Vicious

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Allen kept screaming that she was going to die.

Susan ran away from that taunting, angry voice—and toward the abandoned building. She ran until the sound of the old, heavy shades flapping in the wind began to drown him out. The plant’s front door and first-floor windows were boarded up with graffiti-marred plywood. Racing around to the side of the building, she weaved through dead shrubs and litter. The ground floor windows on the side of the building were barricaded, too, but she found one plywood board that was askew. She managed to boost herself up to the broken window and climb inside.

Once inside the dusty, dank building, she took a moment to adjust to the darkness. Susan found herself in a tiny office—with two broken chairs and a pile of trash on the floor. Starting for the office door, she accidentally kicked some old beer bottles and cans. She winced at the thought that Allen might have heard the clattering.

Susan hesitated and listened for a moment. She didn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear anything except the wind howling through the second floor—and those shades banging.

In the narrow corridor, she poked her head into several dark offices—all full of cobwebs and discarded broken furniture. On the floor of one room, she saw two rats crawling around by some trash, and she quickly ducked out to the hallway again.

“Hello?” Susan called softly. “Moira? Can you hear me? I’ve come to get you out of here!”

No response. Then again, Susan was afraid to yell too loudly. She didn’t want to make it any easier for Allen to find her. She wondered if the girl was really here—or if she was dead already. For all she knew, the deputy might have lied to Allen.

Her heart racing, she searched through the maze of offices, going from one gloomy room to another, unsure of what was around each corner. Susan’s voice cracked as she kept calling out to the girl—each time a little louder. She poked her head into an old laboratory. The built-in counters and some archaic equipment were covered with dust. Moths fluttered around the big, unlit room. Against the wall were two large, refrigeration units. One was missing a door; the other still had its door attached, and it was shut. She pulled on the handle, but it didn’t budge.

“Moira?” she called again. “Yell out if you can hear me! Moira—”

Susan fell silent at the sound of a distant, muffled scream. She realized it wasn’t coming from inside the refrigerator unit. “Moira, keep yelling!” she shouted, heading out of the laboratory—then down the dim hallway. “Keep yelling! I’m trying to find you!”

She listened to the girl’s stifled cries and realized she was getting closer to her. The garbled whimpering became louder—and more frantic. It sounded like she was trying to scream past a gag in her mouth.

Susan kept wondering about Allen. Why hadn’t she heard his footsteps? Had he already found a way inside the building? For all she knew, the deputy might have told Allen exactly where to find the girl, and Allen was with Moira now—waiting for his unwitting fiancée to come to him.

Susan noticed a leg from a broken table on the floor, and swiped it up. It was about the size of a baseball bat.

She could still hear the girl’s muted screaming. She followed the sound—to a larger office at the end of the hall. With the table leg ready, she poked her head into the room. She didn’t see anyone and almost moved on. But then she noticed an old chair wedged against the door to a closet or a connecting room. She moved toward the door and heard Moira’s stifled cries on the other side of it.

Pushing the chair away, Susan opened the door. She found Moira curled up on the closet floor in just a torn shirt and panties. The teenager was shaking violently. It looked like her arms had been tied behind her, and she was pushed up against a pipe that ran from the floor to the ceiling. Moira tried to talk past a rolled-up rag stuffed in her mouth.

“It’s okay, I’m going to get you out of here,” Susan said, reaching for the gag.

As she pulled it out of Moira’s mouth, the girl gasped. “Oh, God…thank you…thank you…” Then she started coughing. Susan tried to help her to her feet, but Moira shook her head. She turned away from Susan to show that her hands were handcuffed around the pipe.

“Oh, Jesus,” Susan murmured. She tugged at the handcuffs. “Okay, listen, I’m going to look for something to free you up from these damn things. Just hold on.”

Moira let out a weak laugh. “I ain’t going anywhere….”

The table leg clutched tightly in her fist, Susan headed down the shadowy corridor until she spotted an old fire box with a broken alarm, a coiled hose—and peeking out behind it, an ax. The glass on the firebox door was cracked. Susan struggled to open it up. She finally dropped the table leg and pulled at the door with both hands. When it finally gave, a shard of glass fell off and shattered on the floor.

“Are you still there?” Moira called weakly.

“Yes, that was me!” Susan replied. She pushed the coiled hose aside and reached for the ax stashed behind it.

The thing was heavy and awkward to carry, but the blade still looked sharp. Susan ran back down the corridor with it. Ducking into the office, she hurried to the closet where Moira had managed to stand up. She was leaning to one side, putting all her weight on one foot. When she saw Susan with the ax, a look of horror swept over her face. “My God,” she gasped. “I thought you were going to get a bobby pin or something to trip the lock.” She started coughing again and shook her head at Susan.

“Listen, I don’t know a thing about picking a lock,” Susan admitted. “But my aim’s pretty good. Okay?”

