The Deadly Fields of Autumn

by Dorothy Bodoin

  Things like this shouldn’t happen in the real world. They were the stuff of the most melodramatic kind of soap opera. The villain catches his victim in a trap and…

  …kills them.

  No! I refused to let him win this demented game.

  Bronwyn had escaped. So would we.

  But how?

  I pushed every extraneous thought out of my mind and tried to figure out how to do it.

  Forty-six

  I awoke from a disturbing dream of a sea storm and wild wind determined to fling me into the hungry water.

  Why was it so cold in the room? I reached down for the blanket and grabbed a handful of coarse, gritty cloth—and knew immediately where I was. Lying on a hard cot in the pirate’s cabin.

  My head still hurt. So did the rest of my body. The past hours rushed back to me. The Halloween party, the pirate, the long ride in the dark, the cabin—Charlotte. Still, the timid voice across the room startled me.

  “Are you awake, Jennet?”

  “Sort of.” I rubbed my eyes. “I will be.”

  I looked at her. Her face was thinner and drawn, and her eyes were haunted. Although she had apparently slept in her one outfit for several days, her pants didn’t look wrinkled. The gray turtleneck sweater must keep her warm. Which reminded me. There was no heat in the cabin. Only a newer model wood burning stove with no wood in it.

  It must be freezing outside. Was that lunatic killer hoping we would die here?

  I was thankful that my dress had long sleeves and brushed my ankles. If only the material were heavier.

  “Are you all right?” Charlotte asked. “I mean, did he hurt you?”

  I ran my hands along my arms. “He roughed me up, but I’ll live.” I touched my mouth lightly. “My lips hurt.”

  I didn’t mention the kiss. The memory infuriated me.

  In truth, I felt miserable. It seemed as if I had actually been a passenger—or captive—on that imperiled ship of my nightmare, fighting the wind for my life. My mouth was dry. Oh, for the luxuries of home: a tooth brush, toothpaste, and clean water. A cup of tea.

  “Didn’t he leave any food for us?” I asked.

  “Just white bread and water,” she said. “Prisoners’ fare. We’ll share it. Open a bottle of water, Jennet. You’ll feel better if you drink something.”

  That was a good idea. I took the bottle back to the cot and drank, trying not to think of whistling teakettles and tea leaves settling at the bottom of one of my cups at home.

  Suddenly I knew I would pay any price for a cup of hot tea. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  “I’m going to use the bathroom,” Charlotte said.

  I drained the bottle, and although I didn’t feel any stronger, my mouth was a trifle fresher.

  Faint daylight lured me to the closest window. A window to the world outside and freedom. I couldn’t budge it. But through the dirt of countless seasons I could see where I’d landed. Snow-covered acres stretched out to meet the horizon with only a few distant trees to break the monotony. No woods. No lake. A figure on a tall pole that might be a scarecrow overlooked the desolate vista.

  Charlotte limped back to the cot and collapsed onto it. She had finger-combed her dark hair, but she still looked ghastly, a pale imitation of the glowing woman I’d known.

  And I? I must be a frightful vision. A genuine witch leftover from a Halloween gala.

  It’s the first of November, I thought. A new month, an inauspicious beginning.

  What was Crane doing now? He would have known about my disappearance last night. I attempted to reconstruct the scene at the library. Julia must have panicked when she realized I wasn’t anywhere in the library. Brent and Annica, Miss Eidt, and Lucy would have rallied around her. One of them had contacted Crane.

  Would he think to call the school? For a moment I couldn’t remember what day it was. Saturday? He’d have to call them on Monday.

  If I were still missing on Monday.

  And my dogs. What would they think? Did my psychic collie, Misty, know what had happened to me?

  My purse, assuming somebody had found it, wouldn’t tell the police where I’d gone, only that I’d gone.

  Almost everybody was in costume or masked, which would complicate attempts to find me. As for the other woman in black who slightly resembled me, had one of my friends seen her from a distance and assumed he was looking at me? The whole night was a mishmash of confusion.

