by Tom Saric
"Here?"
"No, at our ranch in New Hampshire. We had to move because he kept threatening Robert."
"What did he want?"
"He was looking for his daughter. He thought she'd run away. That Robert was hiding her. The man would follow Robert, he'd show up at his school, at his sports games. But Robert just wouldn't call the police. I wanted him to, but he refused. I believe Kurt Boone drove that girl to suicide. His controlling nature. Oh, the things that Robert told me that they did to her. Death would have been a blessing. The beatings he gave. The drugs the mother gave her. She couldn't escape them."
"But why would Boone connect me to this?"
"All I know is that once Robert was gone, Boone blamed you."
I thought about that. Why would Doug blame me if Madeline killed herself?
"Oh, but he wasn't the worst of it." She shook her head. "That woman. Evil. Had that beautiful exterior, and she could charm, but the devil lived inside of her. She came here, smiling, sweet, lovely, wanting to discuss her daughter. And the moment I disagreed with her, poison flew from her mouth. She knew everything about me, told me she'd poison me. And she probably could."
"How so?"
"Well, she was apparently a pharmacist. Had access to all sorts of drugs. I tried to make a complaint about her to the professional body, but she had left the state. If I could just find-"
I was no longer listening to Jina. It was as though her voice faded into nothingness and I was floating. I reached in my pocket, opened my phone, and flicked through the photos until I found my selfie with Karen and Renee. My hand shook as I turned it to her.
"Is this her?"
Jina stared at the phone for a long moment and then looked at me. "Tori."
Kurt walked up the driveway, heat radiating off the ground, swaying as he processed Madeline’s death. Six years of searching and it led to nothing. He knew Madeline wouldn't have willingly left him; she needed him. He knew that the only way she would be gone is if someone had ripped her away.
Before he came here, he'd called her, after more than a year of no contact, to tell her that the boy wanted to meet.
Kurt held the phone, punched in the number, and hesitated before he pressed dial.
She picked up on the second ring.
"She's dead."
"What?"
"He killed her, dumped her in a lake. He made it sound like he did her a favor."
"Did you?"
She wanted him dead. She said Kurt didn't have the guts before, but now was the time.
"He's dying. He's going to go any day."
"You left him?"
"We can't bring her back."
"You let him get away with it! You are weak, weak."
He knew she wouldn't understand. She needed revenge, she needed blood. She had lost control, and needed something to anchor her again.
"You know, Tori, he didn't come up with it on his own."
23
I hit the road back to Bridgetown. The wind gusts made the truck doors shudder, and long pools of rain were collecting on the highway. The ditches were starting to overflow and the trees beside the road were whipping back and forth. Although I wanted to drive full speed, I could only see about twenty feet ahead. And being pulled over by police would slow me down enough to effectively end any chance I had of finding Karen.
I had nine missed calls from Sheila, all during my meeting with Jina Di Santis. She didn't leave any messages, which told me it was about something she didn't want recorded. I called back, but it went to voicemail.
I had a heavy feeling inside me. I'd instructed Sheila to find Karen and Renee, but that put her in danger. My fear was only heightened when she didn’t answer.
I thought about messaging her, but I knew that probably wouldn't be useful either. As I crossed the border from New Hampshire into Maine, I decided to try her once more. She answered.
"You're okay," I said before she could speak.
"I wish I could say the same for you, sweetheart."
"What's going on, Sheila?"
"The police issued a warrant for your arrest. They've been by your place. They called me looking for you."
I wasn't surprised. I'd been running on the assumption that the sheriffs were going to link the murder weapon to me.
"They found cartridges that match those at the scene from both Ned and Wanda." She cleared her throat. "They found a pair of deer antlers and Wanda's necklace at your place. I believe you didn't do it. But this isn't good."
I began organizing the pieces together. The fire. The necklace. The gun.
"They've been setting me up, Sheila. For months."
"Who is that?"
"Doug and Renee."
"Excuse me?"
"They're formerly married."
"Tell me more."
"About six years ago I saw a patient. Only once. He wanted help with-"
The wind pushed my truck into a puddle and I started hydroplaning. The water thundered in the wheel well. I gradually turned the steering wheel to nudge the truck back onto firm pavement.
"Sorry," I said after righting the truck. "This patient, Robert, wanted advice on how to help a girl who was being tortured by her parents. They were pathologically controlling, going to sick extremes."