Moira winced at her. “I don’t know—”

Susan hesitated. But then she heard the rattle of bottles and cans in another part of the building. She realized Allen had found his way into the plant.

Moira must have heard it, too, because suddenly she nodded several times and turned her body away from the pipe. Susan adjusted the girl’s hands so the inch-long chain between the cuffs was vertical and taut against the pipe.

All the while, she listened to the footsteps of someone running in the hallway.

“You—you were at the general store yesterday, weren’t you?” Moira asked nervously.

“Yes, my name’s Susan. Now, I need you to keep very still.”

“Don’t you have a little boy?”

“Yes. The woman at the store is looking after him right now—I hope.” Susan took a deep breath, then lifted the ax.

“You were talking to my friend, Jordan. I think he’s got a crush on you….”

Susan didn’t want to tell her that her friend was dead. “Moira, I need you to be quiet,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry. I talk a lot when I get nervous. I’ll shut up.”

In the silence between them, Susan could hear the footsteps in the corridor getting louder—and closer. She swallowed hard and swung the ax. Moira let out a startled yelp as it hit the chain. The pipe made a loud, hollow, bang. But the handcuffs’ steel links were intact. “Do it again,” Moira said under her breath. Her hands were shaking.

In the dark little closet, Susan felt lucky she hadn’t chopped off one of the poor girl’s arms on that first try. But she hauled back and swung the ax again. There was another clatter that echoed from the pipe. Susan barely waited a beat before giving the ax a third swing. At last, the handcuffs’ chain snapped. Moira let out a grateful cry and leaned against the wall. She rubbed her arms.

Susan figured the sound of that ax hitting the pipe had reverberated through the whole building. She paused, but couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore. She wondered if he was just outside the office door, waiting for them.

“Thank you,” Moira whispered. “Thank you, Susan.”

Draping her cardigan over Moira’s shoulders, she grabbed the ax and started to lead her out of the closet. The girl could hardly walk. “I—I think I sprained something,” Moira explained. “I’m sorry I can’t move very fast.”

Susan glanced down at the girl’s swollen, discolored ankle. “Looks like a bad sprain,” she whispered. “Just lean on me, okay?” Susan held her up with one hand and clung onto the ax with the other. Before they stepped out to the hallway, she paused, put her finger to her lips, and then left Moira leaning against the wall. With the ax ready, Susan peeked into the corridor. She didn’t see anyone, just the shadowy hallway and the office doorways.

She ducked back into the office and nodded at Moira. The girl grabbed hold of her shoulder, and together they started down the gloomy corridor. They moved past the open doors to several dark offices. Susan was terrified that Allen could be lurking in any one of them.

“This guy, he’s a cop—he’s the one who did this to me,” Moira started to explain.

Susan shushed her, then nodded. “I know, I know,” she whispered. She’d lost track of which office window she’d used to enter the building. She couldn’t stop trembling—and neither could the girl. They passed the old laboratory and turned down another corridor.

She spotted a very faint light coming through one doorway near the far end of the hall. Susan bypassed the other offices and hurried toward it. Moira hobbled alongside her. Stepping into the room, Moira accidentally kicked some old bottles. They both hesitated for a moment. Susan wondered if Allen was close by, listening to them. There was a reason those footsteps had stopped. He was hiding.

She saw a shaft of moonlight pouring through an opening in the broken window where the plywood board was askew. She peeked out the window to make certain he wasn’t waiting for them there. Holding the plywood board back, she helped Moira through the opening to the ground below. She lowered the ax down to the girl and then climbed out after her.

They crept alongside the building, toward the old parking lot. Susan kept thinking that any minute now, Allen would come up and grab one of them from behind. She saw the Toyota ahead and reached for the car keys in her pocket. All the while, Moira clung to her, and Susan clung to the ax.

She noticed the drops of blood around the passenger door as she opened it for Moira. Then she checked the backseat to make sure Allen wasn’t hiding in there. “Lock it!” she said, once Moira shut the car door.

Susan glanced at the tires. There was nothing wedged beneath any of them to give her a flat. The back tires looked a bit low, but seemed okay. Opening the driver’s door, she quickly stashed the ax in the backseat. As she climbed behind the wheel, she saw blood on the dashboard.

“What is that?” Moira asked, staring at it, too.

Susan shut her door, locked it, and then put the key in the ignition. Giving it a turn, she prayed the car would start. The engine let out a roar—and that rattling noise started, too. Starting up the driveway, she glanced in the rearview mirror at the dark, abandoned building. She didn’t see anyone. There was no sign of Allen.

“What is this?” Moira asked again, nodding at the blood on the dash.

Susan’s heart was still racing. But she started to catch her breath. She glanced at the dark red spots and smears on the dashboard. “I had a disagreement with my fiancé,” she said.

