“Owwww,” she cried, peeling her left cheek off the freezing glass.
Holding a hand over her stinging skin, she staggered around the vehicle, trying to stay upright. When she saw that all four tires were submerged in snow, she looked up. “Thanks a lot!” Her words echoed back at her. “If you think this is going to stop me from doin’ what’s right, you’ve got another think coming, Mister God!”
She’d chosen this spot, knowing there wasn’t a house in sight along this dirt road. No one would be able to spot her car. But then, who the hell would be looking for her?
Huffing and puffing, she made her way back behind the wheel. Shannon popped open the glove compartment and took out the pint of whiskey she’d picked up in town. After she unscrewed the top, she took a long gulp. “Liquid guts.” She smacked her lips together. “Mmmmm-mmmm good.”
Her mother's loud cackle sounded as if she was sitting right next to Shannon. “I’m not talking to you, ya bag of bones.”
How stupid was she to believe Clint loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Clint had given her enough pain to last a lifetime. And now it was his turn to pay.
She pulled the lever for the trunk and stepped outside, her man-sized boots crunching through the snow.
After Shannon tossed grungy blankets, flashlights, and rusty jumper cables aside, she located the rifle that she’d loaded early this morning.
“Geronimo!” she shouted holding up the gun, her breath sending a trail of white vapor into the bitter cold.
Shannon tucked the wool scarf into her parka, turned and gazed across the vast corn fields blanketed in a carpet of white that would take her to Clint’s house.
Showtime.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AFTER TALKING WITH CHARLIE, it was useless for Clint to try and sleep. He was physically sick thinking about the possibility of losing not just one, but both Mira and Faith.
His hands were trembling when he refilled his coffee mug. Winston and Charlie would be here anytime, and Clint only hoped Faith wouldn’t see them when they pulled into the driveway. All hell would break loose if she saw Charlie.
When he thought he heard something, he started into the living room. “Mira? Are you down here?” When he didn’t see anyone, he walked to the stairs, listened and heard her talking to her dolls.
Anxious, he went to the back door and checked for Winston’s car, thinking about how Mira had responded when he’d called her Faith. Clint wished he was content with the decision to go forward with Winston’s plan, but even though the best possible outcome would be to have Mira back, it would leave him, once again, mourning Faith.
When Clint started to put his mug in the sink he glanced out the window.
“Jesus,” he let out as a gasp when he noticed Mira sitting on a snow covered swing. What was she doing out in this weather? And why hadn’t he seen or heard her go outside?
She was wearing overalls and a T-shirt with no coat, hat, or shoes. Clint had warned her over and over again about how little time it would take for frostbite to set in.
Her eyes were glued on Clint, her face expressionless. She looked pale, and her hair was a mess. What the hell was going on? He dropped the mug on the counter, the explosion of ceramic when it collided with the countertop rang out as he ran out the door and down the steps.
“Mira!” He tramped as fast as he could through the foot of snow to the back yard. But when he rounded the corner of the house, and saw the swing was empty, he stopped. Turning in every direction, searching for her, he called, “Mira?” Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted louder, “Mira!”
Nothing.
Where was she? And how did she just suddenly—
“Daddy?” He turned toward the small voice and saw her on the landing of the steps. “Why are you calling me?”
“What were you doing out here in the freezing cold, young lady?” Clint reprimanded, marching toward her.
“Huh?” she asked innocently.
He sprinted up the steps and opened the door, waving her inside.
“I wasn’t outside,” she said. “It’s too cold.”
In the kitchen, Clint bent over, put his hands on his knees and looked into her eyes. “Then where have you been?”
“Upstairs. I was playin’ with my girls and heard you callin’ me.”
Confused when he realized she was wasn’t wearing overalls, he stammered, “I… I thought I saw you outside.” He touched her cheek with a finger, finding her skin warm.
Was he so exhausted that he was hallucinating? Confused, he said, “Go back upstairs so Daddy can get a few things done and I’ll call you when lunch is ready.”