  I realized that Charlotte was talking to me.

  “I thought about breaking a window and just walking away. Then I knew I wasn’t able to walk well. I couldn’t even climb out of the window. Besides, where would I go? I don’t know where we are or if there’s a town nearby. But now that you’re here, we have a real chance to get away.”

  Her faith in me was touching, if sadly misplaced. I could look for something to break the old glass; I could walk away from the cabin. Then what? Eventually I’d come to a house or a town. But now that I knew Charlotte was here, I wouldn’t leave her.

  “We’re somewhere up north,” I said. “This must be a hunter’s cabin. It certainly isn’t somebody’s home.”

  Charlotte nodded. “There has to be a road nearby. There’ll be cars and people. Someone would stop… If you can walk to it.”

  Possible scenarios ran through my mind. “I think our best bet is to wait for him to come back and maybe overpower him. Or outwit him. After all, there are two of us, and he can’t be very bright. Does he come every day?”

  “He was here last night. We might be alone for a whole day. And another night.”

  “That gives us plenty of time to plan. And to search. Maybe there’s something in the cabin we can use.”

  “We need more to eat than a loaf of bread now that there’s two of us,” Charlotte said. “Or maybe he won’t care.”

  I thought of bread, a loaf shared between two people, then about warm toast. Well, it was better than nothing.

  “My guess is that he doesn’t care,” I said.

  ~ * ~

  I searched the cabin. It didn’t have a kitchen where I might find a knife. There was nothing in the bathroom we could use as a weapon. Clearly we had to rely on our wits. Rather I did. Charlotte had fallen silent. Her brief spark of hope had flickered out.

  Well, I had been in seemingly hopeless situations before, and I had struggled my way out of them. It could happen again.

  It has to.

  “We keep calling him ‘he’,” I said. “Do you know his name?”

  For a moment Charlotte didn’t answer. I wondered if she’d heard me. Finally she said, “I don’t. I was trying to remember if he told me at the accident. I don’t think he did. Why would he if he was planning to drive away?”

  “I have a dozen names for him,” I said. “I’ll go with the pirate.”

  “Last night I didn’t recognize him at first.”

  “We were at a Halloween party at the library. He wore a mask, and that beard was fake. He must have shaved off the real one.”

  She sighed. “What will we do, Jennet?”

  She was in desperate need of cheer.

  “I had a run-in with him on the freeway,” I said. “He followed me when I exited and forced me to stop my car. I had a can of Halt! in my purse, and I aimed it right for his eyes.”

  “Good! I wish I could have seen that.”

  “I wish I had that can with me now.”

  I looked at my watch. Eight-thirty. It was going to be a long day. Maybe the longest day of my life.

  ~ * ~

  Charlotte was asleep, which was as good a way as any to escape the grim reality that had become our lives. Unless, of course, nightmares invaded your sleep.

  I had time to think about the villains I’d confronted in the past. The first one came along during my first year in Foxglove Corners. I’d surprised her by throwing a bowl of salad in her face. Then the vile dognapper, Al Grimes, cornered me in my own home. I had smashed his head like a pumpkin with my rolling pin wh
en the phantom Christmas tree distracted him.

  Well, I didn’t have a bowl of salad or a rolling pin now.

  Other times supernatural manifestations had come to my aid. Unfortunately no ghosts would come to my aid today. I’d managed to live for a time in Foxglove Corners without encountering any ghostly phenomena.

  Not true, my mind insisted. What about the haunted television set?

  Yes, there was that, but it certainly couldn’t help me now.

  Forty-seven

  At noon Charlotte was still sleeping. I imagined this was how she had coped with her long imprisonment. As for myself, I was wide awake, my mind spinning with ideas, none of which were feasible when examined in the light of day.

  I could use a little ghostly intervention and a little food. Unfortunately the ghosts failed to materialize, and the food was unappealing. I hadn’t eaten since last night when I never dreamed that a gingerbread cookie would have to sustain me indefinitely.

  Also, exercise was essential lest I become as weak as Charlotte. But how was that possible? I’d already walked around the cabin several times. The thought of doing so again made me ill.