Susan hadn’t noticed that the same kind of markings were on the hood of the trunk. It didn’t dawn on her why the rear tires were riding low. Nor did she realize the trunk was propped open—only a sliver.

It was just enough for him to breathe a little easier.

Rosie heard the bell tinkle over the door. On a dead night like tonight, it usually gave her the willies when someone wandered into the store three minutes before closing. That was what had happened one evening six years ago, and the guy had held her up at gunpoint.

But tonight she was expecting Susan Blanchette’s fiancé or Deputy Shaffer to come pick up Mattie. With a groan, she pulled herself off the play-area floor mat, where she’d been supervising Susan’s son on the mini jungle gym. “Howdy!” Rosie called, not sure yet to whom she was talking. She waddled around from behind the counter and saw Tom Collins coming up the soup and canned foods aisle.

“Hey, Rosie,” he said. “How’s it going?”

Mattie jumped off the pint-sized jungle gym and scurried in front of her, almost tripping her. “Hi, Tom!” he said, looking up at him.

Tom stopped and smiled at Susan’s son. “Well, hi, Matthew Blanchette,” he said. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s running Aaron,” Mattie replied. “I’m going to ride in a police car!”

“Well, how about that?” Tom gave Rosie a puzzled look.

She mussed Mattie’s hair. “Sweetheart, why don’t you put the toys away, and maybe old Rosie will give you a treat for being such a good boy.” She waited until Mattie hurried to the play area.

“What going on?” Tom whispered. “Is Susan okay?”

“She swung by a little while ago and said she had to run an errand,” Rosie explained in a hushed tone. “She was only supposed to be a few minutes. Well, after an hour, I started to panic, and I called the police. But it turns out everything’s all right. See, her fiancé’s been missing since noon—”

“I know,” Tom nodded. “She came by my place this afternoon, looking for him. We had lemonade.”

“Lemonade, huh?” Rosie gave him a knowing smile. “Well, honey, from the smitten look on your face, I hate to tell you this, but that pretty lady found her man. They’re staying at the old Syms house on Birch. She’s there right now with him. I’m expecting him or Deputy Shaffer to come pick up Mattie. One of them is supposed to be here any minute. I think Mattie’s hoping for the deputy. He wants to ride in the police car.”

Tom frowned at her.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked.

He sighed. “Well, for starters, I just came from the house on Birch, and nobody’s home.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I was worried about her. I was there nearly two hours ago. She told me she was checking into one of the hotels in town tonight. But I just tried both hotels, and she’s not registered at either of them. So I swung by the house on Birch again, and nobody’s home.” His eyes narrowed at her. “Who told you she was there?”

“Nancy at the police station told me,” Rosie said, shrugging. “At least, that’s the skinny she got from Corey Shaffer.”

Tom wandered toward the counter and leaned against it. “Let me ask you something. Does Susan strike you as the kind of mother who would unload her child on you way longer than she said she would—and then not come by to apologize or explain? Instead, she sits on her ass in her rental house and sends a cop to come pick him up?”

Rosie slowly shook her head. “No, sir, she doesn’t strike me as that kind of mom at all. And you say the house is empty?”

Tom nodded.

“Well, why the heck would the deputy sell me that bill of goods?”

“I’m not sure,” Tom muttered. “I know he represents the law around here, but I’ve always had a bad feeling about Corey—ever since when he was a kid and my mother told me he killed a cat in his backyard with a lawnmower.”

“I’ve heard that story, too,” Rosie said grimly.

“I don’t trust the guy. Where’s Sheriff Fischer tonight?”

“With his Missuz on Whidbey Island,” she answered.

“Something screwy is going on here,” Tom said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe this is jumping the gun, but do you mind if I use your phone to call the county sheriff in Anacortes?”

Rosie stared at him for a moment, and then she nodded. “Honey, I’ll even dial the number for you.”

“Oh, God, no,” Susan groaned.

The headlights of her Toyota illuminated two big cement barriers at the end of the abandoned plant’s driveway. They totally blocked any motor vehicle access to the road.

For the last five minutes, Moira had been describing what had happened to her—from getting lost in the woods to falling into a pit to being locked in a janitor’s closet. She’d mentioned twice that her friends were probably worried about her. Susan didn’t have the heart to tell her that both her friends were probably dead. She didn’t need the poor girl to get hysterical on her, not now.

“What is this?” Moira said. Staring at the barricades, she clutched Susan’s sweater around her. The dashboard light exposed her panicked look. “What is this?” she repeated.

“I’m afraid this is us having to turn around,” Susan muttered.

As she pulled a U-turn, Susan dreaded the notion of heading back toward the deserted plant. They’d just narrowly escaped from there. Allen was probably sprinting up this same neglected, old driveway. Any minute now, she expected to catch him in her headlights.

