled back up the incline and jogged to where Michaels stood, pointing.

  Link saw her then, stumbling along the edge of the road. He took off running.


  “Shayla! Shay!” She didn’t seem to hear him at first, looking dazed. But when she saw him she started running toward him. Or trying to. She was limping badly and gasping for air.

  The second he reached her, she crumpled against him. He held her upright. “She’s okay!” he shouted to Michaels. He didn’t know that, but she was alive, and he knew the man needed to hear it.

  “Shayla? Are you okay?” He took a step back, trying to assess her injuries.

  Her face was covered with blood, and she was favoring her left leg—foot?—severely. He thought she was in shock. “Shayla? Are you okay? Talk to me.”

  “It was him!” Her voice shook. “Link, it was him!”

  “Do you mean that guy? Mohawk?”

  She nodded, trembling violently. “His name is Billy Waverton.”

  “What? How do you know that? What happened?”

  She started crying, hysterical sobs that wracked her entire body.

  “You’re in shock, Shay. We need to get you to the hospital.” Where was the ambulance?

  “Shay? Baby?” Michaels reached them and helped Link hold Shayla up. She slumped against her father much as she had on the day he’d almost run over Portia.

  “Can you hold her while I get my truck?”

  Michaels nodded. “I’ve got her.”

  “It was him, Daddy! It was him!”

  Link explained what she’d said earlier and about her calling the guy Billy Waverton.

  “What do you mean? You know who did this? Did he hurt you, baby?” Anger grew in Michaels’s voice.

  She gulped in air. “He hit me. The van, I mean. He just kept ramming me! I couldn’t get away from him.” She paused as if trying to process what had happened. “He cut me off on the highway. I couldn’t get around him. I couldn’t do anything but turn off. But the road was so narrow and he just kept ramming me again and again.”

  Link felt sick, thinking of that monster playing with her like a cat with a mouse—right before it kills.

  Shayla fell quiet, the effort of living through it all again in the retelling apparently taking its toll. Link looked around, watching for the EMS crews, not seeing the strobing lights he so desperately wanted to see. He watched the edges of the darkness too, wondering if Waverton might be watching from a distance, taking some sick satisfaction in the damage he’d inflicted.

  Michaels held up a hand, cocking his head to listen.

  Link stilled too. The distant wail of sirens sent a rush of relief through him.

  “The ambulance is on the way, Shay.” He pushed the hair off her face, and aimed the flashlight, trying to determine the extent of her injuries. “Hang in there a few more minutes, okay?” The blood was already congealing around the wounds he could see. They didn’t appear to be deep, but there was a lot of blood.

  “Here.” Her dad moved closer, pressed a handkerchief to her forehead. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. You hear that? The ambulance is on the way.”

  The sirens grew louder and they could see the lights getting closer. Shay held her head. “I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I should have said something.”

  Michaels pulled her closer. “What’s wrong, baby? What are you talking about?” He gave Link a look that said he thought maybe she was delirious.

  Link wondered the same thing. He moved to her other side and bent to look into her eyes. Check her pupils. It was likely she had a concussion judging by the wounds on her head. “Shay? What happened? What did you need to tell us?”

  “He followed me.”

  “We know, baby. But he’s gone now. You’re going to be all right.” Mike looked at Link again, and shook his head, looking beyond worried.

  “No. I don’t mean tonight. On Thanksgiving. He followed me . . . from the shelter. He was just—” She closed her eyes and leaned harder against Link.

  He braced his knees and tightened his arm around her, feeling a new wave of gratitude that they’d found her, and she was going to be okay.

  “You rest now, baby. You can tell us when you’re ready.”

  “No.” Her eyes opened, and she seemed to be more alert. “He was just toying with me that day. I don’t know why, but he backed off. He never did anything. But this time . . . He ran me off the road. Is the van okay?”

  “Don’t you worry about the van.” Michaels looked at Link over her head. “You’re the one I’m worried about. Hey, look, the ambulance is here now. Let’s get you checked over.” Michaels strode to where the EMS vehicle was parking.

  “No. I’m fine.” She reached out as if to stop him. “Link? I’m fine. I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “Shay.” He worked to keep his tone calm. “Just let them look you over here, okay? Then you can decide. After we know what’s going on with you.”

  That seemed to quiet her, and she let the paramedics assist her onto a gurney and tend to her wounds. Link and Shay’s father stood close enough that she could see them but far enough away to not interfere.

