But then, just as I began to succumb to the siren’s whisper to close my eyes and drift away, the voices of the dead urged me on. I couldn’t let those women be lost in the cave any longer, so I pushed on despite the odds that were stacked against me. When I caught the first glimpse of sunlight, I ignored my bloodied feet, hands, and knees and ran, almost as though the light infused me with healing strength.
The first full breath of fresh air I sucked in with fervor, ignoring the tremendous pain it caused my chest. I squinted under the intensity of the early afternoon sunbeams, desperate to find my car. Had I been able, I would have jumped for joy when I spotted it about fifty yards from me, hitched right behind Samuel’s truck.
Relief washed over me when I found the door unlocked and my phone in the front seat, but that triumph had quickly sunk to dejection when I realized it was dead. Elation jolted me alive once more when I glanced through the window of Samuel’s truck and noticed a CB radio under the dash. The tears that I held inside me broke free when I discovered it worked. My raspy voice screamed across the airwaves for help.
A flash of blue lights, the squall of sirens, a bumpy helicopter evacuation to the hospital, and countless hours of questions from law enforcement occupied two full days. The first day I experienced a gut wrenching phone call to my mother that damn near broke my heart. I had feared she would suffer another stroke, which had been at the forefront of my mind when I called. I made sure my words were chosen carefully as I downplayed my injuries.
I had to pull out every trick in the book I knew to keep her and Dad from coming up here. The last thing I wanted was for either of their weakened eyes to attempt to navigate the mountain roads or see their only child in such a condition. I told Dad to keep the television off and not answer any phone calls or visits from the press. I told him to have Mom occupy her time fixing me prepared meals that I could just heat up since cooking with broken fingers might prove difficult. Finally, I promised them that once I left the hospital, I would stay with them a few days while I recuperated. Parental worries placated, they relented and stayed home.
I had told numerous law enforcement officials every sordid detail, from beginning to end, several times.
Well, not everything.
I omitted one large, particular detail.
A detail I would handle on my own once I returned home.
The wounds to my body would heal eventually. My knee was still tender, my fingers taped together, seven stitches in my skull, and my ribs still sore with each respiration. The fluids delivered to me intravenously had rehydrated my parched body, but the trauma embedded inside my soul…that was another thing.
Another thing indeed.
“Ms. Russell, are you okay? Do I need to call the nurse? You look like you are in pain.”
I smiled up at the detective in response.
“I’m sorry. Guess I sort of zoned out for a moment. I was just thinking about closure,” I said. He nodded somberly, no more explanation needed.
“And no, thank you, calling the nurse is not necessary. I’m just ready to go home. I want to see my family. And to forget about all this…this nightmare.”
“Of course you are. Once you are released, I will be driving you back to Bainsville. I’m sure your family can’t wait to see you. Let me go check on your release papers, and then we will be on our way. Okay?”
I nodded in appreciation. It was against standard hospital protocol for anyone other than a duly qualified family member or an ambulance to transport a patient home. Of course, Crenton was even smaller than Bainsville and rules were meant to be broken. If I had to guess, I would say that Detective Milton wanted to pick my brain on the drive back, maybe to see if I remembered anything else that might be of use to them. Then again, it could be that he just wanted my perception of cops to be less tainted after almost being buried alive by one.
“Yes, and I can’t wait to see them. And my best friend. I can’t imagine how upset Shawna is after not only losing her brother but finding out he was a serial killer, err, burier.”
The detective’s eyes clouded over, I’m sure from the disgust of knowing that a fellow officer was involved in such a despicable crime. The fraternal bonds of the blue were deep, and when one brother strayed from the fold, they all seemed to feel the pain and humiliation.
“Yes, as we all are. Hard to believe one of us could be such a monster. Tarnishes the badge for us all.”
“One bad seed doesn’t taint the entire apple, detective,” I replied, his smile of gratitude real. “Did you happen to find out when the funeral is?”