I stopped there, noticing my memory was clear and I was able to easily retrieve information again. I realized that I hadn't taken the pills for my back in a few days.
"Jesus." I smacked the steering wheel. "She was dispensing them."
"Who was?"
"Jina said Renee drugged her daughter to keep her calm. She was dispensing my medication, and the past few months my memory has been failing."
"You think she drugged you somehow?"
"I think so." I continued with my theory about Robert. "So at some point after I saw him, the girl ran away. But the parents were angry. They kept searching for her, wanting her back. And then about a year ago, the boy dies of leukemia. But on his death bed he confesses to the father that he had killed her."
"And the father is Doug?"
"Yes, real name Kurt Boone."
"And Renee?"
"Her real name is Tori."
"And they're married?"
"Jina said she thinks they divorced after Madeline disappeared. But they're working together."
"And this boy, Robert, killed her?"
"No, Jina insists she killed herself."
"Really?"
"I believe her. That boy wouldn't have killed her."
"Hmmm," Sheila said, and then drifted into silence.
"What is it?"
"Well, she doesn't have an obituary. Not one that I could find. If she killed herself-"
My mouth went dry and I chewed on my fingernail as I stared into the dark sky. Sheila was right. People who died by suicide would have obituaries. There had to be an explanation. Perhaps Doug refused an obituary as part of the denial process.
"So what does he have against you?"
"Robert's mom says he blamed me. That after Robert died he kept coming back to find out who I was."
"Blamed you?"
"Apparently they talked about me. Maybe he just couldn't accept that she died. You know, people with a psychopathic make-up, they can get delusional and maybe-"
"Was there any reason for him to blame you? What did you talk with Robert about?"
"Nothing. I talked to him about Stockholm syndrome. That people like Doug wouldn't stop. They just won't. Not until..."
"Not until what?"
I closed my eyes as the memory of my session with Robert came back and sighed. "I told Robert that people like Doug wouldn't leave him alone, wouldn't stop looking for his daughter until she was dead."
"No," Sheila said forcefully. "You don't do this to yourself."
"But-"
"Don't."
"If I hadn't said that, Sheila-"
"Honey, listen to me, you aren't responsible for what people do. They make their own choices."
I trie
d to soak in Sheila’s words. She was right, from a logical perspective. And I had to focus on finding Karen.
"You think Robert told Doug?"
"He must have. That's the only explanation."
"And Renee?"
"She's Madeline's mother. And by Jina's description a total psychopath."
"And Karen's with her?"
"Yes."
"I'm at the hotel. In the parking lot."
"Sheila, you can't go in there."
"I'm tougher than you think."
"You need to call the police, Sheila. Tell them that they have Karen and are responsible for Ned’s and Wanda's murders."
I drove under an overpass and saw a cruiser on the shoulder near the exit ramp. I checked my speed and was well under the limit, but I slowed down anyway to avoid attracting attention. As I passed, I saw an officer illuminated by the glow of a computer. I kept an eye on him in my rear-view mirror, but he didn't look up.
"I think they started the fire in my place to get my gun. One of them shot Wanda, probably Renee, because Doug has an alibi. She then worked her way in with me, all the while Ned was onto them. So they killed Ned too, with the same gun, again linking it to me. Then Doug told me he did it, knowing I'd keep it a secret."
"The necklace?"
"Ned had taken Wanda's necklace when he found her on the road and I took it from him. I'd left it on my truck seat. Renee must have taken it. The antlers, I'm not sure."
"And they knew Wanda?"
I checked all my mirrors again. No police lights.
I recalled Wanda waiting for Barrington in the bar the night before she was killed. She met Doug there, and called Barrington from his phone. "Barrington," I said. "Sheila, tell the police to get Barrington's phone. Wanda called him from Doug's phone the night before she was killed. This links them."
"I see them," Sheila said.
"Doug?"
"Renee and Karen. They're getting into a car. Karen looks happy."
"They haven't hurt her yet. But Doug must know that I was in his place."
"I have to follow. In case we lose them."
"No, Sheila." I shook my head. "Let the cops handle it."
"Gus," Sheila said. "If they slip away, we might never see Karen again."
She was right. I hated the idea of potentially putting Sheila in harm's way. But if we lost sight of Karen, they could head in any direction and my hope of finding her would be over. I knew that even if Sheila got through to Ernie Weagle, explained the story, and cruisers were sent out, Doug and Renee could be two states over by that point.