She started to skip out of the room.
“Faith?” he asked on a whim.
She was almost out of the kitchen when she stopped. It took couple of seconds before she turned back around. “I’m not Faith, silly, I’m Mira. Faith’s in heaven, ’member?”
The muscles in Clint’s neck tensed. Even when Mira talked about her imaginary friend Faith, she’d had no idea who Faith was. “Come here, honey.” He sat down in a chair at the kitchen table and patted his knee.
Slowly she walked to him, her head down. He picked her up and set her on his lap. “How’d you know about Faith?”
“‘Cause.” She paused, her eyes not meeting his. “You told me.”
He put his hand under her chin and gently lifted her face and stared into her eyes. “When?” He paused. “When did I tell you?”
“One night… before we said prayers.” She squirmed. “I was four, I think.”
With a lump in his throat, he said, “Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” He set her back down. “Go on upstairs now and play with your dolls, honey.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she flashed him a smile. “I love you.”
When Clint heard her footsteps go up the stairs, he felt like running after her, holding her tight, and telling her how much he loved her. If Winston’s plan worked, he’d never see Faith again, at least not in this lifetime.
It was what Charlie had told Clint about Faith holding all the power that kept Clint from going after her.
He went back to the sink and stared out the window, the words Mira said before she lost consciousness playing over and over in his head: “Daddy, help me. It’s Faith.”
It wasn’t a hallucination that Clint had seen. It was Mira once again begging for Clint, her daddy, to save her.
“We’ll find you, sweetheart,” Clint whispered. “I promise we won’t give up until you’re home where you belong.”
He heard a car door and watched Charlie when she stepped out of Winston’s car. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. He’d been so preoccupied with his own pain that he’d not thought about the hell that Charlie was going through. He opened the door and, as soon as she reached him, he grabbed her and brought her close.
“I’m sorry.” He hugged her tighter, never wanting to let her go.
Charlie leaned back and looked up at him. “We signed up to be a team forever and you’re never going to get rid of me.”
After they stepped into the kitchen, Clint turned to Winston. “Thank you for helping us. I know now that she’s not Mira.”
Winston took off his coat and hung it up. “Mira’s in trouble.” He nodded at the coat he’d left behind when he was transported to the hospital. “I wondered where this was. I’ll just leave it here for when I come back to visit.”
Charlie laced his arm through Winston’s. “How ‘bout you come in the fall and Clint will teach you how to detassle corn?”
Winston nodded toward the living room. “How about I take a front row seat on the porch and watch as I sip a glass or two of Chardonnay?”
The break in tension made Charlie and Clint both smile.
Clint patted Winston on the back. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
Sitting around the table, Clint told Winston about the vision he’d had of Mira on the swing.
Charlie found Clint’s
hand. “She needs us.”
“She’s reaching out to you, Clint,” Winston said solemnly.
Clint nodded, swallowing back tears. “I know.”
“Daddy!” Faith shrieked. “Help me!”
Clint leaped up from his chair. He was halfway up the stairs when he saw someone standing behind Faith holding a rifle that was pointed directly at him.
The disheveled person was wearing outdoor garb with a scarf covering the lower half of their face. Jesus, a robbery?
His heart slamming inside his chest, Clint asked, “What do you want?”
“Surprise!” the intruder shouted at the same time she pulled the scarf off.
“Shannon?” Clint was taken off guard.
“In the flesh,” she answered flatly.
Faith was crying softly and, when she tried to go down the stairs, Shannon caught her by the shoulder and yanked her back.
“Don’t move,” Shannon ordered, jiggling the little girl’s shoulder, “or Daddy gets it.”
Shannon’s hateful tone sent spasms of fear through Clint.
“What’s going on?” Charlie asked when she came into the living room. Her eyes followed to where Clint was looking. “Oh, dear Jesus.” Charlie put a hand over her chest. “Let go of her.” She tried to get past Clint, but he stopped her. Any sudden movement might send Shannon on a murder spree.