“It is scheduled for tomorrow at two. Are you planning on attending?” he asked, his face devoid of emotions but his voice carrying a hint of incredulity.
I sighed heavily and looked out the window. A hot tear slid down my face and landed on my lap. “I don’t know. I am very conflicted about that. I want to be there for Shawna. Samuel was all the family she had left. Now she will be rattling around that big ol’ house they shared all alone. I can’t fathom the mental anguish she must be experiencing. But, I’m really worried about how the fact that I shot him will affect our relationship and my presence at his funeral. The pain of losing a loved one doesn’t lessen no matter what the circumstances of their departure were, and sitting next to her brother’s executioner might be too much for her to handle.”
“Well, I can’t offer any sort of advice in that area, but I can tell you that she has called the nurses’ station several times to check on you. I doubt that she would be interested in your welfare if she didn’t still care about you, Ms. Russell.”
Ha, if he only knew!
I let a feeble smile tug at the corner of my lips and focused my attention to his face. I reached out with my hand for his, which he eagerly clasped.
“Thank you for telling me that Detective Milton. Maybe there is hope our friendship can be salvaged after all.”
His warm hand patted mine with one awkward touch. He quickly let go as a flush of embarrassment crept into his face.
“I hope my knee holds out for our, um, my trip. God, funny how life is all about timing—on the dot or way off the mark.”
Detective Milton cocked his head slightly in curiosity.
“Oh, I booked us a tropical vacation getaway for her birthday. It was to be a surprise. Shawna always wanted to go to the Caribbean. She just never could afford it. Fortunately, I can. I was hoping the scenery would be a welcome salve to the atrocity of turning forty. You know, us gals have a thing about that number. Youth has officially passed and nothing left to look forward to except old age. Maybe, if she still wants to go, it will help her get over this. I know it will help me heal.”
“I’m sure after the initial shock wears off, things will calm down. Now, let’s get you home so you can rest,” he said. He turned his back and disappeared, his feet carrying him at a brisk pace out to the nurses’ station.
I shifted my weight on the hard mattress so I could look out the window. A vibrant blue sky dotted with fluffy white tufts of clouds sat in somber silence. The serene view did nothing to quench my smoldering anger as my thoughts of Shawna swirled around in my mind.
Yes, a vacation hiking on the jagged, remote cliffs on the islands with my best friend was definitely in order.
Jacob and Samuel may have been numbers seventy-five and seventy-six, but that didn’t count. After all, it had been women that were the hunted game.
And I sure as hell knew which female was in my sights for number seventy-five.
I watched the clock tick precious seconds away. I had the perfect murder plotted and ready to execute. The ironic part was that I had already had the vacation to Dominica booked so there would be nothing suspicious about the trip. Two tickets--one for me and one for Shawna--and a weeklong stay at a bungalow right on the water. I had planned on telling her at dinner the night after my date with Jacob. The best part was that my mother was in on the secret and had actually gone with me the day I went into Knoxville to arrange everythin
g.
And now, a cop knew.
I had the perfect alibis.
I didn’t know much about police procedure and zip about accounting, but eventually, Shawna’s role in the deadly game would be discovered. And that didn’t need to happen until I had already killed her.
I could barely contain my eagerness from displaying across my face, and I had to force my fingers still. I was antsy, ready to get this show on the road and to show my friend a killer time in Dominica.
THE AIRPLANE RIDE was long and uncomfortable, even in first class. In the three weeks since my attack, my knee was back to normal and my fingers were mending remarkably well. But my ribs still bothered me when confined to one position for too long. No wonder. Four of them were cracked, and although I wore a calm exterior, my insides were a knotted mass from stress. All that tension wasn’t helping my muscles relax.
“I still can’t believe we’re here. My God, it’s even more beautiful in person,” Shawna gushed as we stepped out of the plane. The tropical air Dominica was known for greeted us with its heaviness, settling upon us like a hot, damp towel.
