Hunted: A Suspense Collection

by J. L. Drake

  I grabbed Claire by the hair and started slamming her head against the hard, stony surface of the floor. This time, she was going to get her head smashed in for real, courtesy of me. After everything she’d done, I hated her more than I’d ever hated Jennifer, or any of the men in the house of horrors.

  But then I heard someone else behind me: either Jennifer had gotten up or Samantha was coming down the stairs. I looked up just in time to see metal smashing into my own face.

  Chapter 68

  You know how those crazy cartoon characters always have floating stars around their heads on television? Well, I found out the hard way that “seeing stars” is not just a silly expression. Flashing specks darted across my field of vision and the room started to shrink, drifting farther and farther away.

  “I should have killed you the first time, bitch,” I heard Jennifer say, but her words sounded strange and distorted, like I was hearing them from the opposite end of a long tunnel, or from the bottom of a deep well. She was standing over me, preparing to hit me again with the shovel.

  I wish Jonathan hadn’t bought that shovel, I thought groggily, my mind not comprehending the gravity of this situation. Everything around me was spinning, like I was on a tilt-a-whirl. One time, Claire and I rode the tilt-a-whirl at Flocksdale’s County Fair; we went around and around so many times that she barfed on my new white shorts…my best friend was alive…my best friend was a stupid, lying, evil bitch and her family was going to kill me…

  I waited for more metal to smash into my face, blood from my current head wound blurring my one good eye…I was going to die. After all this time, they were finally going to end this for good. The shovel came pummeling toward me again, and this time it hit me directly in the face. I felt my backside hit the cold, hard floor.

  The ceiling above me swirled and swayed, and I struggled to retain consciousness.

  I wasn’t dead yet, but I would be soon if I didn’t move. I tried to get up, but I saw her coming for me again. This was it. One more hit and she’d kill me for sure…but then suddenly, a loud bang rang out, reverberating in my ear.

  “Flash bang! Game over…” I muttered, remembering a video game I used to play, my head spinning and spinning, the room getting smaller and smaller…then I was out, fading away completely. Everything went black.

  Chapter 69

  When I opened my eyes, I was lying on my back in a clean white room. Is this Heaven? I wondered curiously. But then I forced my eyes to focus, and I moved them back and forth, realizing I was in some sort of hospital room. There was a doctor standing at the end of the bed, looking at me warily.

  “She’s awake,” he said with a thick foreign accent.

  “Wendi! Honey!” a woman shouted, and I saw my mother’s face. Was this really happening?

  “You’ve been in a coma for several days, sweetie! But everything’s going to be okay now. I have you back. And I’m never going to let you go,” my mother gushed, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  Lying on the bed beside me, she gripped me in her arms, soaking my own cheeks with her tears. The entirety of the room was coming into focus, and I could see two men standing on the other side of the bed, a few feet from where the doctor stood. One of them was my father and the other one was Jonathan. They rushed over to each of my sides, reaching out for me. I had everyone I loved in one room. Suddenly, all of the darkness and emptiness I’d been feeling for years faded away, and I felt whole for the first time in my life. Landing: successful.

  “It’s over,” I said. “It’s really, truly over. This is the end…”

  Epilogue

  I wish I could tell you that my life went on to be perfect. That I went to college, got a fancy job, had a perfect marriage, and never used drugs again. But I am no longer a liar. My name is Wendi Wise, and I will never, ever be perfect. That is the truest statement I have ever made…I’ve been through some shit, and some of it I will never, ever be able to let go of. But I’m stronger because of all of it, and it has allowed me to tell my story.

  In the end, Jennifer—aka Jeanna—was the one who got a smashed-in face. Jonathan woke up and blasted her right between the eyes with his .45, just in the nick of time. When he finished with her, he turned the gun on Samantha. She ran straight for him, wrestling for the gun like an idiot. He shot her in the leg, crippling her for life, but still letting her live. Zach died on that cold, cement floor of the cellar, a severe head injury inflicted by Jennifer’s shovel. Ruth went from having one living son left to zero.

