by T. K. Walls
She had driven roughly fifty meters when her headlights lit up a building or house at the end of the road. It was no more than an old shack. “Yeah, some café!” she muttered. This dump was definitely not a café! It was the remnants of a small, old house. The windows were broken, and tattered curtains blew in the wind from around the window frames. The shack didn’t look like it had ever been painted; it just had old wooden planks for the walls.
She cautiously continued the drive toward the shack and noticed something moving around the building. “Chickens!” she exclaimed. “How the hell did chickens get here? OK, just turn this car around and get the hell out of here!” she anxiously whispered to herself. She pulled up to the front of the shack, her headlights illuminating the way. In order to make the tight U-turn, she had to stop and back up a couple times, but she finally did it. Sighing in relief, she straightened her tires for the bumpy trip back down the road.
Blinding lights suddenly startled her, and she slammed on the brakes. Squinting, she tried to see who or what was blocking her path. When she heard a tap on her car window, she jumped in fear and surprise. Her heart was racing and pulsating loudly in her ears.
“Counselor!” she heard someone shout. For a brief moment she froze. “Emily, roll down the window!”
Stunned, she realized the sheriff was the one rapping on her window and scaring the hell out of her.
“Sheriff, you damn well better have a good reason for this!” Emily yelled at him as she rolled the window down.
Mac stepped back from her door and apologized. “Hey, I really am sorry. When you didn’t show up at the café, I checked the text and realized my phone sent you the wrong address. I was driving and text-talking into the phone. Anyway, the translation was the wrong address. I knew this place and didn’t want you to get stuck, so I came out here to find you. Again, I am real sorry.” Mac smiled as he explained the mistake.
Emily was still unnerved, and his smile was causing her even more concern. What was it Toni had said about him? She couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. “That’s OK, Sheriff,” she said carefully. “Can this wait until tomorrow afternoon? I just want to go home. Please move your car so I can get out,” she hesitantly requested.
“Of course, Emily,” he responded.
She didn’t see him walk away. She did notice his headlights dimming but not turning off. She felt herself turning slowly from scared to angry. Taking her foot off the brake, she inched her car forward. Surely he would back up and let her out; maybe he thought he was helping her by lighting up the road. She felt a sudden, strong jolt as her right front tire hit a pothole and her seat belt tightened its grip. The tires spun, but the car didn’t move forward. “Fuck!” she yelled as she struggled to release the seat belt and open the car door. She practically fell out of the car and was barely standing when she felt a sharp pain behind her temple. Instantly she crumpled to the ground.
Seth carried her limp body into the shanty. It was once an in-home pet parlor, complete with built-in tubs for washing the largest of dogs. But today it was simply a shack. He placed Emily into a solid wood chair, handcuffing her wrists to the back rail of the chair. Using zip ties and duct tape, he secured her ankles and calves to the legs of the chair, and lastly, he removed her shoes. Satisfied that she was going nowhere and could not get herself loose, he threw cold water on her face. Dazed, she lifted her head and looked around the dark room, her eyes finally settling on him. She tried to move but quickly came to the realization she wasn’t able to. Scrambling for words, she weakly asked, “Sheriff? What’s going on? Where am I? Who is here? Sheriff, is that you?”
Seth stood in the shadows of the room watching her, waiting, but not speaking. There was no reason to gag her; she could yell and scream all she wanted. There was no one, no building, no businesses, no homes for miles, and no one was going to hear her. All that was around the shanty was swampland. When he was certain she could not escape, he quietly stepped out of the room onto the broken-down front porch of the shanty. He had one more person to see tonight.
THIRTY-EIGHT
“ERIC, SHERIFF MCNEIL RETURNING YOUR CALL.”
Before Mac could finish, Eric interrupted him. “Yes! Sheriff, hello! Thanks for returning my call. I still can’t reach Brad. It’s been over twenty-four hours! I think we need to be looking for him.”
It was late Monday night. The funerals for Brad’s family had been the day before, and the fire at the airport was the night of the funerals. Eric hadn’t spoken to Brad since the funerals.