“Listen, Moira, there’s a gap in the fence on your side,” she explained. The car’s rattling became louder as she picked up speed. “It’s the way we came in here. If I was smart I would have gone out that way, too. It should be coming up soon. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Moira nervously peered out her window. Meanwhile, Susan watched out for potholes, rocks, and the little shrubs that had grown through holes and cracks in the road. She kept a lookout for Allen, too.

“I see it!” Moira announced, pointing to an opening in the chain-link fence on their right.

Slowing the car down to a crawl, Susan veered off the driveway and headed toward the gap in the fence. The ride over the rugged trail jostled them. As they hit a big bump at the fence line, the car suddenly buckled and tilted to one side.

“Oh, God, no,” Susan said for the second time in five minutes. She tried to accelerate, but the Toyota didn’t move. Past the constant rattle, Susan heard one of the tires spinning.

“Christ, this is a goddamn nightmare,” Moira muttered.

“Can you work the accelerator pedal with your sore foot?” Susan asked her.

Moira nodded. “I can try.”

“I’ll get out and push.” Susan stepped out of the car. Its headlights illuminated the trail winding through the darkened forest. Staring toward the back of the car, Susan glanced at the driveway on the other side of the fence—bathed in the red glow of her taillights. There was no sign of Allen.

Biting her lip, she studied the rear tire on the driver’s side. It was stuck in a small, mud-filled crater. “Okay, give me a minute. I think we can get out of here,” she announced.

Moira was hobbling around the front of the car. She ducked behind the wheel.

Susan quickly gathered up some fallen branches and wedged them in front of the tire. As she moved to the back of the car, she noticed some blood smeared by the trunk lock. Then she could see the trunk was open—just an inch.

All at once, the lid sprung up.

Recoiling, Susan let out a shriek. Allen scrambled out of the trunk and charged toward her. The car lurched forward. He looked like a madman. The side of his face was covered with blood. It ran down his neck and stained the shoulder of his tight white T-shirt. He drew back his fist and punched her in the face.

Susan flew back and slammed into a tree. Dazed, she crumpled to the ground.

She heard Moira screaming. She blinked and helplessly watched as Allen swiveled around and dragged the girl out of the driver’s seat. The car rolled forward again. He noticed the ax in the backseat and grabbed it. Moira was crying and shrieking in pain at every step he forced her to take on her swollen ankle. With one hand, Allen grabbed her by her short, pixie-style hair. His other hand held the ax blade to Moira’s throat.

Susan managed to get to her feet, but she clung to the tree to keep from falling again. The whole side of her face was throbbing. A high-pitched ringing assaulted her left ear. She numbly gazed at Allen.

Tears were streaming down Moira’s face. “Oh, God, please,” she cried. “No, don’t….”

“Shut up!” he growled. Still holding her by the hair, he gave Moira’s head a shake.

Moira took one last gasp, then stood there, wincing and trembling.

Allen glowered at Susan. “Get in the car,” he hissed. “You’re driving us to the cabin on Cedar Crest Way. The two of us will sit in back.” He pressed the ax handle to Moira’s throat and cracked a tiny smile. “Oh, and, Susan, mind the bumps.”

As the deputy dragged him into the cabin’s front hallway, Leo noticed the stairway’s broken banister. Amid the splintered and broken pieces of wood, he saw a trail of blood on the beige carpet. The crimson path started at the bottom of the stairs and led into the kitchen.

Leo realized Jordan must have been shot on the stairs and that his body was moved into the kitchen or the basement. His heart sunk, and tears welled in his eyes. He tried to struggle as the deputy hauled him farther into the cabin, but he was still too dazed and weak.

“What the hell?” the deputy murmured. He dropped Leo in a heap on the hallway floor and then followed the blood trail toward the kitchen. “Shit, I should have put a bullet in his brain. Little bastard, where the fuck are you?”

Leo felt a surge of hope. Maybe his friend had been wounded and somehow escaped.

Pulling out his gun, Shaffer stepped into the kitchen. He called for Jordan in a soft, mocking voice. “C’mon, kid, show your face…. Give me your best shot….”

Unable to stand, Leo crawled toward the front door. His head was spinning. He kept thinking, if only he could get outside and hide someplace in the woods. Maybe that was where Jordan was now. He heard the deputy’s footsteps on the basement stairs.

The front door squeaked as Leo tugged it open. On all fours, he crept out to the front stoop. He managed to get to his feet and stagger a few steps before he fell to the ground. He didn’t have any equilibrium. He started crawling again.

“Jordan?” he called in a hushed voice. No answer. Leo blinked a few times and tried to focus on the patrol car.

A shot rang out from within the house. “Little shit!” Shaffer bellowed.

Leo wasn’t sure if the deputy had been shot—or if he’d just gunned down Jordan. Maybe he’d merely been spooked and, in a panic, fired his weapon.

