“My shoulder … hurts.”
Dropping his hands to her waist, Wayne awkwardly helped her to her feet, whereupon she immediately leaned her weight against him. Her head bobbing helplessly against his chest, she inched toward the bathroom. Through the kitchen. Past the messy adjoining room where records and books lay scattered across the floor.
At the bathroom he lowered the toilet seat and gently eased her down to the cold plastic rim.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” he said, and slid the door shut.
As Nancy steadied herself against the sink in front of her, the blanket tumbled softly to the floor. Her breath still heaving and tears trickling down her cheeks, she trembled as her muscles relaxed and she relieved herself.
What on earth is happening to me? And where is Charlie?
Her captor was impossible to evaluate. At one moment he appeared a perfect gentleman, the next, a maniac who might bind and gag her. Obviously he was a mental case. But how should she proceed? Go along with his whims and fancies? Gain his confidence and escape at the first opportunity? But what if he should decide to kill her soon? What then?
Her stiffened right leg, outstretched at an uncomfortable angle, ached relentlessly. Gazing about the tiny room, her eyes settled on the small medicine chest above the sink.
Drugs. Suicide. Before he molests me again.
Struggling to her feet, she winced as the pain intensified. Fully realizing she might not be thinking rationally, Nancy unlatched the mirrored door and quietly pulled it open. The cabinet was cluttered with toiletries—Vitalis hair tonic, Bayer aspirin, Alka Seltzer—but no prescription drugs. On a bottom shelf was a tube of Pepsodent toothpaste, a can of shaving cream, a safety razor—and a package of Gillette double-edged blades. Fumbling nervously, she removed a blade from its wrapper. A tiny sparkle of light glimmered from its scalpel-sharp edges. With the blade gripped tightly between her thumb and forefinger, she returned to the toilet seat.
Nancy placed her left hand in her lap, palm open wide toward her, the exposed wrist milky white and vulnerable below her leather watchband. One quick slash and it would be over. A shaking right hand lowered the blade to rest on the tender flesh of her inner arm. Pressing ever so lightly, the tip of the blade pricked the skin, a tiny ball of blood bubbling forth. A streak of crimson curled around her arm and dripped to her leg. And then she reconsidered—why me? Why not him?
The blade could be concealed under the blanket. And as the man helped her back to the living room, as soon as his attention was diverted, she could whisk out the blade and drive it into his neck. But she’d have to be careful. With only the one opportunity, she would have to break a vein or artery for it to work. And if she failed, he would likely be enraged and kill her. But what did she have to lose?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Nancy retrieved the blanket from the floor and bundled it tightly around her. Staring ahead at the sliding door, she took a deep breath and called to him, “I’m … finished.”
And she thought—and so are you.
His stomach growling with hunger pangs, Wayne sat on the floor outside the bathroom, placing loose record albums into their appropriate sleeves. As he had missed breakfast altogether, he was starving and knew his guest must be hungry, too.
Was she suffering from shock or temporary amnesia? Or had the accident inflicted some kind of brain damage? Obviously she’d been dealt a nasty blow. He rubbed the ugly gash on his own forehead where she’d hit him earlier, realizing it needed dressing. Then he turned his attention back to the girl. She needed medical attention. She could be disabled for life—all because I kept her from a hospital.
But his own future was also at stake. Sure, he had taken liberties with her. There was no denying that. But exactly what had he actually done? He’d touched her stomach and that was all. If she failed to be sympathetic, what could he be charged with? Kipnapping? But he’d had no motive, and considering the weather conditions and communications blackout, anyone would agree he made the right decision to take her to his trailer. But wouldn’t his actions, once he’d gotten her there, be judged more harshly? Taking off her clothes to prevent pneumonia? Hmmmmmm. On the surface, sexual intent might be assumed. If she had been thirty or forty years older, his actions might not be questioned at all. But because she was young and attractive, the judgment might be that sexual motives had been his main concern. That could be tough to overcome.
