by Amy Shojai
September screamed. Her scalp caught fire, and blinding tears filled her eyes.
"Let her go!"
Oh God, Melinda had climbed out of the box. "Get out of here. Call your dad."
"What the hell?" Sunny pivoted, yanking September's hair while keeping the knife at her throat.
"I did, I already called Daddy. Let her go, the police are on the way." Melinda's gaze slid up and to the left. A lie. Maybe Sunny didn't see.
The keys. The keys, there on the floor, right next to Melinda, guarded by the cat.
"One word, one move, I slit her throat." Sunny growled the words.
Melinda's eyes grew big.
The cold blade pressed harder, hot pain laced September's skin.
"Jeff Combs's kid." It wasn't a question.
The knife cut deeper. Scalding warmth trickled from her neck. September struggled to stay still.
"Damn Doty. If that bitch detective hadn't sicced BeeBo on us, we'd be free and clear."
Detective Kimberlane Doty had sent BeeBo undercover, not Combs after all. September stifled a sob. He'd been killed by Sunny, someone he considered a friend.
September widened her eyes, and purposefully stared from Melinda to the cat on the floor, and back again. Boris Kitty fell on his side to bunny-kick the jingling set of keys. Back and forth, she stared, girl to cat, until Melinda followed her gaze. The girl tightened her lips and nodded understanding.
"Now!" September yelled.
Melinda dove for the keys, snagging them away from the cat. Reflexively, Boris Kitty grabbed Melinda's collar, and hugged the girl's neck as she awkwardly clambered back out of the loft onto the ladder.
In the same instant, September used both hands to drive the point of the break stick backwards, deep into Sunny's thigh.
Sunny shrieked. Her knife plunged into the churning water. The woman tumbled backwards, following her knife. One hand entwined in September's dark mane jerked September to the floor.
She acted like a human anchor, holding Sunny aloft as she dangled by September’s hair. Scalp screeching, September’s fingernails tore against chinks in the wooden floor. She slid ever closer to the edge.
Something hard pressed through September’s coat.
"You're coming with me, bitch." Sunny's face twisted with determination and hate.
September punched the knife’s broken blade through the coat’s hem, and slashed as she pitched over the side.
Chapter 43
Shadow watched and worried as the woman brought boxes from the barn. Each time, the truck lurched when she dropped them into the back. He waited, though, hoping to see September emerge from the loft.
When the shrieks came, Shadow exploded from his hiding spot beneath the truck. He raced to the edge of the road. How to reach September? Water surrounded the barn, making it an island impossible to reach. The ladder offered a path, but hung far over his head. Not even Shadow could leap that high into the stranger’s truck.
Shadow's heart banged hard in his chest. He danced forward, close as he could get to the edge of the water. He didn't like the cold wet. But he had to reach September.
A disturbance made him look up. Kids appeared in the back of the truck, silent as they watched Melinda scurry along the ladder. She moved with jerks, fits and starts, not like the smooth dance of the strange woman. And she wore a fur collar around her neck. It moved and smelled like cat.
Melinda jumped down from the high platform into the back of the truck to join the other kids. They yelled and cried out so loud it hurt a good-dog's ears and made it hard to understand.
Melinda yelled louder than all the others. "We're going."
Willie wailed. "You don't know how to drive."
"I'll learn." She ran to the truck cab, and the other kids noisily followed.
Shadow swiveled his attention between the loud kids and the quiet loft.
The truck growled to life, made a grinding sound, and jerked into motion. Its tires spit mud and sticks at Shadow when it sped away. One end of the ladder fell out the back and thud-splattered in the mud. The truck disappeared down the road, taking the light with it.
Another scream pealed from the barn. Shadow barked, and barked again, crying out to September. A woman dangled over the water, holding fast with both hands to something overhead.
September? He couldn’t tell. Shadow ran to the fallen ladder, now within reach, and sniffed the metal. Different than the wooden one in his garden. But he had to try.