Struggling to his feet again, Leo managed to lurch to the patrol car. He opened the front door and flopped across the seat. He tried to figure out how to use the radio. Fiddling with the switches and buttons, he heard a muffled voice through the static. Leo wasn’t sure if he’d reached someone, but he pressed the button on the mike and whispered into it: “Is anybody there? Can anyone hear me? I’ve been assaulted by this deputy….” Leo paused and released the button. All he heard was static. He pressed the button on the mike again. “This deputy—his name’s Shaffer. He—he’s a murderer. He’s got a gun. I think he killed my friend, Jordan Prewitt. I’m at the Prewitt cabin in…in…in Cullen. Can you hear me? Please, send help….”

He released the button on the microphone and heard someone responding through the static, but the words were indistinguishable. Leo glanced back at the cabin and saw the deputy standing in the front doorway.

Panic-stricken, Leo looked around the patrol car for something he could use to defend himself. But there was nothing. He scurried out of the vehicle and left the car door open as he made a run for the woods bordering the driveway. He only made it a short way from the car before his legs stopped working and he stumbled again. He hit the gravel hard and got the wind knocked out of him.

Leo blinked and saw the deputy stomping toward him, his gun drawn.

Leo desperately crawled toward the forest, grabbing at thin tree branches, or stones—anything he could use to throw at the cop. He hurled whatever he could find at him, but kept missing.

The deputy descended on him. His swaggering stride only seemed more determined as he got closer.

Crawling toward the edge of the woods, Leo felt something stab his hand. He glanced at his bleeding palm—and then at a strange metal contraption that looked like the head of a rake.

“Where do you think you’re going, asshole?” he heard Shaffer ask.

Leo twisted around and gazed up at the cop. He shook his head. “No, please, wait….”

The deputy aimed his gun at Leo’s face. But then something in the woods caught Shaffer’s attention, and he glanced away for a moment.

Leo quickly grabbed the pronged metal contraption, pushed himself off the ground, and swung it at the deputy’s head. He knocked off his police cap.

He heard the gun go off, a resounding bang. Then Leo felt a sharp, burning pain in the side of his stomach.

Stunned, Deputy Shaffer stared down at him with his mouth open. The spiked metal piece stuck to his left temple. Blood leaked from the side of his blond head and down his neck. His eyes started to roll back.

Leo watched the deputy hit the ground with a thud.

After a moment, Leo’s vision started to blur again. He felt a horrible, searing pain in his side. The rest of his body felt so cold. He turned toward the woods—where the cop must have seen something earlier. Through the trees, he thought he saw someone.

Then everything went black.

She kept glancing at them in her rearview mirror.

Crammed in the back with Mattie’s child seat, Allen practically held Moira in his lap. One arm slung around her shoulder, he pulled her in close while pressing the ax blade to her throat. Tears glistened on Moira’s face, and every few moments, she let out a terrified whimper. She was shaking uncontrollably.

At one point, Susan had heard him say under his breath to the girl. “I heard you were pretty, Moira. But I didn’t know just how pretty until now.”

Moira said nothing. She just closed her eyes and grimaced.

Navigating the dirt road ahead, Susan remained quiet, too. The Toyota’s constant rattle did nothing to alleviate the tense silence inside the car.

As she merged onto Carroll Creek Road, Susan reached for her turn indicator, but then she realized it was on the car floor some place. The thin metal rod was hardly a match for the ax Allen wielded. But at least it was something. With a tight grip on the steering wheel, Susan glanced around the car floor for it. She started to feel gravel under the tires and looked up in time to see she was veering off the road.

Allen jabbed her shoulder. “Eyes on the road, goddamn it.”

She steered back into her lane, but still felt him hovering behind her. She glanced in the rearview mirror, and their eyes met.

“I look pretty beat up, don’t I?” he asked. “Do I look like I’ve been in a boating accident?”

Susan said nothing.

“Because that’s how it’s going to look for you, too, bitch,” he whispered. “And to think, I used to like you.” Then he sat back again and pulled Moira closer to him.

As they passed Jordan’s abandoned Honda Civic on the roadside, Susan glanced in the rearview mirror to see if Moira had noticed it, too. She saw the girl’s eyes widen. “That—that was Jordan’s car,” she murmured, baffled. “What—what’s happened?” She started to squirm—until Allen grabbed her by the hair again and snapped her head back.

“You’ll see him soon enough,” he growled.

Trembling, Moira didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride—not even when he pressed the side of his face against hers. His blood smeared her cheek. She didn’t try to move away. She just winced and sat very still.

Susan turned down Cedar Crest Way. Taking a curve in the tree-lined road, she spotted the police car in the driveway ahead. The driver’s door was open, and the interior light was on.

“Stop the car,” Allen said.

Susan stepped on the brake. Glancing at the floor again, she searched for the metal rod but couldn’t see it anywhere.

“Shut off the motor, and hand me the keys,” he commanded.

Wordlessly, she obeyed him.