Rape? Assault? Hell, he’d barely touched her! Maybe invasion of privacy. That one he couldn’t deny. He scratched his head, realizing that his most serious offense hadn’t been criminal in nature, but was, instead, the negligence he had shown by not getting her the proper medical attention. But if he could convince her of his innocence, she would likely show her gratitude by refusing to press charges. God, how he hoped that would be the case. If she would just calm down and be reasonable …
Absorbed in his thoughts, Wayne missed the faint rustle of movement in the bathroom. She called for help again, and anxiously he sprang to his feet. Sliding the door open, his eyes met hers, but she promptly looked away.
Leaning over her bundled form, he again reached for her waist. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he said calmly.
They shuffled inch by inch toward the living room, Nancy dragging the dead weight of her injured leg behind her. He seems so tender, she thought, so concerned. Maybe I should allow more time—
But at that instant, as the two squeezed through the narrow kitchen doorway, her eyes rested on the dinner table. Photos. Two of them. She was aghast—bare-breasted snapshots of herself! It was disgusting! Revolting!
Wayne sensed something amiss. Gazing around her shoulders, he traced her line of vision to the table. Oh, my God—the pictures! I forgot the damn pictures!
Quickly he released her and held up his shaking hands. She leaned against the table, her mouth open aghast.
“P-P-P-Please!” he begged. “Let me explain! It’s not at all what it seems—”
“No!” she moaned, tears again streaming from her eyes. “What have you done to me?”
Now tears flowed from Wayne’s eyes, as well. This was trouble, real trouble. Never had he experienced fear and guilt like this. Reflexively he took a nervous step toward her.
“Please, you’ve got to understand,” he sobbed, reaching out to her.
“Don’t touch me!” she growled, still brandishing the razor blade out of sight. This can’t be happening, she thought. Again her vision wavered, and she felt as if she might faint.
Wayne saw that she was sinking toward the floor and reached to catch her. And as darkness began to cloud her mind, she gathered all her strength to draw the blade from beneath the blanket and slash at him mercilessly. Once. Twice.
Her crumpled form collapsed to the floor. The razor blade hit the tile with a light tinkle and bounced beneath the stove.
A trail of blood followed Wayne as he stumbled to the bathroom sink.
A midday swarm of activity centered around the accident site at Kelley Creek. Sheriff Arnold cordoned off the section of old roadway leading to the dismantled bridge and began an intense investigation while the sunken vehicle was removed from the water. Volunteers from surrounding areas gathered along the shore as news of the accident spread, and a somber mood prevailed—it was such a tragic waste of human life.
Tom Farrell arrived just as the battered car was pulled to the muddy shore. Sheriff Arnold had been watching for him and, amid the flashing red emergency lights, ran to meet him.
“Tom, I just can’t tell you how sorry I am,” the sheriff said, placing an arm around his friend’s shoulder.
Tom silently shook his head and stared into the distance.
“Chester, I wasn’t real close to these folks,” Tom began, his voice cracking. “I mean, Nancy was my niece and all, but since Martha’s sister moved to Georgia, I just ain’t seen much of ‘em. But you know,” he hesitated, wrinkling his lips, “I’d feel pretty damn bad no matter
who it was on the bottom of that creek. It just ain’t fair. Ain’t a damn bit fair.”
“How is Liz taking it?” the sheriff asked.
“Oh …” Tom began, followed by an expulsion of breath. “I’m afraid the poor girl’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Lately things just ain’t been goin’ her way.”
“And Martha?”
“Well, she’s awful worried about her sister gettin’ here safely from Columbus. They’re all pretty tore up, as you can understand.”
“Sheriff!” Deputy Granger called from the dripping wreckage. “There’s only one of ‘em in here. Looks like we’ll have to drag for the woman.”
Sheriff Arnold turned back to Tom. “Maybe you shouldn’t look,” he said.
Tom shuffled his feet in the moist soil of the pathway. Why look? What good would it do? Only bring nightmares for God knows how long. Besides, why had he even come here in the first place? There was certainly nothing he could do.
