Chapter 16

 

Ruth’s shoulder throbbed. After the rain stopped, Harry had built a funeral pyre behind the cottage for her body. She wondered hazily why he hadn’t killed her before lighting the blaze. Flames devoured the dry sticks, seared the flesh on her left arm. Screaming, she writhed away.

Her head thunked against something hard and her eyes snapped open. The nightmare dissolved, and she lay disoriented, gasping in the darkness. Why couldn’t she move her arms? Why couldn’t she see?

Fire or not, her left shoulder was in agony. Ruth took a slow breath. Where was she? Think. She lay on her side with her cheek pressed into soft fibers that tickled her nose. The rug beside Harry’s bed? She tried to roll off her aching shoulder and hit her head on the bed frame again.

That meant she still lay where Harry had dropped her. She’d lain here for hours listening to him stumble back and forth to the bathroom. Every time she’d thought it might be safe to escape, he made another trip. Or groaned from the living room. Somewhere in the night she’d fallen asleep.

Ruth’s stomach gurgled. Hunger, or the beginnings of what attacked Harry? That kiss just before he started vomiting—if this was a bad case of flu, she had those germs now.

Her lips curled at the memory of his mouth covering hers, and her insides lurched. She clenched her teeth and swallowed hard, listening for Harry. Not a sound.

The pins and needles in her shoulder brought tears to her eyes and took her mind off her stomach. If she could get up and out...

The darkness was so complete it was almost tangible. Ruth’s eyes strained to find a glimmer of light, a focal point of some kind. The wind and rain had died, leaving a hollow silence that pressed against her eardrums.

A strong feeling of isolation engulfed her, as if she were blind and deaf, suspended in nothingness. She shivered in spite of the mild night. Maybe this absence of city noise could be peaceful—if she weren’t there with a killer.

If Harry was in bed, she should be able to hear his breathing. Her throat tightened. He’d been so sick last night. What if he’d died? How long would she lie there, trapped in the room with his dead body, before his drug-dealing friends found them?

She shot a silent prayer for help. Holding her breath, she pulled her knees to her chest and lurched sideways. Balanced on knees and forehead, she caught her breath and slowly straightened. Her left arm hung numb below the shoulder, dead weight on the cord that bound it to her other wrist. She wriggled backwards to the bed, and, using it as a prop, pushed herself to her feet.

Silence. Her captor was either dead or not in this room. She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to free her wrists. He hadn’t tied her as tightly this time, but her left arm was useless.

Sweat prickled between her shoulder blades as she concentrated on working her right hand free. The cord bit into her flesh, adding to the agony of returning circulation in her arm.

Her muscles burned as if she’d been at this for hours. Hopelessness dragged at her heart. She let her arms dangle behind her and counted ten slow, deep breaths.

The harder she pulled, the tighter the cord felt. She couldn’t keep the tears back any longer. All her efforts swelled her wrists. Like she’d done to her finger when she was twelve and ‘borrowed’ her sister’s ring. She grimaced. The consequences then were nothing to what they’d be this time.

Lorna had been in full teenage meltdown when their mother stepped into Ruth’s bedroom muttering ‘Blessed are the peacemakers.’ Ignoring both girls’ sobs, she’d inspected the wedged ring and led Ruth into the bathroom to soap it off.

Soap.

Ruth slid off the edge of the bed and hopped toward the pencil-thin line of light under the bedroom door. If Harry didn’t wake...

Almost there. She held her breath, as if it would give her extra strength, and jumped. Then her knees wobbled, and she fell forward. The door slammed, tearing the silence like a bullet.

She leaned against the door. One second. Two. Ten. Still no sound from Harry.

It was now or never. Ruth turned her back to the door and fumbled with the handle. With her good hand, she held it steady and hopped. The door followed. She’d done it. She paused in the doorway, heart pounding.

The oval lamp near the dormant television set cast a dim glow. Harry was nowhere to be seen. Ruth hopped into the bathroom and eased the door closed. She slid her shoulder along the wall to flick the light switch.

With her back to the vanity, she felt for the soap pump. Her fingertips brushed it and it slid out of reach. She forced her arms back, gritting her teeth against the pain in her shoulders. Finally her fingers curled around the shell-shaped dispenser, and she pulled it nearer. By the time she positioned and squirted the slippery liquid in the right direction, she was sweating.

The soap stung Ruth’s wrists like a swarm of angry ants, but it did the job. A slow, deliberate pull freed her good hand, and the cord dropped off the numb one to the floor. She held her wrists under a stream of cold water until they stopped burning, then hopped to the toilet, sat and attacked the bonds on her feet. The knots resisted her stiffened fingers, but at last she was free.

Pain surged in her ankles as her blood started circulating at full speed. Ruth stood, leaning against the countertop to steady herself. “Thank You, God, for reminding me of the soap trick with Lorna’s ring. Help me get out of here. Help me hold onto you like Lorna always has.”

Lorna might be quick-tempered, but faith made her steadfast. That was the word. Ruth had been the one to break when Susan died, while Lorna, the grieving mother, pressed into God’s strength and comforted everybody else.

“She doesn’t need any more pain, Lord. Neither does Tony. And I want to live.”

Ruth gathered the long phone cord and stuffed it in the garbage, then shuffled to the door, turned off the light, and listened. Silence. She opened the door and peeked out. No sign of Harry.