Shannon’s face was a blotchy white as if she’d been frostbitten; her eyes crazed.
“Clint?” Charlie asked. “What is she doing here?”
“Hey, bitch.” Shannon pursed her lips. “I’m not deaf. I’ll tell you what I’m doing here. I wanted some alone time with lover boy here.” She clucked her tongue. “Such a shame you had to show up. I had such wonderful plans for Clint and I.”
That was the noise Clint heard when he was in the kitchen. Shannon had been hiding somewhere in the house. The thought made his blood run cold. “Shannon, please stop before—”
“Whoa, farm boy,” Shannon interrupted. She snapped her lips together with two fingers, her mouth turning into a duck bill. “Shut your pie hole. It’s Shannon’s turn to talk.”
“What do you want?” Charlie asked.
Shannon’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What do I want? What do I want?” she repeated louder. “I want what’s mine, Cheerleader Charlie!” She nodded at Clint. “Do you really think he wants you? If you weren’t around, honey—she nodded at Clint—“He and I would so be together. But we just can’t get rid of you”—she glanced at Clint again—“can we darlin’?”
“Shannon,” Winston said, who now stood beside Charlie. “Let’s sit down and talk about this. You’re not thinking straight, and I feel—”
“Shut up, weasel,” Shannon hissed. “I don’t give a tinker’s damn what you feel. In fact, I think you two”—she moved the barrel of the rifle back and forth between Charlie and Winston—“have somethin’ goin’ on.”
“How’d you get into my house?” Clint asked.
“Just opened the front door and walked right in. It’s as if you knew I was coming and left the door open for me.”
“But I locked—”
“No, you didn’t,” Shannon finished. She nodded behind Clint at the front door.
God, how could he be so stupid to not check both doors?
“How long?” Clint asked, stalling for time, thinking of any way he could to take her down without his family getting hurt or worse. “How long have you been here?”
“What the hell does it matter? I will tell you that I got a bit restless in the middle of the night, went into your room and found you sleeping.” Shannon let out a loud slurping sound. “I could have just eaten you up.”
The thought of her being here, watching him, having sexual thoughts about him, made Clint sick. If ever there was ever a time he could hurt a woman, this was it.
“I just made myself nice and cozy. But I had no idea you were gonna throw me a party.” She cackled loudly. “But here we all are. Let’s see here. We have daddy bear.” She moved the barrel of the rifle from Clint to Charlie, “Evil mama bear.” She pointed the rifle at Winston, “Psycho bear.” Shannon glanced down at Faith, “and Baby Bear. Or maybe I’m talking to a little ghost bear. Oooeeee,” she shrilled out as if watching a scary movie, brought her fingers to her mouth and pretended to bite her nails. “I’m soooo scared.”
Faith started to wail.
Shannon shoved her shoulder. “Oh, get over yourself, Twinsie.”
“Leave her the fuck alone,” Charlie said angrily. “Or I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Shannon’s tone changed from giddy to contempt. “Kill me?” She smirked. “Honey, you don’t stand a chance in hell. I’m the one calling the”— she jiggled the rifle— “shots.”
“Now move. All of you. You too,” she jiggled the little girl’s shoulder. “It’s been a helluva night and I could use a cup of coffee. Well, I’d prefer a drink, but I’ll have that later. Just so you know, this rifle ain’t for pussies, so be prepared to lose a limb or two if you try anything stupid.” She put a hand in the small of Faith’s back. “Get on down there, Missy.”
“Daddy,” Faith whimpered as she walked slowly down the stairs.
“It’s okay, honey,” Clint said calmly as they walked single file back into the kitchen. He nodded at Faith. “Let he go,” he pleaded. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, no, no, no.” She shook her head. “Not going to happen, Bucko. No one in or out until I give the green light.”
Shannon Patterson was certifiably crazy and there was no way she would listen to reason.
In the kitchen, Shannon nodded at the table. “Have a seat, everyone.”