Stammering, he continued, “Uh, look, Sheriff, I think something happened to him.” He was taking a chance calling the police, but he needed to know if Brad was dead or if he was on the run, and he wasn’t about to risk exposing himself with the monsignor. There were only a few places Brad could run, and he knew all of them. He had scheduled his flight to Denmark the following morning. Everything was in place for the final charter, and unless he found his partner, he wasn’t going to have a copilot. But either way, he was going to be on that plane. He would deal with Brad later. For now, he needed to play the part of a worried business partner.
Mac listened and heard panic or maybe nervousness in Eric’s voice. “I’m glad you called me back. I needed to talk to you about your business partner, Dr. Rivers. Are you still in town?”
Eric hadn’t yet left for Boston and was sitting in the office he shared with Brad. He really didn’t want to meet the sheriff at the airstrip. The last thing he needed was for the sheriff to stumble across the flight schedules. “I can meet you anywhere you pick, Sheriff,” he answered carefully. “I am actually heading back to Boston. I have a flight to catch in the morning. I can meet you tonight if it’s quick. Do you want me to go the police station?”
“No, let’s meet at Emily Bridges’s office. You know her? The attorney?” Mac wondered what Eric was going to say, if he would admit to knowing her.
“Uh, yeah, sure I know who she is. We can meet there if she is still in her office. It’s rather late.” Eric was scrambling, trying to figure out why the sheriff would want to meet after hours in Emily’s office. “Sheriff, can I ask what this is about?”
Instead of answering Eric’s question, Mac replied, “I’ll meet you there around eight thirty. Let me know if you are going to be late.” He didn’t give Eric time to object, instead disconnecting the call.
The sheriff was already waiting for Eric in the alley adjacent to Emily’s building. The parking lot was dark except for one street light in the middle of the lot. Emily’s office lights were on, not because she was working late but because the cleaning crew was there. Just a few minutes after 8:30 p.m., Eric pulled his black BMW, with its headlights off, into the parking lot and parked close to the building’s entrance.
“Emily, answer the damn phone,” Eric loudly complained. Why wasn’t she answering the phone? He wasn’t about to go inside her office until she answered him, and he wasn’t about to be ambushed by some pushy small-town cop!
Mac was walking toward the entrance of the building when Eric got out of his car. He quickly called out, “Mr. Wilkerson, I need you to come with me.”
Eric looked up at the sheriff in surprise. “Sure, whatever you need, Sheriff. I thought we were meeting in Emily’s office.” Eric hadn’t noticed any cars when he pulled into the parking lot. “I don’t see your car. Where are you parked, Sheriff?” Eric glanced around the parking lot and realized there were no cars in the lot, not even Emily’s.
Mac gestured toward the alley. “I had a call about a prowler in back of the building. Was just walking around to the front when you pulled in.”
Nodding his head, Eric asked, “Did you find anyone?”
“Nope, no one there. You can leave your car here. I’ll bring you back afterward,” Mac assured him. “Emily called and canceled on us.” Waving at the building, Mac continued, “It’s just the cleaning crew up there.”
Eric gave the parking lot one last quick glance before walking
with Mac toward the police cruiser. When they reached the car, Mac opened the passenger door and motioned for Eric to get in. “Hmmm, really, Sheriff? You want me to sit in the back of the car?”
“Yeah, I still have the waders from last night in the front seat, plus the laptop that is usually connected to the dash—damn thing fell off. It’s on the seat. No room for you up front.” Mac stepped back, giving him more room to get into the car.
“Sheriff, where are we going? I think you just passed the police department,” Eric cautiously said.
Sheriff McNeil didn’t answer. He may have been driving in silence, but he was fully aware of his passenger, and he was enjoying watching Eric Wilkerson grow increasingly nervous and frightened.
THIRTY-NINE
HE WAS SURPRISED HIS PASSENGER KEPT QUIET FOR MOST OF THE DRIVE. He noticed Eric trying to open the car doors and windows. His movements were slow and well thought out, but it wouldn’t matter. Eric was only getting out of the cruiser when Seth wanted him out.
“Sheriff, look, I am not sure what your plans are, but you need to understand I am an attorney, and this is false imprisonment! I will sue you and the county.”