Something shiny-bright flashed above the dangling woman’s hands. Her yell choked off when she plunged into the water. Another woman, this one with short hair, spilled after her through the loft hole, but caught on the metal grid. Clouds blew apart and moon glow shined down.
"Shadow? Baby-dog, is that you?" September’s raw voice overflowed with disbelief, hope, and then elation. "Thank you God, you're alive."
He howled again. His forepaws tested the ladder. She was there, so close. He needed to be with her.
"Wait, Shadow. Good-dog, wait for me."
He hated that word. But he trusted September. She knew things dogs didn't know. He could relax now she took charge. The relief in her voice made his heart sing, and he sat down to wait for her. He panted anxiously, yearning for her touch, wanted to taste her face. He wanted a nap. And maybe some bacon. Shadow licked his lips, and yawned.
Mud splattered his fur at the same instant he heard the POP!
Shadow jerked away. He’d focused so hard on September that the rumble of a car running without lights snuck up on him. The gun reached out again to bite him, and he dove into the brush on the other side of the road.
He snarled as the boy-thief climbed out of the car, the gun gripped in one hand and Steven in the other.
Chapter 44
Her head throbbed and September fought dizziness from the near scalping. Her jagged knife-cut hair fell in her eyes, blinding her as she clung to the horse panel. She’d lost her knife, but survived. Sunny had disappeared, swept away by the waters.
Seeing Shadow made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. Weak with relief and arms trembling, September dragged herself up the horse panel back into the loft. She had to reach Shadow, hold his solid warmth in her arms, and never ever let him go. September carefully stepped from the loft onto the ladder, just in time to see Shadow dart out of sight.
A heartbeat later, the strange car pulled up and disgorged her worst nightmare. The Doctor who haunted her nightmares yanked Steven from the car. September choked back a cry. Steven lived! She sank to her knees with relief. Maybe she wasn’t such a monster after all.
The real monster stood below. The Doctor raised the gun, and as he fired, Steven squirmed enough to skew his aim. A bullet splintered the cement block beside her.
She reflexively covered her head. He shot again, this time on her other side. Playing with her. September forced herself to stand. The moonlight shined the metal ladder, and water reflected its glow, illuminating her as clearly as a spotlight. If she tried to duck back into the loft, he’d kill her before she reached safety. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of cowering.
He aimed again, and then cocked his head and lowered the gun. "I'm going to kill you, September Day. No more interfering. Medicine must be delivered to save the children." He ignored Steven's struggles, the tiny boy less than a gnat of annoyance. He raised the gun again.
"I'll dump this ladder. Then try to get your precious poison." She could do it. September shifted her weight, and the ladder shuddered and clanged. The once horizontal ladder now canted at about a thirty-degree angle, barely clinging to the corner of the open dumpster at its midway point. Knocking it off meant there'd be no way to get to the loft until water receded.
"Sunny Babcock retrieved the product at my behest. She likes money. People do anything for money."
"Sunny failed, you miserable mental defective. I’ve got your product right here." Nothing to lose. "And you'll lose, too." If she could prod him enough, maybe he’d com
e after her and let Steven go.
"So the product remains in storage." It was a statement, not a question. September imagined his brain clicking away, mental gears calculating what that meant.
She shifted backwards a bit, so when she kicked away the ladder, she'd have a chance to pull herself inside. "Let Steven go, right now, or I'll take down your only chance to recover your product." She sneered the final word.
His bloodless smile chilled her. "I can make more. Delay means more children suffer. More blood on your interfering hands." He flexed the gun back and forth, back and forth. Stimming. The self-comforting repetitive behavior increased with stress. Maybe the Doctor needed another dose of his miracle drug.
She taunted. "It's not about the kids, it's never been about the kids. Or the money. It's playing god, turning people into puppets to make you important." C'mon, get mad. “You give nice, decent autistic people a bad name.” He might be brilliant, but his stunted emotions offered a weakness she'd used before. Get him riled enough, and like dogs and cats, analytical thought couldn't function alongside fear or fury.