After Faith sat down, Shannon took a stance behind her. “First of all, I want to thank you all for your hospitality. “
Clint reached over and held his hand out to Faith. “Everything’s going to be okay.” She put her small hand in his. “I promise.”
“Well.” Shannon snorted like a pig. “I don’t know about you, short stuff, but your daddy’s promises don’t impress me.”
“What’s this all about?” Winston asked.
Shannon stomped her booted foot on the floor. “You people just don’t listen!” she shouted and put a hand over her heart. “I am not a rude person. I’m not a mean person. I’m really not. It’s just that I’m having a really rough time right now.”
“Why don’t we just try and work through—”
“Quiet!” she screeched at Winston. Shannon’s red-rimmed eyes went to Clint. “I want you to tell them.” Her voice softened. “And be honest, sweetheart. Tell everyone why I’m here.”
Clint had to be careful what he said. “Because you think that you and I are a couple.”
Her jaw dropped open. “I think?” she said loudly. “Wrong answer!” She stomped her boots like a toddler having a tantrum, quickly brought the barrel of the gun up and pulled the trigger.
When the explosive blast resounded through the house, Clint lunged across the table, covering his child as plaster rained down on them.
Charlie shrieked and covered her head with her hands as Winston ducked, noticing Shannon reach into her pocket and quickly reload the gun.
“Daddy, make her stop.” Faith was crying so hard she could barely got her words out. “I want her to go ’way.”
“Oh, for cryin’ in the gutter, what’s a little plaster, kid?” Shannon went to behind Clint. “Get a grip, you bunch of fraidy cats.”
Clint looked to Charlie, his fear turning to rage. He’d never hated anyone like he did right now. “I’m warning you, Shannon, you’re not going to like the end of this story.”
She bent over and glared into his eyes. “Blah, blah, blah. You’re all out of blah, Mister.”
She pushed the end of the rifle hard into his right shoulder. “Tell them the truth. Tell them how you led me on. How you asked me into your home and how much you thought about me when I was in the hospital.” She put her lips close to his e
ar. “You know you love me,” she said sweetly, and then flicked his ear hard with her thumb and index finger. “So tell them!”
Clint turned to the crying child, whose head was down on the table cradled in her hands, her hair dotted with bits of plaster. He then looked to Charlie and saw the terror in her eyes.
“She’s right. I’m in love with her.” God, please make this work.
“See!” Shannon did a little jig in place. “I knew it, knew it, knew it.”
“Don’t you think we should talk privately Shannon?” Clint looked up at her. “This has nothing to do with anyone but you and me.”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “It’s time everyone knows how we feel about each other.” She leaned over and gave Clint a wet, sloppy kiss on his cheek.
“That’s why I asked Charlie to come here today.” Clint prayed he sounded believable. “I was going to tell her about us.”
“You were?” Shannon asked.
“I was going to tell her today.” He stared into Shannon’s eyes, trying hard not to blink. “But you went and spoiled it.”
“I…” Shannon stuttered out. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Let everyone go.” She was vulnerable and Clint had to somehow convince her to let Winston and his family go. “And then you and I can talk about our future together.”
There was a long pause before Shannon shouted, “You!” Shannon punched Clint in the back with a closed fist, knocking the breath out of him. “You’re lying.”
“I’m… not,” Clint stumbled over his words. “I swear.”
“Bullshit!” Shannon took a few steps back away from him and brought the gun up to eye level, aiming it at Clint’s head. She closed one eye. “I’m not stupid. You’re nothing but a conniving womanizer who deserves to—”
“Aarrgghh,” Winston let out as he charged Shannon, slamming his head into her chest.
Shannon flew backward as Clint scrambled behind her, clasping his hands around her neck. “Damn you!”
“Let… go of me…you pig!” Shannon shouted as Winston wrestled to get the rifle away, the barrel of the gun moving rapidly in different directions.
“You stupid bitch.” Clint wanted to choke the life out of this woman.
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