“Counselor, do you expect to survive the night?” Seth looked at him in the rearview mirror.
Eric was struggling to control his growing apprehension, but he also knew everyone had a price, and he just needed to find the sheriff’s price. “Sheriff, I can pay you whatever you want. Just forget what I said about suing you and the county.” Not getting a reply, he pleaded, “Come on, this isn’t funny anymore. What do you want from me?”
The cruiser took a sharp turn onto what Eric felt was probably a dirt or stone road. He could feel the loose gravel under the car’s tires, and almost immediately after turning, the lights of the distant city were gone. Except for the gleam of the headlights, it was pitch black. The cruiser stopped in front of what looked like an old house or shack.
Sheriff McNeil turned off the engine. Turning to Eric, he said, “You ready to meet with Emily?” Hearing Eric inhale sharply gave him a moment of satisfaction. He almost wished he could take a picture of the surprise and shock on Eric’s face as he slowly began to understand that Emily hadn’t canceled; she was inside.
“Emily is in there?” Eric slowly asked. “Why would she be in there?”
“Eric, I am going to open the car door. But before I do, we need to reach an understanding. I want you to look at me and listen carefully. Are you ready to do that?” Seth had turned sideways in the front seat to look at Eric. “I said look at me. I won’t repeat myself, Eric.”
Stammering, Eric answered him. “Uh, yeah, yes! I understand you.”
“Good. As I said, I am going to open the car door. You are going to exit the car and stand next to the car until I tell you to move. When I tell you to move, you will slowly walk toward the front porch of the house in front of this car. You will not make any attempt to run or fight me.” Holding up what looked like a square remote control, Seth continued talking. “You are going to do exactly what you are told to do, or I will activate this remote. This remote will send a signal to a chair that Emily is sitting on. The remote will signal a bomb that is under her chair to explode. She will either die instantly or the bomb will blow her in half and she will bleed out. Do you understand?” Seth waited for a response from Eric.
Eric looked evenly at Seth. He was no longer fearful of the sheriff. Now he was angry. “Yes, Sheriff, I understand.” He had every intention of figuring a way out of this.
The sheriff opened the car door, and Eric carefully got out of the cruiser. Once he was standing by the car door, he felt a sharp pain in his left flank as he was jabbed with a nightstick.
“Walk,” instructed Seth.
“It’s dark,” complained Eric. “I can barely see where I am going! Do you have a light or something?”
“Barely seeing is better than seeing nothing.” Seth pushed him toward the steps. “So get walking.”
Eric stumbled up the steps and then into the front door of the house. He thought he could hear breathing. Thank God, he thought. Emily is still alive. “Emily,” he whispered.
Seth flipped a switch by the door, instantly illuminating the room. Looking across the room, Eric gasped as he saw Emily sitting in a chair, her arms behind her back. She was secured to the wooden chair with what looked like ropes and duct tape. But he could see that she was breathing! He slowly exhaled as he realized she was alive but that neither of them was going to stay alive if he didn’t do something. She slowly raised her head, squinting her eyes as they adjusted to the light.
“Over here,” Seth said. Eric struggled to take his eyes off Emily because he knew he had to pay attention to the sheriff. He turned slowly toward him and saw that the remote had been replaced with a semiautomatic aimed at his head. Using the gun, Seth pointed to a metal folding chair that was sitting in what looked like a tub. “Go sit down on that chair,” Seth instructed.
Eric shook his head no. “Sheriff, I am not sure what is going on here, but you need to let us go. Whatever is wrong, we can fix.” Eric knew if he stepped away from Emily, she didn’t have a chance.
“Eric,” Emily managed to say. Her voice was hoarse and dry, but she was speaking. “He’s not the sheriff.”
“I am the sheriff, Emily. You know that. Just ask your paralegal.” Seth motioned for Eric to sit down.
“OK, OK, I am doing what you want. Can you at least tell us why you are doing this?” Eric climbed into the tub and sat gingerly on the metal seat.
“Of course I will explain why you both are here. But before we get started, you need to put these on.” Seth tossed Eric a pair of handcuffs.