  Claire survived as well. As it turns out, she was the rat in the family, because in exchange for a reduced sentence, she rolled over on the whole Garrett clan, even her own parents and sister. Apparently, her family had ties with the mob. Her Uncle Hank—aka Garrett—owned the skating rink, plaza, and several other local establishments that were used as a front to kidnap and traffic children, sell drugs, and do God knows what else. Jed—his real name by the way—and his wife, Betsy—the one who “killed” Claire—also went to prison for life. Sometimes I wonder what happened to that old, creepy limo. Hopefully, it was compressed into a tiny cube and destroyed.

  Jonathan saw the entire case through, and by the time it was all said and done, he’d discovered associations with the Garrett family that went all the way up to top government officials. Apparently, depravity exists in every neighborhood and across all socioeconomic lines.

  Nearly thirty-six members of the Garrett family and its related partners were arrested, courtesy of my darling husband—Jonathan Milby. I can honestly say that I live with my very own version of a super hero—my husband. It’s a wonderful feeling.

  Thirty-six arrests is a great number. The number I don’t like to think about are the dozens of bodies that were unearthed from the yards and basements of the Garrett family members. Bodies were in the basement at Ruth’s rental house, as well as Jed and Zach’s backyards. The majority of the bodies were found in a tight crawlspace that lay beneath the house of horrors. A black hole, filled with a sea of twisted limbs and battered skulls. Some of the remains were identified as local children. Some are still unknown.

  I often lie awake at night, wondering why I’m not one of those bodies. I also wonder how many more girls died and were never found, their corpses thrown in the river behind the house of horrors. God only knows how many victims were really out there.

  I also lie awake at night wondering how many of those deaths I could have stopped or prevented if I’d come forward sooner. But you know what they say about looking back…that you shouldn’t unless you plan on going that way.

  I never want to go back to being Elsie, the girl who hated herself and lived in her own prison. So now I simply take one day at a time, and I’m trying to forgive myself. I wasn’t the one who killed them, and at the very least, I played a crucial role in bringing those killers to justice.

  Speaking of bringing people to justice, Ruth and Charlie were also arrested, as well as Hank’s elderly mother, Margie. Their exact roles in all this are unclear, but as it turns out, they knew enough about what was going on to make them all guilty as sin. Sometimes knowing something and doing nothing about it is just as bad as doing it yourself. I tried to feel sorry for them, but I simply couldn’t anymore. I felt sorry for the innocent children and families they destroyed so long ago. They almost destroyed me and mine.

  Several years ago, I wrote Claire a letter and sent it to the prison in Mooresville, which is where she spends her days now. In it, I told her that I’d forgiven her. She was a child that grew up amongst monsters, and inevitably, became one herself. I, of all people, understand what it’s like to go through something terrible and then become a fuck-up because of it. For many years, I let the trauma of what happened in the house of horrors consume me, and it almost ate me whole.

  I became a manager at McDonald’s and Jonathan became a sergeant. We bought a house in Flocksdale. I never thought I’d want to live here again, but as it turns out, I love our little bungalow that sits on its own pat
ch of grass. The skating rink was torn down, as well as most of the houses surrounding it. I can’t say I minded that one bit. Jonathan asked me if I wanted to be there when that evil house on Clemmons Street was torn to the ground. My answer to that was a firm no. I know it’s hard for him to understand, but I didn’t want to be there; I didn’t want to feel the presence of all those lost souls drifting away around me. I was at peace, and in my mind, that house and the evil inside of it died years ago when he rescued me from that hellish cellar.

  My marriage to Jonathan has not always been easy, and I have relapsed a handful of times. But he and my family have stood by my side through all of the ups and downs, and I can honestly say that I finally know the meaning of true love. I no longer flinch when I feel the touch of his hands, and he was patient with me, giving me time to adjust to real intimacy.