  When the techs were finished, one of them came over to Shay’s father. “She’s refusing transport. It doesn’t appear she has any broken bones or internal injuries—and we can’t take her if she doesn’t want to go—but you might want to have her checked over tomorrow. Just to be sure. And watch her through the night.”

  Link listened in as the tech told Michaels what to watch for. “If she’s up to it, the sheriff’s en route. Since it sounds like a case of stalking and aggression, they’re going to want to take a statement.”

  “You think she’s up to it?” Michaels asked the paramedic.

  “As long as they keep it short. Probably easier to do it here than to have to go in later.”

  Michaels nodded. “If it was your daughter—would you make her go to the ER?”

  He shrugged. “It’s always best to be on the safe side. But she’s pretty adamant about not going.”

  “Link, can you talk some sense into her?”

  “I’ll try, sir. But you, of all people, know how stubborn she is.”

  That got a smile from the man. “Give it your best shot.”

  ***

  Sheriff Peterson stepped from his SUV, leaving the emergency lights flashing. “Sorry to keep you waiting folks, but we’ve got some good news for you. We have our suspect in custody.”

  “That was quick,” Link hadn’t meant it to sound so doubtful.

  Michaels glared at him. “Is his name Billy Waverton?”

  “Yes, sir. One of my deputies found the suspect sitting in a thicket, shaking in his boots.” He sneered, an undercurrent of sarcasm in his tone. “Says he didn’t mean for her to get hurt.”

  Michaels straightened like he was ready for a fight. “He sure has a funny way of showing it.”

  Saying nothing, the sheriff offered a parting nod, then went to speak with Shayla. Link and Michaels followed him, standing a short distance away.

  Link strained to listen over the squawking of the police radios and the rescue vehicles’ idling engines.

  Sheriff Peterson was gentle, if professional, with Shay, having her repeat everything she’d already told them. She included the encounter at the theater. And more details—things she hadn’t told anyone else—came out as she recounted the altercation at the homeless shelter on Thanksgiving Day.

  Link shook his head. How could she have kept that in all this time? She must have been terrified. And that night could easily have ended the same as this one. Or worse.

  Shayla bowed her head. “I should have said something. I should have told you, Daddy. I’m sorry.” She turned her gaze on Link. “I’m so sorry.”

  He moved close enough to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but backed away again when the sheriff cleared his throat.

  “Is there anything else you can remember?” Peterson looked stern. “We’ll need names of any witnesses who saw what happened at the shelter.” He turned to Link. “I assume you’ll be willing to testify about the altercation at the theater?”

  “Of course.�
��

  The sheriff told Shayla, “If we can prove he was stalking you over a period of time, it will help our case. But I think you’ve got a solid one. Felony charges some of them. We’ve got this thug on harassment, vandalism, aggravated stalking, assault with a deadly weapon . . .” He counted the offenses off on his fingers. “And that’s just for starters. I think we’ve got enough to put him away long enough to maybe do some good.”

  Peterson turned to Shayla’s father. “I’m gonna let you get your daughter home. I think we’ve all had enough for one night. But I’ll need some information from you, sir, so we can arrange to get your van towed. The deputies are down there now, looking for evidence, and securing your personal effects. I hate to say it, but from what little I could see, I don’t think you’re going to be driving that van any time soon.”

  29

  Link, can I have a bandage on my head?”

  Moving his hand from the light switch he’d been about to turn off, Link went back to Portia’s bed. “You mean like Shayla’s bandage?”

  She nodded, looking solemn.

  “You don’t want a bandage, honey. That means you have an owie.”

  “But Shay’s not cryin’.”

  “No, not now. But she cried tonight, when it happened.”

  They’d told Portia only that Shayla had been in a car accident. But she’d seen her aunt’s bandages, which were pretty impressive.

  Shay’s dad had insisted she go to the ER in Cape. They’d waited three hours to be seen, but were back now, at two a.m., and Shay seemed to quickly be returning to her old self.

  While she and Mike were at the ER, Link had gone to get Portia from his parents’—who seemed reluctant to let her go. Apparently the girl hadn’t slept a minute but had kept them entertained until the wee hours of morning. Dad was still chuckling when he’d walked Link and Portia to the door of the inn.

  Link tucked the blankets around Portia’s shoulders—for the third time. “That’s enough talking for one night. You go to sleep now.”

  She yawned as if she couldn’t help but obey.

  “And will you do me a big favor?”

  “What?” she whispered, matching his tone.

  “Will you play really quietly in the morning so Shay can sleep?” He had a feeling Portia would be zonked until noon too, but you never knew about this girl.