Chapter Forty-Four

By the time Dix pulled into the Elliotts’ driveway, the sun was just coming up. Her earlier caffeine jolt had long since worn off. Her eyes burned, and acid reflux ate at the lining of her esophagus.

She turned off the engine and studied the house. Although lights shone through the windows on the bottom floor, the early hour meant she’d most likely not receive a warm welcome and offer of coffee and scones. At the thought of what might become a heated exchange, she sucked a deep breath in through her nose then blew it out through puckered lips.

What excuse could she offer for being there? Since the Elliotts had elected to keep quiet about Jillie’s running away, they most likely wouldn’t look kindly on her interference. And the fact that the child had shown true terror when speaking of the dark, soulless woman named Margo meant Dix would have to tread softly.

With few exceptions, she’d never been much use in a confrontation. Had, in fact, always tried to steer clear of it. But like a hologram, images of Jillie’s blistered heels and torn fingernails shimmered onto Dix’s memory-screen.

She interrupted the loop of internal monologue that mocked her pseudo-bravado, exited the car and approached the house. Shoving aside unwelcome images of her body plummeting through the porch’s screeching, groaning planks, she stepped to the front door.

Remnants of the shattered, brown plastic doorbell switch too small for Dix’s finger to press, she knocked. As she did so, hinges squealed, and the door swung open a couple of inches.

She opened the door farther and poked her head through. “Helloooo, anyone home?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

Lights on, door ajar, no one home. The tiny hairs on Dix’s forearms moved as if she’d fallen into a bed of fire ants. Regretting for the umpteenth time her decision not to use the all-night gas station’s phone to call either Lil or Davie, she started back to her car.

She scanned the decrepit place Jillie had so aptly described. Her eyes slid past a small gardening shed then were pulled back. Without making the conscious decision to do so, she walked to the outbuilding and tugged at the lock.

Something shuffled just inside the door.

Dix heard herself croak, “Is someone there?”

She jiggled the doorknob and nearly jumped out of her skin when a tiny voice said, “Is that you, Miss Dixie?”

“Jillie?”

“Please, can you get me out?” The plea was followed by a deluge of words tumbling over each other in a chaotic stream, consistent only in their terror and something about a dead man in a trailer and bones in a toolbox.

Rage flamed from the soles of Dix’s feet and blazed its way like an erupting volcano up her body. “Did those horrible people lock you in here?”

“Please hurry, I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

Dix cast her eyes on the ground around the shed in search of something to use as a tool. “I don’t see anything—”

“Here,” Jillie said. “Try this.”

A long, wooden bar reminiscent of a broom handle shot through a crack in the boarded-up window and landed at Dix’s feet. She picked it up, stepped to the door, and searched for an opening large enough to gain purchase.

“Get ready to squeeze through,” Dix said. “I’m not sure how long I can hold it.”

She jammed the end of the pole into a warped spot between the door and its frame. After several tries, she managed to work it deep enough to bring pressure to bear. With her full weight behind it, she pushed. Her confidence rising with the squeal of tortured wood, she redoubled her efforts. Suddenly, the termite-ridden door jamb pulled away from the surrounding wall, the door still held firmly in place by the U-lock.

Jillie ran out the opening and into Dix’s waiting arms. “We have to call the police.”

“You bet your boots we do,” Dix said. “But first, you and I are going to the hospital to see your sister.”

Jillie’s head jerked up, and she studied Dix’s face. “What?”

“Those people lied to you. Beth’s awake and getting stronger every day.”

“Beth’s alive? She didn’t get burned up?” As if an unimaginable weight had dropped from her shoulders, Jillie swayed; she leaned against the shed for support. “I knew Margo was lying.” She wiped tears from her cheeks as a smile lit up her face. “Can we go see Beth?”

Dix nodded. “Absolutely.”

Jillie took a step toward Dix then stopped, as if something had occurred to her. “Just a minute.” She hurried back into the shed. When she returned, she was wearing her backpack. “You have your phone? We have to call the police, we have to tell them—”

“Tell them what?” Spoken from only a few inches behind Dix, the sudden sound of a young male voice sent her heart rate into the stratosphere.

Dix whipped her head around toward the speaker as the child whimpered and pressed against her.

Between her excitement at finding Jillie and the noise she’d made while forcing the shed door open, she’d obviously not noticed the sound of a returning vehicle. Not her brightest moment.

“Who are you?” The young man cocked his head toward Dix.

“I’m a friend of Jillie’s, and I’m taking her to see her sister.”

“So, you’re the old lady the police are looking for.”

“The police?” Had Lil been so angry she’d called Davie, and then had Davie reported her?

“It was your nephew,” Jillie said. “He came here looking for you.”

The tension in Dix’s neck relaxed a bit. “We’ll call him from the hospital.” She put an arm around Jillie’s shoulders and started toward her car.

“Oh, I think not.” The young man stepped in front of Dix.

“Get out of my way. This child has been through enough.”

“Well, this child and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

Dix gave Jillie’s shoulder a nudge. “Run,” she whispered as she moved to stand between the two.

A pistol suddenly appeared in the young man’s hand, and he pointed it at Dix’s midsection. “Go ahead, Kid, run. But then whatever happens to your granny friend will be on you.”

Jillie cried, “Stop it, Toby, leave her be.”

“I have an idea.” Toby waved the pistol at Dix, motioning for her to walk in front of him. “Let’s take a little road trip. Granny will drive. The more the merrier; many hands make light work, as they say.”

“We’re not going anywhere with you.” Dix lifted her chin. If she could just get a bit closer… It’d been three decades since she’d taken a self-defense course, but surely, she could still…

“Oooo-ho, she’s getting ready to make a move. I’m quaking in my boots.” Toby smiled, a rictus that sent chills up Dix’s spine. “Who do you think you are, Granny Bonecrusher?”

Jillie cleared her throat. “There’s a problem with your plan.”

Toby cocked his head. “Really? And what do you know about my plan?”

Jillie took a step toward Toby. “It’s just some things you don’t know, things I heard the Elliotts talking about.”

“Oh?” Toby’s eyes were riveted on Jillie, but the gun never wavered from Dix’s midsection. “Then why don’t you clue me in.”

As the two talked, Dix began inching toward Toby. With her eyes riveted on him, she failed to sidestep a small twig. The subsequent crack, though tiny, was loud enough to attract the young man’s attention.

Growling, he whipped his head around toward her. “Stop, I’m dead serious.” Toby shifted the pistol until it was aimed at Jillie’s head. “How much are you willing to risk?”

Dix held both hands up. “Okay, okay. Just don’t hurt her.”

Toby smirked. “I don’t want to, I really don’t. But I will if you make me.” He jerked the pistol, motioning Dix and Jillie toward the pickup. “Let’s go. Old Yeller’s gassed up and ready to go.”

Sleep-deprivation, hours of adrenaline-suffused hyper-vigilance, and just plain rage flowed through Dix. With a battle cry that pulsed upward from the soles of her feet, she lunged at Toby and chopped down with the side of her hand, aiming at his wrist.

But the same conditions that had made her fearless, had made her slow. Toby pivoted then brought the pistol down in an arc that ended against Dix’s temple.

Her vision went gray. She took a stumbling step forward and fell to her knees.

Jillie screamed her name, then everything went black.