“I suppose you’re right,” Tom said. “I hadn’t given it much thought afore I got here. But it’s all just now beginnin’ to sink in.”
The sheriff watched teardrops form in his friend’s eyes and patted him softly on the back. Tom sniffled and pocketed both hands.
“Think I’ll get on back to the house. See how Martha and Liz are holdin’ up,” Tom said.
The sheriff led Tom away from the rescue site. Out the corner of an eye he saw three men wrestle a bloated corpse from the Falcon. As if it weren’t enough that the young woman had also died, now her loved ones must endure a long and painful search for her remains. How could anyone comfort the family, whose thoughts would naturally be of Nancy’s lifeless body being swept downstream, scraped against rocks and trees, possibly even devoured by wildlife? If her corpse wasn’t recovered soon, it might never be found.
“I think that’s a smart move,” the sheriff said. “We’ll have to drag for the girl, Tom, and you’re in no shape to help. Besides, we’ve got more volunteers than we can shake a stick at.”
“I don’t know what to tell ‘em back home. The missing body will only upset ‘em more—”
“Then don’t tell ‘em anything,” the sheriff interrupted. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find her real soon. No need to worry anybody just yet. And besides, Tom, it won’t be a pretty sight. I really think you should go home.”
“Yeah,” said Tom, stepping back to his car. “Yeah.”
The violent weather had all but obliterated any trace of the doomed Falcon’s tiremarks on the condemned road. Walking the forgotten artery again, the sheriff tried to reconstruct what the experience had been like. The Barnetts had been strangers to the area. True, Nancy had lived here years before, but she was just a kid at the time and would be totally unfamiliar with the recent highway changes. The old road was in horrid disrepair—gaping potholes and deepened ruts riddled its surface. Shouldn’t the driver have noticed such a marked deterioration? But, of course, the travelers were tired, and the rain was falling in such torrents, the car couldn’t have been moving very fast. It was a short stretch of roadway. The weather had likely distracted the driver, and after a few seconds, it would have been too late.
In his mind’s eye, the sheriff could visualize it all, as if he had ridden in the back seat, watching the Barnetts from behind. The husband would have been bent over the steering wheel, straining his eyes to see through sheets of rain. The wife was probably staring ahead to help him. Or maybe she was busy wiping fog from the windshield that the defroster failed to clear. Suddenly the car took a nose dive. Neither had likely had the slightest notion of what was happening. The man’s head smashed into the steering wheel on impact; the woman hit the windshield. Had they not been rendered unconscious or disabled by the collision, they might well have escaped. But the current had been cold and swift. Even the most able-bodied swimmer might have met his match in the treacherous water.
Having circled the old roadway and shore while absorbed in thought, Sheriff Arnold found himself standing once again at the mangled wreckage among a crowd of onlookers.
“Sheriff?”
“Not now, Zeke,” the sheriff interrupted. “Let me go over this again while it’s fresh on my mind.”
Sheriff Arnold slowly skirted the twisted mass of metal. The entire body was crumpled and warped, as if the car had rolled off Satan’s assembly line. While the front grill and hood sustained the most damage, not a single square inch of the vehicle had escaped harm. A layer of mud and debris covered the interior upholstery and dashboard. On the floor a tiny minnow was flopping about, taking its last breath.
The surrounding confusion was getting out of hand. Reporters had already sniffed out the story and Deputy Granger was trying to move them away to a safe distance.
“Jesse,” Sheriff Arnold approached his deputy. “Get the camera and take plenty of pictures. Of the car, of the road, the creek and the bridge.”
Looking up, the sheriff noticed a television crew setting up. Quickly he headed them off and politely turned them away.
“Now, I know you boys are just doin’ your job,” he began. “And I’m just tryin’ to do mine. But I can’t let you folks interfere with this investigation.”
“But sheriff—”
“Now I mean it,” he snapped. “If you’ll just hold your horses a few minutes, I’ll be glad to answer your questions. Right now I’ve got work to do,” he said sternly.