  My parents are old and graying now, and I love them more than I ever did before. I try to imagine what it must have been like for them, losing their only daughter for all those years. I know they feel a great deal of guilt over what happened to me, as though they could have prevented it. Like Jonathan, it’s hard for them to completely understand that if it wasn’t for them, I never would have made it. They taught me to be good, but strong, and the remembrances of them are what got me through those awful days in that house. They were amazing parents and still are; I don’t know how they made parenting always seem so easy, but they did.

  My dad is pushing seventy now, and was recently diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. His hands are too shaky to play the guitar anymore, but I’ve recently taken up lessons. I figure I could practice in front of him, maybe play him an old familiar Tom Petty song…

  The year after Jonathan and I were married, we took a short trip to Albuquerque to visit an old friend. When I walked into Saint Mary’s Home for Children, Miss Ally was bent over with her back toward me, tying a young girl’s shoes. When she turned around and saw me standing next to Jonathan, her facial expression went from confused to worried, and then to excited to see me.

  “Come here!” she squealed, clutching me in her aging, bony arms. I hadn’t planned on crying, but I bawled into her chest. I told her everything and made amends.

  I also made my amends to Remy. I sat at the base of her tombstone. Instead of flowers, I stuck one of our old Mad Lib books in the dirt beside her stone. If it wasn’t for Remy, Jonathan never would have known the truth about what happened to me and who I really was. He never would have showed up that night in Flocksdale, and I surely would have died in that dirty, old cellar right next to Zach. Unlike Ruth, who knew what was going on with the Garrett family and did nothing about it, Remy took it upon herself to reach out and get the help I needed, but was too scared to get on my own. I will always be grateful for the actions she took that day.

  My last amends were to Chuck and Baylor. Baby Claire was no longer a baby. Instead, she was a beautiful, smiling teenager. She seemed shy, but happy, and I was glad that I got to see that smile after all. Telling the Raffertons the truth was surprisingly hard, but I did it anyway. I apologized for disappointing them. They, in turn, apologized for disappointing me.

  Even though I live far away in Flocksdale, I still talk to Baylor and Miss Ally nearly once a day. I need their advice often. Jonathan and I have a daughter of our own now, named Shelby. She’s almost twelve. Being a good mother to her has proven to be the hardest job of my life, but I’ve loved every minute of raising her. Someday soon, when she’s old enough, I’m going to tell her my story. But for now, I just let her be a silly, careless, teenage girl just like I once was. Maybe I’ll never tell her. I don’t want my darkness to seep through and saturate her life.

  Just last week, Shelby went to the mall alone with friends. I didn’t want to let her go, but at the same time, I know I can’t lock her inside the house and make her my prisoner just because I want to protect her. There are all types of prisons in life, and I don’t want my overly paranoid, protectiveness to be hers.

  I said that I don’t lie anymore—so now I’ll tell the truth. I let her go to the mall, but she didn’t go alone. I crept through the corridors of that old familiar plaza, watching her every move as she talked to boys and shopped for clothes. I had to be certain she was all right—I simply couldn’t help myself.

  Some nights, when I’m all alone, I pull out a copy of one of those old “Have You Seen This Girl?’’ fliers, the ones I keep hidden away in my drawer. I stare at the face of that little girl who had to endure so much. She was brave and strong. She didn’t know it then, but she does now. The answer is: yes, I’ve seen her. I know her and I know her pain. But I also know her triumph and recovery. She is no longer lost. She has found her own little safe corner of the world, and she’s sticking around this time.