She noticed the open bedroom door and gasped. How could she be so careless? All Harry had to do was look that way, and he’d know his prisoner had gone. Hardly daring to breathe, she crept back and closed the door.

Her ankles were killing her, but at least her balance was improving. She stole up behind the couch. Let Harry be there, sleeping. What if he were sitting in the kitchen, in perfect health, waiting for her?

Harry lay sprawled on his back, eyes closed, one foot on the floor. Ruth’s breath came out in a soft puff of relief. His skin was a chalky grey, his forehead beaded with sweat. He shivered and a low moan escaped his pale lips.

Ruth bolted for the kitchen, slipped into her coat and rain boots, and grabbed her purse from where Harry had flung it on top of the fridge.

If he hadn’t thrown away her cell phone, all she’d have to do was hide and phone 9-1-1. Instead, she’d be making her escape the hard way.

She had her hand on the doorknob when she paused. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard after all. What had Harry done with the car key? She glanced around the room. A key ring lay on the counter beside the microwave. She snatched it and darted outside, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Pink streaked the sky as Ruth emerged from the cottage into a world washed clean. The ground was a mat of green, fresh leaves ripped from the trees by the heavy rain. Here and there, the wind had hurled whole branches to the ground.

The sweet, pungent smell of wet forest mingled with the tang of sea air. She inhaled deeply, letting the freshness fill her soul. Thank You, Jesus.

The air was still damp. Ruth shivered, thankful for her coat’s scant protection, and sprinted for the garage. She came around the side of the building and tugged on the door handles. Bracing for a stronger pull, she saw the heavy metal padlock.

Angry tears crowded her eyes. She’d forgotten Harry locked the door. The ring in her hand only had the car key. There must be another key somewhere, but she didn’t dare go back to look.

Just the thought of returning made her heart stumble. She had to get out of here before Harry woke.

Ruth thrust the key ring into her pocket and looped her purse strap over her head and one shoulder so it wouldn’t fall off. She ran along the narrow driveway. Out of sight of the cottage, she slowed to a brisk walk. Who knew how far it was to the main road? In the rain and darkness when they arrived, it seemed like they drove for miles.

The mud-slicked wheel ruts made it hard to keep her footing, but Ruth walked as fast as she could. The lane led through sparse forest, a mixture of hardwood trees and evergreens.

The trees must have been thinned at one time, but now saplings and undergrowth crowded the spaces between their trunks. Not much light reached the forest floor, and the trees grew long and slender in their efforts to reach the sun. Here and there one lay fallen, slowly decomposing under a colourful jacket of lichens and fungus.

Something crashed through the underbrush behind her. Ruth’s heart pounded in her throat. Harry. She bolted down the narrow lane.

Her foot caught a rock in the road and pitched her face-first into the mud. She lay sobbing, waiting for Harry’s rough hand on her shoulder. But there was no shout, no pounding of angry feet. The woods were still except for the ever-growing chorus of birdsong.

Trembling, Ruth picked herself up and looked around. Behind her, in the middle of the lane, stood a doe with a young fawn. They watched her with wide, curious eyes.

Relief surged, followed by an almost hysterical wave of laughter. The mother deer snorted, flipped her white tail, and led her baby bounding through the trees.

Still chuckling, Ruth hurried on. She’d seen how sick Harry was. Even if he woke, he’d never catch her now. A song rose in her heart to match the music of the birds. God had kept her safe after all.

She stooped to wipe her hands on the grassy strip in the middle of the driveway. The streaky effect of the wet grass on her muddy palms and the sharp forest scents reassured her. This was much too clear and ordinary to be a dream. She was free.

A long growl from her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning when Harry raided the cereal containers in the kitchen. She walked a little faster and tried to focus on her surroundings.

There were so many different shades of green in the woods. Water droplets made glistening miniature prisms on the pine needles. The air tasted pure, rain-scrubbed, heavenly after the stale atmosphere in the cottage.

Maybe that’s what made the forest feel so overpoweringly fresh and peaceful. She’d left the fear and hopelessness of captivity behind. Out here, in this wooded lane, was liberty.

The highway couldn’t be too far, but the trees spread out to the left and right as if they extended forever. Around the next bend, the narrow track ended at a wider, better maintained, dirt lane. Ruth’s heart raced. This would lead her to the highway and safety.

She hesitated at the intersection. Surely there’d be help at either end of this road. It had to go somewhere, but what if it led to another cottage owned by Harry’s drug-dealer friends? There must be somebody in the area to get rid of the car once he was gone.

“Lord, You haven’t brought me this far to lose me. Where do I go?” She waited, hoping for an inner nudging to the right or the left. The minutes passed, but no distant sounds of traffic came to her ears. Only the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

She tried to visualize Wednesday night’s drive. Harry had turned left off of the paved road, she was certain. Then another left, but he’d turned a third time. Right or left? The more she tried to force the memory to surface, the deeper it slid.

He’d only stopped the car once, when she made that stupid crack about what his mother would think of him. She couldn’t believe she’d said it. He could have killed her right then and there.

Forget Harry. Ruth shook her head to clear it. This was crazy. She’d better take a chance and start walking instead of waiting here for him to call in reinforcements to find her. He probably had a cell phone.

If God wasn’t giving her any guidance, He must expect her to use her own resources.

Ruth turned right and set a brisk pace along the road, praying to reach the highway. If it led to more cottages, could she guess which one was safe to approach? What if she found the place with Harry’s accomplices?