“You get out first,” he said. “We’ll be right behind you.”

Susan took one last glance toward the front passenger side, but still didn’t spot the indicator handle. Reluctantly opening the door, she stepped outside. She couldn’t see the front of the house from where she stood. But as she took a few steps up the drive, Susan saw something else—and it made her stop dead.

Not far from the squad car’s open door, on the edge of the driveway, Deputy Shaffer was lying on his side. His police cap had been knocked off. The pronged contraption Susan had noticed earlier was now wedged between the side of Shaffer’s head and the gravel.

A hand over her heart, Susan took another step closer.

The police car’s interior light illuminated the pool of blood around Deputy Shaffer’s head—and the startled look in his open eyes. A fly landed on his cheek, grazed around for a moment, then flew away. Shaffer didn’t move.

She heard Allen and Moira behind her, climbing out of the car. Susan jumped at the sound of the car door slamming. She glanced over toward the cabin. The lights were off, but she could see the two young men on the front stoop. One of them was half sitting, slumped against the door. He had his arm around his friend’s prone body. With their faces in the shadows, Susan couldn’t tell which boy was sitting and which was lying there, but neither one of them was moving. It appeared as if the one boy had tried to pull his friend’s body into the house before he’d given up and died. Or was he breathing? Susan couldn’t tell. It looked like he had a gun in his hand. She stood there frozen.

“What the fuck happened here?” she heard Allen mutter.

She knew he’d just spotted the deputy’s body. Susan swiveled around to face him.

Dumbfounded, Allen gazed down at Shaffer’s corpse. He still had Moira by the hair and the ax blade against her throat.

Susan shook her head at him. “You don’t have to do this now, Allen, not anymore. He’s dead. He has no power over you. You no longer have to do what he says. You can just turn around and drive away….”

Moira started to struggle, but it was in vain. His grip on her didn’t slacken.

“I can’t have any witnesses,” he muttered. “And there’s a matter of payback for what those two pricks did to me this afternoon. One of them is still alive.”

“No—no, they’re both dead.” Susan pointed to the two bodies by the front door. She started backing up toward the cabin. “They’re both dead. No one holds anything over you now. You can just drive away, Allen. Please, let her be….”

At the news that her friends were dead, Moira let out an anguished cry. “Oh, God, no…” She tried to wrench free from Allen. The ax blade nicked the side of her neck, but she didn’t seem to notice. She sobbed hysterically.

Allen took in the scene by the front door. Then he smiled a little and turned to Susan. “I can’t have any witnesses,” he said loudly—over Moira’s weeping. “None at all…”

Susan kept shaking her head over and over. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the boys by the front stoop again.

The one with the gun in his hand was moving.

Cradling his friend in his arms, he leaned against the front door and watched Meeker’s fiancée. Her back to him, Susan Blanchette kept stepping into his line of vision, blocking his view of Meeker and Moira. But he could hear Meeker’s voice, so close.

Jordan had the deputy’s gun in his hand.

He glanced at his leg—and at all the blood around the tear in his jeans, where the bone stuck out below his knee.

It had happened after the deputy shot at him—twice. One bullet had grazed his shoulder; the second had hit him in the gut. He fell down the stairs and broke through the banister. Jordan remained on the living room floor, keeping perfectly still—despite the horrible pain. He didn’t even move when Meeker kicked him in his side. The bastard probably fractured a couple of his ribs. He knew he’d wrecked the hell out of his leg during that fall, too. Jordan had no idea just how bad it was. He couldn’t look at it, not while they were standing right next to him.

He didn’t move a muscle. Fortunately, they didn’t stay there long. The deputy heard someone outside. “I have a feeling that’s your intended, Allen,” Shaffer said.

Jordan had waited until after they left and he had heard the cop car peeling out of the driveway. Then he crawled into the kitchen, grabbed a dish towel, and clutched it to his stomach. With a Kiss the Cook apron, he made a tourniquet for his leg. He stared at that bone jutting out and cringed. He tried to tell himself he’d seen worse in one of his lacrosse games, but he really couldn’t remember anything quite this gory.

He hobbled out the back door, around the cabin, and past the driveway, bracing himself against the side of the house or trees, anything he could grab to keep from keeling over. If he could reach the road, he might flag down a passing car—on the off-off chance someone drove by. He staggered through the woods on the other side of the driveway.

Jordan had just reached Carroll Creek Road when he spotted the deputy’s patrol car approaching. He ducked back into the bushes and watched the prowler pull into his driveway. It disappeared behind the trees.

Jordan thought he might pass out from the pain and exhaustion, but he hobbled through the woodlands—all the way back toward the cabin again. He heard a car door slam, then Shaffer’s voice in the distance. But he couldn’t make out what the deputy was saying. He heard the cabin door open and shut—and then nothing for at least two or three minutes. Jordan kept hobbling through the shadowy woods until he started to see the cabin through the trees again.