“Those glossy travel magazines just don’t compare to the real thing, do they?” I said as we climbed down the stairs, inhaling the pungent air. “I can’t wait to see the ocean.”
“Oh, me either! I wonder if you can really see down hundreds of feet to the bottom like the travel brochure said. I mean, wow, that will be awesome! Nothing at all like the dirty lakes at home. Jesus, you can’t see six inches below the surface. No telling what monsters are lurking about under your feet.” Shawna laughed as we walked across the tarmac.
“Another reason I prefer crystal clear pools to swim in. Less worry about what lies beneath.”
My fake laughter sounded so foreign to my ears because all I felt on the inside was dormant fury. Like the volcanoes that created Dominica eons ago, my hatred for my former best friend bubbled and churned, waiting impatiently to erupt. The façade of concerned friend, one who truly wished to mend the broken heart of her distraught best friend, was making me nauseous.
We hailed a cab and silence ensued between us as we each stared out the windows at the breathtaking scenery. I smiled and thought about paradise. Shawna certainly wasn’t headed there when she departed this world, so I guess she would have to settle for dying in it. At least her final resting place wouldn’t be in some dank cave. She was lucky.
I felt the apprehension seeping from her. I knew her mind was plotting my death just as mine was hers. Our minds both burned into overdrive as we each neared the end of our races. Simpatico sisters we were, but only one of us knew that.
I had been on guard ever since Detective Milton had driven me home to Bainsville. The ride home had been quiet, and my previous assumption that he had offered me a lift stemmed from his eagerness to continue questioning me had been way off base. He had been quiet and just let me think, only talking if I spoke first. I had pretended to doze off a few times and just let my brain wander, the inner beast called revenge had fully taken control. But that monster also was keenly aware that another predator was in its territory. A stealthy slayer that wanted revenge for her brother’s death and my money.
Too bad she would not experience either.
Shawna had circled me like dinner when I arrived back home and turned her predatory growls into loving coos. She gushed. She cried. She apologized for what her brother had done to me. She thanked me for being strong enough to stand by her side while she said her final goodbyes to him. She even publically announced that I was all the family she had left, and we would lean on each other for emotional support during this sorrowful time. Heartfelt words were choked out from the pulpit at her brother’s funeral so everyone would hear her speak of her love and devotion to me.
She marveled at my strength and will to live and to have escaped the clutches of death. She swooned with mock horror every time the news reported on the case and managed to shed a few real tears when her brother’s face appeared on the screen. We talked on the phone and the night I told her about her surprise birthday trip to Dominica, she howled with delight. And why shouldn’t she have? I had just handed her the opportunity to plan a tragic accident during our vacation.
It was obvious to me that she was trying to figure out exactly what I knew, what I didn’t know, and what my weaknesses were so she could plan accordingly.
Both of us were living the old adage about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer. Hell, we were so close we could have shared the same skin. She did her best to hide her anger, careful to control her voice, her facial muscles, and her words when around me. But the eyes aren’t so easy to control. Her performance was impeccable to others around her.
But I saw right through it, perhaps because I was playing the same role on the other side of the theater.
The press hounded us both for blood like a hungry tick does when looking to hitch a ride on the ol’ huntin’ dog. When they discovered the strange twist that involved our friendship, they were relentless. My father made national news when he was caught on film standing on his front porch early one foggy morning a few days after I arrived back. His hair had been mussed and his eyes full of anger as he clutched his shotgun in his hand and told the brazen young reporter from New York to get the hell off of his land.
There was nowhere to hide from their pesky intrusion, so all of us, including most of the population of Bainsville, just hunkered down in our homes and waited for the skirmish to end. The local restaurants mysteriously ran out of food when reporters walked in. The two motels were suddenly full. Doors remained closed and mouths shut.
I would lie awake at night locked like a prisoner in my house and peek through the blinds, waiting for the moment they packed up their shit and left after hitting the “small town” wall that had been erected. That didn’t happen quickly enough for me--or the entire town--so I took a proactive stance and let the bloodsuckers feast for a few minutes. I held an impromptu press conference on my front porch and gave them what they wanted—the gory details.