  The End

  About the Author

  Besides my family, my greatest love in life is books. Reading them, writing them, holding them, smelling them…well, you get the idea. I’ve always loved to read, and some of my earliest childhood memories are me, tucked away in my room, lost in a good book. I received a five dollar allowance each week, and I always—always—spent it on books. My love affair with writing started early, but it mostly involved journaling and writing silly poems. Several years ago, I didn’t have a book to read so I decided on a whim to write my own story, something I’d like to read. It turned out to be harder than I thought, but from that point on I was hooked. My first and second books were released by Sarah Book Publishing: This Is Not About Love and Grayson’s Ridge. I’m a total genre-hopper. Basically, I like to write what I like to read: a little bit of everything! I reside in Floyds Knobs, Indiana with my husband, three children, and massive collection of books. I have a degree in psychology and worked as a counselor.

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  https://www.facebook.com/CarissaAnnLynchauthor

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  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/11204582.Carissa_Lynch

  Not Forgotten

  A Harbour Bay Novel

  By Camille Taylor

  Prologue

  August 6th, 2005

  The tyres skidded against the cold bitumen of the deserted old highway as Hallie Walker’s father braked for the lone man who appeared out of the heavy fog dead ahead. The car protested, the tyres squealing and buckling beneath them from the strain. Hallie screamed as the sharp smell of burnt rubber wafted up to fill her nostrils.

  The car jerked as her father lost control. The car spun and her heart thudded in her chest. The sudden impact as the Ford Fairlane hit the thick, dense tree truck sent her twelve-year-old body tumbling into the foot-well between the front and back seats with a thud. She’d stupidly released the seatbelt to find a more comfortable position in an effort to fall asleep, the trip long and tedious and now regretted the decision. She lay frozen on the floor for a moment, stunned before sitting up, slowly registering the minor aches and pains that would later leave bruises. Smoke escaped from beneath the hood and a sizzling sound reverberated through the semi-silent night. The only sound other than their harsh breathing was Slim Dusty playing lightly on the stereo.

  Her breath came in white puffs as the heat from her mouth met the frigid pre-dawn August air which poured into the car through the cracked and splintered windscreen.

  Her father’s head lay against the steering wheel and he slowly lifted it, turning towards her mother whose eyes were closed, her head resting against the back of her seat but thankfully otherwise uninjured. He turned his attention to her. “Hallie, baby, are you—”

  Her father’s words were cut off as his window shattered and two large hands reached in and pulled him roughly from the car’s interior. She thought she screamed but she couldn’t be sure. Her father struggled against the man who had appeared out of nowhere and threw him roughly to the road. She heard her father grunt. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched in horror as the man stabbed her father repeatedly. Black
dots danced in her vision and she swallowed hard, almost passing out at the gory image in front of her.

  Her mother scrambled from her seat and started running back the way they’d driven, the sound of her heels on the asphalt echoing in the night. Hallie froze for the second time that night, terrified. She was alone. She wanted to call out to her father but knew it was too late. He lay unmoving on the dark, pockmarked road. Screaming for help would be useless. She hadn’t seen another car for hours.

  She trembled. Tears burned her eyes as fear cooled her blood. She had no idea what to do. It didn’t matter, she couldn’t get her limbs to move anyway. She shook as she held the tears in check. Her whole world was disappearing before her eyes. The man raised his head and started after her mother, his long legs eating up the distance between them, his footsteps thundering against the road.

  The man reached out and grabbed her mother’s blonde hair, jerking her back into his chest. She screamed, the sound piercing Hallie’s eardrums as her mother kicked and struggled against him.

  Hallie ducked back into her hiding place in the foot-well as the man dragged her mother back toward her. She chewed on her nails, a horrible habit and her fingers bled when she bit past the quick. Hallie’s gaze found the man’s face and remained there. As hard as she tried, she could not look away. As he moved closer, the moon’s bright rays bounced off his long, dark, greasy hair, illuminating him in the night almost like a spotlight, highlighting his features. The man’s lower face was covered with several days’ worth of growth. His heartless brown eyes glowed almost demonically in the light and she felt her bladder release, filling the car with the scent of ammonia.