  I ate a slice of bread, breaking it into small pieces to make it last as long as possible, and drank half a bottle of tepid water. As Charlotte had said, prisoners’ fare.

  When I finished my pathetic breakfast, I tried the door—and almost fainted when it opened. Why hadn’t our captor locked us in? Was he that sure of our inability to escape from the cabin? Or that stupid?

  No matter. Now I could go outside and explore. Perhaps I’d see something other than endless fields. Maybe a road.

  I stepped outside into a blast of icy air. My mind was in such a muddle I didn’t realize I didn’t have a coat. My high heeled shoes, meant for evening wear, sank down in snow that called for tall boots. Instantly my face and fingers began to burn. I ignored them and surveyed the vista I’d already seen from inside. Nothing had changed. I was looking at a field that seemed to go on into infinity.

  Either it had snowed during the night or the wind had blown the snow into new locations. I could barely detect the impression made by the heavy Jeep or the tire tracks leading out to the road that must exist beyond my range of vision.

  One minute, I thought. I’ll just stay outside for one minute, walk around the cabin, and go right back inside.

  Maybe the view from the back would be more promising. It was the same, but… Behind the cabin I saw a stack of logs most likely cut for the wood burning stove. Next to the wood pile, a red tool handle rose from a mound of snow that had formed around it.

  If only…

  It was! An axe. Heavy, wet, and lethal.

  I had no need to look further. I had found my weapon.

  ~ * ~

  “The fool left the door unlocked and an axe in the back.”

  Charlotte rose slowly to a sitting position. She was groggy, slow to join the waking world. “I’m so cold,” she wailed. Then, “What did you say? What’s that you have?”

  “An axe. I was able to go outside. I found a wood pile and this axe.”

  “Then we can build a fire. Oh, thank God.”

  “Not without matches. But now I know what we’ll do.”

  “To get out of here?”

  “I hope so. He’s going to come back, isn’t he?”

  “He usually does.”

  “Then listen. I suspected he wasn’t very bright. Now I know it. There are two of us. We can take him down.”

  “But he has a gun.”

  “That’s okay. We won’t give him a chance to use it.”

  My plan had taken form as soon as I’d seen the axe. I knew what we’d do before I reentered the cabin.

  “You provide the distraction,” I said. “I’ll hide the axe where I can get it quickly. Lie on the cot and tell him you’re sick. You think you’re dying. Anything to get his attention. When his back is turned, I’ll hit him hard enough to knock him out.”

  “But he’s so big. He’s strong. Can you do it?”

  “I have to. I’ll do it quickly.”

  Like I’d hit the dognapper Grimes with a rolling pin. I couldn’t afford to miss.

  Now we had to wait for him to come. Charlotte, her eyes bright with hope, leaned back against the wall. I sat demurely on the cot with the axe hidden underneath but close at hand and waited.

  Crane would be proud of me. I might go down, but I would go down fighting.

  ~ * ~

  He came at the end of the day, carrying a white box that looked like it contained leftovers from his dinner. Charlotte was sitting on her cot, hunched over and holding her stomach.

  “Please,” she cried. “Help me. I have so much pain. I think it’s my appendix.”

  He flung the box at the table. It landed on the floor. “Saves me the trouble of shooting you.”

  Her agonized cry almost convinced me the pain was real.

  “Might as well dump you out in the snow,” he said.

  “No… Help me. For the love of God, get me to a hospital.”

  He bent over her and without a word yanked her to a sitting position. “This is better. The snow is nice and soft.”

  “Oh, God, I’m dying…”

  Now! Be quick!

  I grabbed the axe and struck a mighty blow to the back of his head. He fell heavily across Charlotte. Blood spilled out on the cot. He lay still. I imagined I could feel his blood, spraying out to bathe my face.

  Dear God, I had killed him. One blow. I’d only meant to knock him out.

  God forgive me.

  I felt sick. Cold and shaky. Like I was coming apart, like I would end up in little pieces on the dirty floor… I was going to throw up. I swallowed.

