Brenda unceremoniously yanked the tape from Jemimah’s hands, forced her to stand and pushed her through the kitchen and out the side door. They rushed across the gravel driveway to the pathway running parallel to the first mile of the Garden of the Gods. The morning sun was bright, harsh on unprotected eyes. The crisp air was fragrant with the carmine blooms of the orchid cactus lining the path. Mourning doves perched in a century old cottonwood tree. There wouldn’t be much traffic out this early, especially on a weekend. They weren’t going too far, just up a ways, well into the massive rock formations along the trail. Jemimah was going to commit suicide. What more fitting a place to die than in the Garden of the Gods?
“Move,” Brenda screamed at Jemimah.
“Where are we going?” Although Jemimah had lived there for some time, she hadn’t yet ventured out on the trails running parallel to the highway.
“Don’t worry about that. You keep moving.” Brenda waved the gun at her. “And don’t think you can get away. I have no problem with shooting you in the back.”
“Why did you kill Charlie, Brenda?” Jemimah said. “I thought you loved him.”
“Charlie was a loser. He was incapable of love. He was like a bee, flitting from flower to flower.”
“What were you wishing for, Brenda? Maybe a family? To be like your mother?”
“Keep my mother out of this. I hated that bitch. She couldn’t keep a man happy. Hey, I know what you’re doing. Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.
I’ve been with the best of them.”
“I know. Dr. Garland in Denver,” Jemimah said.
“Keep walking, you nosy bitch. I’ll tell you when to stop,” Brenda poked the pistol into Jemimah’s back.
A mile farther across the low mountainous terrain, they stopped in front of Devil’s Throne, an overhang that stretched over a shallow cave like a huge awning. The walls of the cave were painted in solid dark colors, with Wiccan and anarchy symbols throughout in white and bright red. It resembled a huge mythic altar where maidens were brought to be sacrificed to the gods. Jemimah felt a tinge of terror run through her veins. How could such a dark, ill-omened place exist in the center of so much beauty?
Brenda pushed her toward the back of the overhang. Crude rock-hewn steps wound their way to the top. It was a difficult climb, Brenda constantly poking at her spine with the pistol. Jemimah feared she would become more irritated and just shoot her on the spot. When they finally made it to the top, Jemimah saw a makeshift table made from a long flat rock just ahead. Next to the table was a grotesque assemblage of animal skulls, fur and feathers atop a long wooden pole balanced precariously in its brace. Jemimah assumed the scepter pertained to an ancient occult god worshipped in secret ceremonies held in this huge alcove. Brenda broke into the silence of her thoughts.
“Well, Miss Investigator, this is where you get off. Speak your last request, your prayers for your fellow man, world peace or whatever it is you people pray for. Then you’re going to jump off the edge there, a fitting finale to this drama.” Brenda’s hand swept dramatically across the horizon.
“You can’t get away with this, Brenda. Let me help you out. I can arrange for you to spend time in treatment.”
“I’m not crazy. No way. You want to put me in a mental institution. As soon as I’m done with you, I’ll be taking off. Nobody will ever find me. Now shut up and move.” Brenda continued to jab her back with the weapon.
“What’s this going to accomplish, Brenda, killing one more person?”
“Can’t be any worse punishment for one or five.” Brenda looked at her with disgust. “Move. Just a few more feet. By this time tomorrow you’ll be just another headline in the newspaper.”
Brenda prodded her toward the edge with the barrel of the gun. As they walked past the table, Jemimah suddenly turned and grabbed the wooden scepter. She swung it like a bat at Brenda, knocking her off balance, then scurried down the rocks as the woman scrambled to her feet. She didn’t look back as she ran toward home. To her relief, Brenda was nowhere in sight. She quickened her pace. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the definite ping of a bullet ricocheting off a rock.
Brenda fired wildly, emptying the magazine. She threw the gun down and screamed obscenities. Jemimah could see her ranch up ahead. She knew she might not be able to make it all the way into the house to retrieve her gun and her phone. Out of breath, she crouched behind the small shed attached to the barn. The only visible weapons were a shovel, a pitchfork and a hoe. She knew none of them would be effective against a gun, but she had a feeling Brenda was out of ammo and infinitely more comfortable with a knife. She reached for the shovel, gripping it firmly as she worked her way carefully toward the house.
Jemimah didn’t hear the footsteps as Brenda snuck in behind her. She turned as Brenda raised her arm, clutching the knife, and grabbed her around the neck. Brenda’s strength was fueled by hostility and anger. She pulled Jemimah around like she was a Raggedy Ann doll. Jemimah struggled to pull herself free.
The next ten minutes were a blur. The growling snarl of Jemimah’s dog echoed as she sailed through the air, firmly entrenching her teeth around Brenda’s arm. Brenda screamed. The knife dropped to the floor. Molly’s vice-like jaws held Brenda firmly on the ground. “Get her off me,” Brenda screamed.
The shrill sound of sirens broke around them. Detective Romero and Tim McCabe drove into the driveway and jumped out of the cruiser, pistols drawn. McCabe seized Brenda and held her down as Romero cuffed her and pushed her into the backseat of the vehicle. Jemimah took a deep breath and leaned on the shovel as Rick walked toward her.
“Damn,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“I am now,” she said, bending down to shower her dog with kisses.