“You can’t be serious! You already have us at your mercy! I am not putting these on!” Eric shouted back at Seth.
“Eric, do you remember what I told you Emily was sitting on?”
“What am I sitting on?” Emily shouted back, instantly panicking. “Eric!” she shouted again. “What am I sitting on?”
“OK, I am putting on the handcuffs! See? They’re on! Now tell us what the fuck we are doing here. What the hell is going on?” Eric struggled to keep his composure. He knew a killer when he saw one. Brad was the coldest person he had ever known, but this guy, whoever he was, made Brad look like a nice guy. He had no doubt the sheriff had killed Brad. Seth stood between Eric and Emily, and he was watching them both, but the gun was pointed at Eric. His voice quivering, Eric asked again, but this time he lowered his voice. “Listen, we did what you asked. We aren’t giving you any trouble. Hell, we won’t even say anything, Sheriff. Just let us go. No reason to even tell us why we are here.”
Ignoring Eric’s pleas, Seth turned his attention to Emily. “You asked what you were sitting on. Do you still want to know?” He didn’t wait for Emily to answer. “Tell me about your friend Rachel.”
Emily gave him a stunned look. “Rachel? I don’t understand,” she stammered.
Nodding his head, Seth replied, “Your friend, Rachel. You remember her. You allowed her husband to kill her and get away with it. You profited from her death. Are you starting to understand?” Seth’s voice was getting louder with each word as he allowed his anger and pain to rise. “How much did Brad and Eric pay you to ignore the FAA report and not file charges?”
Emily struggled to break loose from the chair. She had no intention of answering this lunatic. “What am I sitting on?” she yelled at him. “You tell me now, Sheriff! What am I sitting on?”
“A chair. You are sitting on a chair. I am not going to waste time with you. I asked you a question. You accepted half a million in exchange for Rachel’s life! How much would you spend to save your life? How much, Counselor? How much is your pathetic life worth?”
Emily stammered to answer him. “I am sorry. Stephanie was still alive. She had already lost so much. Putting Brad, her dad, in prison for what could have been an accident would have only made her lose more. I couldn’t do that to her.” Emily was now pleading with hi
m. “Sheriff, you must know there was no clear evidence the accident was intentional!”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t explain the painting you took to cover it up, does it?” Seth asked her.
“What painting?” Emily cried out.
“Did you think it would go unnoticed? Granted, it’s been seventy years since it was lost, but that painting in your conference room isn’t a print.”
Emily sank back in the chair. She no longer looked scared; instead, she looked defiant. Leveling her eyes at him, she took in a deep breath and said, “What difference would it have made, Sheriff? They weren’t coming back.”
“Rachel’s death wasn’t the only time you accepted money to hide the truth, was it, Counselor?” He waited for her to show some sign of acknowledgment. When she didn’t answer, he told her. “James—do you remember him?”
Glaring at him, Emily ignored the question, screaming instead, “Why do you care? Who was Rachel to you anyway? James was a long time ago! Are you some sick type of vigilante?” Following her outburst, she inhaled deeply. The man she thought was the sheriff wasn’t looking at her or Eric. He was staring at the floor. If she was going to die, she was going to die fighting, not sitting in a chair silently.
Seth inhaled deeply. He had planned for this day for a long time, and now that it was finally here, he was finding it difficult to speak. Struggling with the words, he said, “I’m much more than just Sheriff McNeil. My name is Seth Richards. Your friend Rachel was the mother of my daughters, Stephanie and Elizabeth.”
Seth waited for both of them to react. Sensing their shock, he continued, “Rachel and I were childhood sweethearts and lovers after college. There is no reason to go into why she stayed married to Dr. Rivers. All you need to know is I am not a vigilante.”
Seth paused and then angrily began shouting, his voice becoming louder with each word. “What I am is angry and pissed off, most importantly at you, Emily”—he pointed at her as he screamed—“because you failed to bring Rachel’s killer to justice and have shown over the past several years that you will never choose justice over money, fame, or your career. And since you won’t, I will.” He lowered his voice. “Neither one of you will leave here alive. No one is coming to rescue you.”