  Charlotte moaned softly. “Help me get out from under him.”

  I did. Slowly. Carefully. It wasn’t easy. He was as heavy as a boulder and had all but buried Charlotte’s lower body. But I managed. Soon she was standing, unsteady and tremulous but free.

  But I… I’d killed a human being, an evil one who deserved to die. Still…

  I’d killed him.

  I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care.

  ~ * ~

  “What are we going to do now?” Charlotte asked, turning away from the fallen man.

  “That’s a good question.”

  What should we do? I’d like to tie him up, just in case he wasn’t dead, but that was impossible. No one had left a length of rope in the cabin.

  “Let me think. We have to leave.”

  “But he may come to. He’ll follow us.”

  “He’s dead,” I said. “Can you walk at all, Charlotte?”

  “I can do what I have to.”

  “Then we’ll walk until we find a road. Oh, where’s my brain? He didn’t walk here. He came in his Jeep.”

  I rushed to the window, and there it was, the vehicle that had brought him to the cabin. Everything had happened so fast, it was probably still warm inside. Warmer than the cabin at any rate.

  This was almost too easy. He leaves us untied, leaves the door unlocked, leaves an axe just waiting for someone to use it. Well, he wasn’t very bright. That was an understatement. He was stupid.

  “Ugh,” Charlotte said. She’d picked up the white box and opened it. “Chicken bones, a couple of fried wings, hash browns, all mixed together. His garbage.”

  “Leave it. Let’s look for the keys.”

  Then we could get out of the cabin. Borrow a cell phone. Let Crane know I was all right.

  We could drive away from this unknown place straight to Foxglove Corners. Straight home.

  Forty-eight

  I found the keys in the pirate’s pants pocket, and minutes later we were in the Jeep driving down the makeshift road through the fields. Snow flurries went twirling through the air, and the ground was slippery; but there was nothing in sight to hit.

  We passed the scarecrow. Its tattered clothes flapped in the wind as it tried to free itself from the pole.

  We must
look tattered ourselves, two women wearing worn dresses without winter coats or boots.

  “We have to find a police station,” I said.

  The tale we had to tell seemed fantastic. A kidnapping, imprisonment, a dead body. In our fevered rush to leave the cabin, I didn’t think about the dead man. The moment I’d started the Jeep’s engine and began driving, the enormity of what I had done crashed into me again.

  But I’d done what I had to. Surely the police would see it that way.

  Maybe they wouldn’t.

  Charlotte’s thoughts ran along similar lines. We were nearing a town, Greenmill Falls, Population Five Hundred, when she broke her silence. “I don’t think we should stop at a police station in one of these one horse towns, Jennet. How do we know they won’t lock us up and go back to find the body?”

  We didn’t, of course, although I thought we looked like credible victims.

  “You may be right,” I said. “Let’s push on to Foxglove Corners and deal with our own police department. We can stop at a gas station for a map and find out where we are. Greenmill Falls? I never heard of it.”

  Charlotte sighed. “I can’t wait to pick up Bronwyn and have my life back again. The long nightmare is finally over.”

  “That’ll all happen,” I said, envisioning my first sight of Crane, feeling his arms around me and anticipating collie kisses from my dogs.

  However I didn’t share Charlotte’s vision. For me the nightmare wouldn’t be over yet. I’d bludgeoned a man to death.

  ~ * ~

  We entered Greenmill Falls, bought a map with a five dollar bill Charlotte had found in her pocket, and drove on. Incredibly, no one at the gas station had a cell phone we could borrow. As we moved further south, we discovered that the snow had melted, which made our journey easier.

  I had a general idea of where we were. We’d be in Foxglove Corners in another couple of hours.

  Charlotte peered through the glass, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand.

  “There’s something in the road, Jennet. I think it’s a deer. You’d better slow down.”

  I did, but the animal didn’t look like a deer to me. It wasn’t tall enough, not long enough. Perhaps it was a fawn. We’d just passed a Deer X-ing sign.