Then he heard Leo softly calling out to him.

Jordan was so stunned and elated, he forgot about his leg for a second. He moved toward the sound of his friend’s voice and immediately felt a horrible pain shooting up from his knee. Falling down on the forest floor, he let out a groan. He was about to call back to Leo when he heard a gunshot from within the cabin.

Jordan dragged himself through the woods toward the driveway. Helplessly he watched Leo, by the patrol car, trying to fend off the deputy. Panic-stricken, Jordan struggled to his feet. Twigs snapped beneath him. He saw the cop standing over Leo with the gun.

For a split second, the deputy glanced his way. Their eyes met.

That was when Leo hit the cop in the head with the pronged device. The gun went off with a startling bang. The blond deputy teetered there for a moment, looking baffled. Then he collapsed onto the gravel driveway.

Hopping on one foot, Jordan made his way to his friend. At first, he thought Leo was dead. But then he saw his buddy was breathing. It looked like Leo had been shot in the abdomen, almost the same place where the deputy had put a bullet in him—only with Leo’s wound there was a lot more blood. A crimson stain bloomed on his shirt, and it alarmed Jordan to feel how cold Leo was.

Taking the dish towel away from his own stomach wound, Jordan pressed a part not soaked with blood against the bullet hole in Leo’s shirt. His bloodstained hands were shaking, and he started to cry. He kissed Leo on the forehead. “Hang in there, buddy, okay?” he murmured.

Dragging himself over to the deputy, he took the dead cop’s gun and his car keys. He stashed the gun in the back of his jeans, under his shirttail. Then he managed to crawl back to the patrol car and tried to radio for an ambulance. “Two people have been shot at number one Cedar Crest Way in Cullen,” Jordan gasped into the mike. “It’s right off Carroll Creek. Another person’s dead. But two of us are badly wounded. We need an ambulance right away.” His voice started to crack. “Please, hurry, for God’s sake, my friend’s looking really bad….”

All he got for an answer was a distant voice through the static. Jordan couldn’t make out what they were saying. He knew Cullen pretty well, and the nearest hospital was in Mount Vernon, about twenty-five minutes away. He wondered if he might be able to drive that far. No, not a chance. He couldn’t operate the pedals with his broken leg. The bullet in his gut wasn’t helping either.

Frustrated, Jordan wiped the tears from his eyes and tried the police radio one more time. He glanced down at his pal. Leo’s breathing seemed to be getting shallow. All Jordan could think to do was get him inside the house, give him some water, and try to stop the bleeding.

He left the door open as he climbed out of the cop car. Grabbing Leo underneath the arms, he began dragging him across the lawn toward the front door. He couldn’t get to his feet or bend his bum leg. So he crawled most of the way, with Leo’s limp body on top of his. Jordan felt the gun barrel digging into his tailbone. Cold sweat poured off him. He was so depleted, but he pressed on toward the cabin. He listened to his friend’s breathing. It was like a death rattle.

On the front stoop, Jordan felt himself starting to black out.

He’d paused there and caught his breath. Just then, he heard another car approaching. He knew it wasn’t a cop or an ambulance because there would have been a siren. Instead, he heard gravel under tires, a rattling noise, and then quiet. Two car doors opened and shut.

He saw Allen Meeker’s fiancée approaching the dead cop. Then he heard Meeker’s voice: “What the fuck happened here?”

That was when Jordan reached back for the gun.

He heard Susan Blanchette begging the son of a bitch to spare Moira and drive away. She pointed to Leo and him. “They’re both dead,” she said. “No one holds anything over you now. You can just drive away, Allen. Please, let her be….”

He only glimpsed Meeker for a few seconds. His face was bleeding. He had Moira by the hair and held an ax blade to her throat. He kept saying he didn’t want any witnesses. Moira was screaming and crying.

Jordan was about to raise the gun and fire. But he was too far away and didn’t want to risk shooting Moira. Just when he thought he had Allen Meeker in his sights, Susan would move between them, blocking the way. It was almost as if she were doing it on purpose.

Stepping back toward the cabin’s front door, Susan glanced over her shoulder again. Now she could see the boy with the gun was Jordan, and he was alive. But she couldn’t let Allen see that. So she kept obstructing his line of vision by placing herself between Allen and the boys.

The more she pulled back, the closer she drew Allen toward the young man whose mother he’d murdered. And that young man had a gun. Susan just hoped his aim was good.

Allen still had Moira in his grasp.

“You can’t kill her, Allen,” Susan said, taking another step back. “Not yet. If you do, then you’ll never get a description of Deputy Shaffer’s partner. He’ll always be hounding you….”

“What are you talking about?” Allen grumbled.

“Moira told me—after I found her in that old warehouse,” Susan continued. “She said that two men abducted her.”