She rocked the ladder, and it shifted closer to the edge of the dumpster. The green box rocked as water continued to surge around it. "You scared, Gerald-baby? Should be. I beat you before, put your sicko bag of scabs Mommy away. You're only brave shooting unarmed women. And abusing dogs. How's it feel, knowing you'll never see your Mommy again?"
The stimming grew worse. Steven squealed, his arm in a vise.
This time, she wouldn't let him get away, even if she had to use herself as bait. He vanished too easily, and had resources nobody could match. And by God, she owed it to all the lives he'd ruined, to Lenny and to Claire. To her sister, and Steven and Tracy, and so many more.
If she could get him into the loft, she could dump the ladder and trap him until the police arrived. When Combs arrived. She’d been wrong about him, wrong about so many things.
"What you going to do, you sick bastard? Son of a bitch, go on, make your move."
"Bad language, lazy language. Shut up shut up shut up!" He shook Steven into submission, steadied his hand and aimed the gun.
Chapter 45
The boy-thief's posture changed. Before, he'd been relaxed and unhurried. Now his shoulders hunched, breath panted and his scent screamed DANGER! and made Shadow bristle and bare his teeth.
September stood over there, up high on the ladder against the loft. But Shadow knew guns could reach out and bite from far away. His notched ear twitched at the thought, and his tummy tightened when the pale man steadied his wobbly hand, and pointed the gun.
At September.
He didn't wait for direction, his heart told him what to do. He sprang, paws digging deep in the muddy soil, and leaped high to muzzle-punch the gun away.
At the last second, the man spun, flinging Steven to the ground. He adjusted his stance, ignoring September to aim at Shadow.
Shadow grabbed for the gun. So did Steven. The gun spat.
Steven squealed, swinging from the boy-thief's arm. He'd jogged the gun enough for aim to go wide.
"Steven, run!" September screamed and rushed down the clanging ladder, but Shadow didn't move his eyes from the pale man. "Shadow, good-dog, go-to Steven."
His ears rang from the shot, making September sound far away. He snarled at the gun’s acrid oily stink.
"Demon dog bit me." The tall man's voice shook. "Sick of dogs. Sick of ungrateful kids." He brushed off Steven, set his legs apart, and aimed with both hands. The empty eye of the gun stared back and followed when Shadow danced forward and back.
September cried out with desperation. "Run, Steven, get away. Please Shadow, please go."
But Shadow didn't budge. Sometimes dogs knew better than people. Even smart people like September. As long as the gun sniffed after him, it couldn't bite September or his-boy Steven.
The man reeked, the whites of his eyes shined bright as the moon. Shadow heard the man’s heart thud so hard and loud it might come out of his chest and his pungent breath wheezed like Bear-toy’s broken squeak.
Steven ducked around the man’s spider legs, and dashed for September on the metal ladder.
"No, no, no, run away." September's anguished voice shook, her hands waved Steven away.
The boy-thief tracked Steven's scrambling escape and Shadow's challenge at the same time, head moving side to side.
Shadow's lips curled when the man's concentration wavered. He adjusted his posture so his head, neck and back flowed in one smooth line. His tail, only the tip, jerked as he watched the pale man's eyes return to him. Once the bad man’s attention moved from Shadow’s family, calm descended, surrounding him like September’s embrace.
Good-dogs don't bite. But Shadow wanted to be a bad-dog if it meant protecting September and Steven. This man needed biting. He remembered the dry taste of fabric, the flex and give of muscle, the salt-bright blood smell. He wanted that taste on his tongue again, to rend this man's flesh. To punish. To protect his family.
Shadow dodged left, ducked right, and charged. The gun popped, and white-hot pain creased his neck. But his teeth crunched, bones broke, and he tasted blood. Shadow shook the hand and pulled hard, snarling without releasing his grip, relishing grim satisfaction at the man's ratcheting screams. The gun fell in the dirt.
"Shadow, good-dog. Hold him." September moved to meet Steven at the halfway point on the ladder.