Returning to Deputy Granger, the sheriff whispered, “Jesse, I especially want shots of the front passenger side of the interior. Notice the window is rolled down? The girl could’ve escaped. No doubt she drowned—her head must have been banged up pretty bad. But don’t mention it to the press. I want to keep the news down as much as possible.”
The reporters scattered among the crowd, grasping for every available fact, and flashbulbs popped continuously. Disgusted, Sheriff Arnold shook his head.
“If you folks don’t get the hell away from here and stop interferin’ with this investigation, I’ll take every one of you in for obstructin’ justice!”
With scowls of protest, the intruders backed away. Three men in a canoe streaked through the water applying nets, hooks and other dragging apparatus while a number of volunteers scoured both shorelines.
Deputy Granger was busy snapping photos. He leaned over the right fender for a closeup of the cracked windshield on the passenger side. It reminded him of a glass spiderweb. No doubt the girl’s head had struck it hard, but if she’d managed to open the car window, apparently not hard enough to knock her completely unconscious.
Across the creek, John Gibbs, a local high school boy, scampered downstream ahead of the search party. A glory hound, John hoped to find the dead girl all on his own. Along the way he noted an assortment of empty cans and bottles that normally lined the shore. Excitement surged through John’s veins. Being first to explore this section of the creek was giving him the greatest thrill of his young life. And finally his persistence paid off. Poking among the branches of a large tree that had toppled into the water, he found a woman’s shoe. And at the massive uprooted trunk near the water’s edge, half buried in the mud, was an Eveready flashlight.
7
Blood dribbled down Wayne’s chin and splattered into the bowl of the bathroom sink. His cheek and neck below the left ear stung something awful, but fortunately the flow of blood was slowing. He’d been lucky. The deepest cut, about an inch and a half in length, had missed his left eye and damaged only his cheek. The neck wound had barely broken the skin. In the mirror his pale, horror-stricken face stared back at him. Coupled with the gash inflicted earlier on his forehead, he looked like an accident victim himself.
Wayne placed a wet wash cloth over the wounds to absorb the last traces of blood, then jumped nervously as the power suddenly kicked on, and the refrigerator resumed its monotone hum. A feeling of horror wrenched his guts. Reasoning with her now would take a great deal of time. And patience. Her hidden ferocity was understandable, since she perceived herself in
grave danger. But how could he convince her otherwise? She wouldn’t give him a chance.
Hurrying back to the kitchen, Wayne cradled the woman’s unconscious body and carried her to the sofa. He could feel the stiffness of her leg and tried not to disturb it. Then, having carefully spread the blanket back over her, he returned to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He was famished! She was bound to be hungry, too, and would likely be more receptive on a full stomach. In minutes, four ground-beef patties were sizzling on the stove.
By the time she awakened, the hamburgers were ready, the table neatly set for two. The photos had been hidden in the bedroom.
“Hungry?” he asked at the twitch of her eyebrows.
She stared at him blankly, her face expressionless.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said. “In fact, I’m the only one who’s been attacked.” He forced a weak smile, then winced as he stroked the gash on his cheek. Her stare continued unbroken, yielding no indication of her current state of mind.
Wayne took a big bite and held a burger up for her to see. “Join me?” he mumbled between swallows, then waited with longing to hear her voice.
She lifted her wrinkled nose and inhaled the delicious aroma, instantly recognizing her own hunger. For a moment, the anticipation of a satisfying meal erased all fears.
“Will you … bring it … to me?”
“Sure,” Wayne answered. “By the way, my name is Wayne. And you seem to have a misunderstanding about how we met.”
Wayne brought a plate with two burgers to her side. “Can you sit up?” he asked.
The girl struggled to her elbows, then surrendered to the sofa.
“Wait a minute. Try this,” Wayne said. He fetched a chair from the table and placed it in front of the sofa. “Maybe if you prop your leg in the chair, you’ll be able to sit.”
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