“Shaffer never mentioned a partner in any of his e-mails or letters,” Allen said, eyes narrowed at her. “He didn’t say anything today about it either. You’re lying….”

“No, she’s not!” Moira insisted, her voice shrill. “There were two of them—a good-looking cop, and th-th-the other one’s an older guy with red hair. He breathes funny. I think he’s got asthma or something….”

That a girl, Susan thought. Moira was going along with the whole fabrication—and it was buying them time.

“Lying bitches, the both of you,” Allen grumbled.

Susan furtively glanced over her shoulder. She was close enough to see the gun in Jordan’s trembling hand.

She turned to look at Allen. “We’re telling the truth,” she said, clutching her fist against her chest. “On our way to the car, Moira asked me, ‘Who is Allen Meeker?’ She said the two kidnappers were talking about you. This other man knows who you are….”

Allen yanked Moira’s head back. “Did you get the other guy’s name?”

“I think—I think the cop called him Jake,” she answered, trembling. “They kept talking about you….”

Susan took one more step back and then snuck another glance at Jordan. She saw him raising the gun and the determined look in his eyes.

Then she moved aside.

Jordan suddenly had him in his sights. He was so close.

But Meeker still held Moira in front of him. “Jake who?” he asked, screaming in Moira’s ear. “Did you get his last name? What did they say about me? Tell me, goddamn it….”

Beyond the yelling, Jordan heard something else—the distant wail of a police siren. Meeker must have heard it, too, because he suddenly shut up and glanced toward the driveway.

All at once, Moira let out a shriek. She elbowed him in the face and broke away. She faltered as she tried to run. But Susan rushed forward and pulled her up.

Meeker was only momentarily stunned. He hadn’t even dropped the ax. He gave his head a little shake and then started after them.

Holding up the crippled Moira, Susan tried to retreat toward the house. But they were too slow. Moira couldn’t run. Meeker was just a few paces behind them—with the ax raised.

“Do it!” Susan shouted.

Jordan realized she was talking to him. He squirmed out from beneath his friend’s dead weight. The gun wavered in his trembling hand.

Meeker suddenly seemed to realize who Susan was talking to as well. He stopped in his tracks, turned toward Jordan, and blinked.

Their eyes met.

Jordan aimed the gun at his mother’s killer and squeezed the trigger. A loud shot rang out, and Jordan felt an electric-like jolt surge up his arm.

But Allen Meeker was still standing, still gaping at him.

Jordan dragged himself across the ground. He tried to keep the gun pointed at Meeker. He had to get closer. For a moment, he was in that kayak again, an eight-year-old boy rowing frantically, desperate to reach his mother and ward off her attacker.

He gazed at that same man now. Jordan felt as if he were about to pass out from the exhaustion and pain, but he kept crawling toward him.

Meeker lunged forward and grabbed Susan’s arm. He wrenched her away from Moira, who cried out and helplessly collapsed on the ground. Meeker twisted Susan’s arm behind her back. She shrieked in pain, but didn’t acquiesce. She kept struggling. “Jordan, help!”

It was his mother’s voice he heard.

And it was his mother’s murderer now turning to look at him as he was about to kill again.

Jordan fired the gun once more.

He hit the son of a bitch in the neck. Allen Meeker gasped, and the ax dropped out of his hand. Susan broke free from him and rushed toward Moira.

Clutching his throat, Meeker grimaced as blood oozed between his fingers. He seemed to be choking. A look of astonishment passed across his face—as if he’d never imagined he could have been stopped by one of his victim’s sons.

Jordan watched Meeker fall to his knees. He flopped forward, and he hit the ground, face-first. A spasm convulsed his body for a moment; then he was utterly, perfectly still.

Mama’s Boy was dead.

Jordan had waited ten years to see that.

Past the sound of a siren in the distance, he heard something else. It was his mother reassuring him. It’s okay, kiddo, she was saying. It’s all over. You can finally rest now….

Then everything went out of focus. He squinted up at Moira and Susan as they hobbled toward him. He looked back at Leo, still slumped over the front stoop. His friend was just a blur. Jordan dragged himself over to him and took him in his arms. Leo was still breathing, he could tell that much. Then Jordan felt himself slipping away.

It wasn’t just one siren. There were several.

The state police cars and ambulances pulled up the driveway on Cedar Crest Way, behind the deputy’s car and Susan’s old Toyota. The front of the Prewitt cabin was suddenly bathed in a swirling red light. But Susan and Moira weren’t looking at all the emergency vehicles descending on the remote cottage. They were more concerned about the two wounded young men sprawled across the cabin’s front stoop. Susan held Moira up, and the girl hobbled alongside her as they approached the door.

Jordan held Leo in his arms. He started to list toward one side, and his head tipped back against the door. The gun he’d used to shoot Mama’s Boy fell out of his hand.

Susan couldn’t tell whether or not he was alive.

But she could see he was smiling.