He put down his ears and wagged at her happy encouragement. And hung on. September would make everything right.
The boy-thief kicked Shadow hard in the stomach. With a gasp, he let go, and struggled to catch his breath. His stomach cramped.
"I'll kill you dead dead dead!" He shrieked so loud, Shadow winced. When he scrabbled with his good hand for the gun, Shadow snapped the air in warning. He didn't want to bite again. The man tasted bad.
The pale man's expression changed. The pain in Shadow's gut and neck slowed his reaction. He couldn’t stop the man's spider climb up the ladder toward Steven and September.
Chapter 46
Almost before the SUV stopped, Combs bounded from the car to climb over, around and under trees tumbled across the front of September's property. The gate hung by one hinge, and a battered old car he didn't recognize sat nearby.
The tornado's pick-up-sticks game left the proud brick fortress in rubble. Barely half the house stood, the rest blown away to God knows where. The old carriage house on one side had vanished.
A rescue worker tried to stop him, until he flashed his badge. "Who's in charge?" The man pointed, and Combs raced to a cluster of firefighters and two police officers, their expressions grim. "Anyone? Did you find any survivors?" Combs stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking. September said his kids were fine. Now this?
"No sir, Detective Combs." The firefighter scanned the area. "Found one body. Female, dark hair, early to mid-thirties."
Combs slumped against the wall as Gonzales caught up to him. "They found September." He croaked the words, tongue thick. "No sign of the kids." Doc Eugene trotted up, too, but Combs didn't care enough to make him leave.
"Uh, Detective? Sorry, I understand you knew her. We're waiting on the team to process the crime scene. We've not moved the body."
His eyebrows rose. “Show me." Combs followed the man, Gonzales in his wake. Doc Eugene trailed them until Combs glared and the veterinarian stepped back.
The body—too small for September—sprawled face down. Sudden relief switched to worry, wondering where she’d gone. This woman had been shot, the bloody wound clearly visible. The tornado probably finished the job. "Who is she?"
"Claire O'Dell. That's the I.D. in the car by the gate, anyway, but she doesn't resemble her license anymore. There's blood in the car, too. The wound is through and through, so the bullet could still be in the car."
"O'Dell. Where do I know that name?" Gonzales scribbled notes in his ever-present pad.
One of the firefighters yelled, bent over, and picked
up something dark that struggled and then settled in his arms. "Found a cat."
Combs motioned Doc Eugene forward. "Must be Macy. That cat has nine lives." September would be relieved, once he found her. And his kids. "Take care of Macy for us, Doc?"
The veterinarian cradled the big Maine Coon in his arms. "We'll wait for you in the car. Lucky I came along after all, eh?"
Gonzales stayed to talk with the first responders, while Combs followed the veterinarian to the road to examine O'Dell's car. It wasn't locked. He opened the passenger door, pulling on gloves first. Keys remained in the ignition. Despite the bunged up appearance from the hail, the inside of the car was tidy, except for broken window glass and the dark stain against the driver's seat back. He poked the hole in the upholstery, noting it went clear through. Perhaps they'd find the bullet in the back.
Combs opened the glove box, and leafed through the papers. He found registration and insurance naming Mike and Claire O'Dell. A purse on the floor produced a wallet with a few crumpled bills, and the driver’s license of a pretty snub-nosed woman. He also found an intricate picture, probably drawn by one of the woman's kids. He frowned, reading the inscription.
No worry Tracy and me fix.
Two kids in a van. One with a pill bottle. He squinted, and held the page under the overhead light. Everything clicked when he focused on one tiny detail. The pill bottle label named the patient, Tracy O'Dell, and the medication. Damenia.
"Gonzales,” Combs yelled, “We gotta go." He slammed the car door, taking the colored picture with him. When he hit redial again, the number still went to September's voice mail.
The smaller man ran from the destroyed house and they met at the SUV. Combs thrust the drawing at Gonzales. "You can't see it without a light, but trust me. The pill bottle with that little kid says Damenia."