Soon after, the annoying trucks lumbered out of town, off to intrude and invade on the lives of the next poor “headline” newsmaker. A collective sigh of relief swept through the town when the last van disappeared out of sight.
But not through me.
I had taken a leave of absence from my job at Mercy General, unsure when, if ever, I would return. Sleep evaded me. It had been replaced by continuous pacing inside the walls of my home. My emotions ran the gamut, flipping violently from one end of the spectrum to the next. When the betrayal took center stage, I felt the urge to grab my parents and simply move to another town; away from the agony and memories of what happened. Away from the torture that continuously ripped at my heart, knowing my near death was orchestrated by my closest friend. Add on top of that, the shame I felt from not only joining a dating site, but then the stupidity of meeting a stranger face to face. I struggled with not only the betrayal, but my feelings of humiliation.
Another fun emotion that visited often was guilt. I had been a caregiver my entire career. I had devoted my being to saving lives, not taking them. I didn’t know how to live with the fact that I killed Samuel, even if it was thrust upon me in a split second, life-or-death situation. Kill or be killed didn’t ease the heavy sense of remorse for his death. The Bible didn’t leave an exclusionary clause under the commandment “Thou Shalt Not Kill.” I had been grappling with that baggage, so how would I handle actually plotting out and committing cold-blooded murder? Would my psyche survive? Would my soul be forever damned?
Then the rage would take over. As the red-hot fury burned through my thoughts, it wiped out everything in its path. This wasn’t just about me or my pain. There were seventy-four women who silently screamed for vengeance from their graves. Seventy-four women murdered and whose families now wore the permanent scar of their untimely and violent death. Seventy-four mounds of black dirt that haunted my dreams. These women deserved for me to be their voice of justice
, so my rage won out and smothered all the other emotions in one giant gulp.
The cab pulled into the entrance of our bungalow, the jarring stop shaking me back to reality. My decision had been made, and the time had come to execute it.
“My God, Mandy. This place is amazing! You spared no expense, did you?”
I smiled as we exited the car.
“Nope. I wanted this to be the vacation of a lifetime!”
THE FIRST TWO days were spent frolicking on the beach, drinks in hand and backs slathered with oil. While our skin cooked to a deep copper brown, our conversations were minimal and topics lighthearted. The deeper conversation that both of us secretly pined for would happen on our upcoming hike.
The hotel had put us in touch with a mountain guide who spent two hours telling us about our options. Which trail we should take. What we should expect to see on each one. He warned us of what dangers lurked on the steep climb, vehement that we not veer from the clearly marked path. We filled out the registration papers and each nodded and smiled, thanking him for the maps and headed back to our bungalow.
“I believe he thinks we are nuts for hitting the trail alone, but the last thing I want to hear is a chatty guide. I want to explore this place alone. With my best friend, of course.”
“Oh, you bet. We’re big girls and we can take care of ourselves. Besides,” I said, grabbing my backpack off the couch and handing Shawna hers, “he gave me the creeps. Guess I’m still a bit wary.”
A shadow of anger danced behind her blue eyes but quickly retreated. She slung her pack over her shoulders and then gave me a hug.
“Of course you are, hon. Who wouldn’t be? Even I am, after all that has happened. But let’s not talk about that now. Come on,” she said, tugging me out the door, “Let’s go explore! Wide open spaces baby!”
Ten minutes later, we were about to embark on our journey. We stood in front of the Waitukubuli Trail that would take us through the Morne Trois Pitons National Forest at the entrance of one of the most difficult climbs—Boiling Lake and Roseau Valley. It was early in the morning and the steam from the rainforest hung heavy around our feet. We each took turns hamming it up by the sign and snapped a picture of each other. We giggled at our luck since we were the only ones embarking on the rugged walk. We were just two happy tourists ready to explore the mountains filled with excitement around every bend.
Number Seventy-Five Page 4