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Paralyzed by fear, only her brain continued to function. She just knew that the most venomous spider in Louisiana was either crawling up from the floor or dangling down off the ceiling.
The hell with this.
As soon as she opened the door the wind smacked it shut. She threw her weight against it and tumbled out onto the ground. Gaining a foothold, she started running.
In the waning daylight an out of place figure appeared ahead of her, bringing her to a halt. The silhouette of a woman. Wearing old-fashioned clothes. Dark hair hanging to her waist.
What new hell is this?
The mud had a fierce grip on her shoes, but she managed to get free. Her teeth chattered so hard her mouth hurt. BJ ran, no longer caring which path she was on.
* * *
Jacob had driven part of the way between the house and the highway. Aimed for the wrong side of the road, then stopped. Rain pummeled the roof with a deafening roar. A cigarette dangling from his lips, ashes falling on his leg, he was alert for any unnatural signs of movement.
Refused to turn his head and set eyes on the woods.
Readied himself to take off like a guided missile, the moment she set foot on the road.
Dammit, show yourself. It’s going to be too dark soon.
The longer he waited the more he came to despise her.
He had a hunch she wanted him to think she’s heading for the highway when in reality she’d be running the opposite way, even though the chances of flagging down a cop or a Good Samaritan were better on the highway.
“Right?”
I hate this shit.
He put down his window a little to flick out the cigarette butt. The rain was so much louder out there. He turned the pack upside down, dumping loose tobacco on his wet jeans, and tried to shake out another cigarette before understanding the pack was empty.
Jacob popped open the glove compartment. Something bounced out. He reached down far enough to pick the object up off the floorboard. “Yikes!” Without looking at it he knew what it was just by the shape of the thing. A plastic hair clip.
He held it up. “A red claw-shaped plastic hair clip. Who put this here?”
BJ Donovan?
“Had to be.”
If she knows about Kelly, what else does she know?
“Whoa. Fifteen feet deep.”
Wasn’t that what she said the day I told her about the old well? The well where three boys found a body on the bottom?
He recalled her words: “Fifteen feet deep? Sitting on the edge, perhaps leaning over to grab the bucket to....”
“I am positive I never gave her any dimensions.”
About to pitch the hair clip to the floor, he noticed the clip wasn’t sticky like the one he’d sent to the bottom of the pond. Thinking this clip was brand new only deepened the mystery.
* * *
BJ didn’t understand why she wasn’t hearing highway traffic. Surely she’d run the whole three miles, and surely she should at least be hearing eighteen-wheelers.
Was it really because of the howling wind?
Or were there dark forces at work?
She was too far away from the house to see the roof and chimney. Help wasn’t waiting for her on the highway, either. More than likely, she’d get run over and end up flatter than a flapjack. Motorists wouldn’t be expecting to see anybody on foot in a heavy downpour.
Treading slowly, she did her best not to disturb the Joe Pye. She’d only gone a short distance before she heard an unconnected sound. The steady hum of a car engine. Childhood memories of being scared clouded her mind. On instinct, she sat low to the ground, eyes downcast.
Several minutes passed, leaving her unharmed.
She crawled toward the sound until she was at the last row of weeds separating her and the car. Stretched out flat on her stomach. Digging in with her arms, she pulled herself closer. Three feet from the road, she estimated she was about twenty feet from his rear bumper.
Every few seconds, there was a bright flare of red ash each time he took a drag off a cigarette. He blew smoke out a one-inch gap in his window. BJ could see him, just barely, in the weak lights of the dashboard. It was strange his headlights were off. In an instant she knew why.
The rain chilled her to the bone but she dared not move. Knowing where all the players were, she sorted through the only three choices she had.
One. Make an about-face, run in the opposite direction of the road a little ways, turn right and head to the highway.
Two. Turn left, stay behind the weeds and run headlong to the highway, and flag somebody down. Hope they aren’t so surprised they skid on the wet payment and kill her.
Three. Remain where she was and wait him out. Sooner or later, he’d fall asleep, or give up and go away. He might even run out of gas.
Why is he even here?
A fourth option popped into her head. Go to the house, find a decent hiding place where she’d be warm and dry, and stay there until morning.
She didn’t much care for the last idea. Outside, she’d have a much better chance of running away if he came too close. He clearly intended to harm her.
Before she made up her mind, his door flew open. He put a gun in his hand. Extended his arm high above his head, and fired five shots in rapid succession.
“Where are you, dammit,” he said in a menacing voice.
He drove forward until his taillights were nothing more than a tiny red blip. Made a U-turn, gunned the engine and sped past her, splattering her head with mud.
Shortly after that, there was a loud crash.
Fear seemed to strangle the life out of her. Wind, rain, and thunder were the only sounds. Nightfall had descended so solidly she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.
BJ mentally counted to ninety-nine. Waited for any sounds above and beyond the storm.
“One hundred.”
Keeping her fear at bay, she stepped out onto the road. To her left, the state highway was less than two miles away.
Sweet freedom.
The other way, someone might be hurt. Did she care?
Nearly all her life, other people made her decisions for her. On her own, she often found it difficult to make even the smallest choice.
But in this case, no, she didn’t care if someone was hurt.
She was curious if they were not.
BJ guardedly followed the road to the house with the aid of infrequent bursts of lightning which, thank goodness, hadn’t shown any signs of tapering off. She felt peculiar stumbling in the pitch-blackness. As though she walked through the valley of death? The shadow of evil? Had the missus misinformed her or misread the passages?
Up a little ways, a red light shined dully. It helped orient her in the darkness. A buoy bobbing in the Gulf of Mexico. A beacon. She kept her eyes on it, speeded up.
Almost there, BJ slowed her pace. Proceeded with extreme caution. Duck-waddled along the passenger side of the vehicle. Saw him in the light of the dashboard. The side of his head leaned against the steering wheel. His eyes were closed. Blood rolled off his chin and dripped on his pant leg. His arms hung limp at his sides. He had plowed headlong into the bole of a palm tree.
Is he dead?
She wasn’t sure. Cared even less.
Her stare shifted to the police radio. She swallowed bile rising from the pit of her stomach. Yes, she’d have to get in there beside him if she wanted to call for help.
Her cell phone was in her purse in her car. The handgun was not. Either go to Homer’s grocery store, use their phone to call a cab, and go home where a hot shower and a shot of tequila, that unaged liquid gold she so enjoyed, were waiting for her. Or, go to her car.
If I get my car and head back this way, I’d have to go past him to get to the highway. There’s no other way. And he’d be waiting for me.
“With a gun.”
The sudden crackle and static of the radio took her by surprise.
“Wentzel? Are you there?”
He didn’t move.
“Wentzel?”
The radio went silent.
She jerked the door open, sat down sideways with her feet on the ground, and snatched the microphone off its holder. Jacob lunged at her, pinning her against the headrest. She was shocked and speechless as he thrashed about, determined to get hold of the microphone. She let go of it, shoved him off of her.
Running in the middle of the road, she instinctively dove into the Joe Pye that had protected her so well earlier. Out of breath, she told herself not to give in to the burning sensation in her calves before reaching the highway.
She stopped dead in her tracks.