"Be safe."
A sign said another forty-five miles to Bridgetown, which would take thirty minutes. The rain lashed against the windows, but I sped up, needing every extra minute I could get.
My phone buzzed with a text message from Sheila.
Past Waterloo, up private road, right at T
Five minutes later she sent another one.
Past ATV trail down toward Redway. This is deep woods
I nearly swerved off the road as I read the text. Were they really going there? How did they know where the shack was? But most of all I knew the road was a dead end. They would see Sheila once they stopped.
I dialed Sheila but the phone immediately went to voicemail.
24
The shack that I built where the Persey met the Redway was only three miles from my cabin as the crow flies. In daylight, using the trails I cut, it was less than a thirty-minute walk. But in the dark with torrential rain and needing to bushwhack an alternate route, it could take hours. Doug and Renee would have taken one of the main trails, and I had to assume they were waiting for me.
I couldn't go home, because the sheriffs were looking for me. So I decided to leave my truck on an empty piece of land about half a mile from my cabin. I parked it out of sight behind some overgrown wild blackberry bushes.
I got out of the truck and was immediately stung by the rain pelting my face. I stayed to the side of the mushy dirt road so if I saw headlights I could quickly dart into the bushes.
I neared Herman's home. I decided to walk into his property so I wouldn't have to cross my land and risk being spotted by the sheriffs. Even if they were gone, my firearms would certainly have been seized and I couldn't go to the shack unarmed.
Herman's barn was used for storage and sat at the corner of his property about ten yards from the woodland edge. I looked up the hill at Herman's main house. No lights were on inside. Herman usually passed out drunk at eight-thirty and didn't get up until daylight. I thought about banging on his door and asking him to call the sheriffs, then thought twice about it because I couldn't be sure they hadn't already told him I was wanted for two murders.
The barn’s double doors were padlocked. Rain pooled around the barn, and I could see a spot along the bottom where the boards were rotting. I pressed it and the wood crumbled underneath my thumb. I kicked at the rotten boards until they caved in. I was able to rip off three of them, creating a gap wide enough for me to squeeze inside.
Herman kept dozens of snares and traps hanging against two walls. I searched along the back wall until I found a wooden box holding one of his rifles, an old Remington Model 11. I found three shells and pushed two in the magazine.
Before leaving I pulled out my cell phone and tried to dry it off with an oily rag, then turned it on to find only five percent battery life left. I tried calling Debbie Parks and Ernie Weagle but neither answered.
I finally decided to text Debbie.
Two dead at shack where Redway meets Persey. Active shooter.
I hit send. I hoped my text wouldn't be prophetic, but I needed to get the sheriffs out to the shack as quickly as possible, and a dead body was the most sure-fire way.
I slid out of the barn and moved back into the bushes. Clouds were thick, no stars or moonlight to help direct me. I had to go on memory, and now that I hadn't been taking the medication for a few days, I felt more confident in my abilities to navigate in the dark.
I knew that if they took the main trail from the east, they wouldn't be able to see me coming from a westerly route down the ravine. That way, I could cross over the Persey and approach the shack from the other side of the river. At this time of year, the current wasn't usually too strong, but the rain made that a wildcard.
The torrential rain didn't let up. My shoes and socks were waterlogged. I tried to wipe the rain away from my eyes. It was cold, just ten degrees above freezing, and I felt pins and needles in my hands. But I had to ignore the pain and press forward.
As I reached the top of the ravine, I thought I heard a thunderclap. Not until I heard a second one a moment later did I realize it was a gunshot.
I dropped down prone into a puddle deep enough to almost entirely submerge my body.
I had the shotgun propped on a fallen branch and pointed into the dark woods. My eyes were already adjusted to the dark, but I could not see the gunman.
But if they were shooting at me, it meant they saw me and would have to speed up their plan. I had to get to the shack as quickly as possible, so I was forced to abandon my plan to cross the river. I no longer had the advantage of surprise.
Two more shots cracked, kicking up water and debris two yards ahead. The rain was so loud that I wouldn't be able to hear footsteps approaching.
I was about fifteen yards from the edge of the riverbank. While lower land was not ideal, it gave me separation from the shooter and offered me a chance to get to the shack.
I hopped to my feet and jumped off the riverbank, landing on an incline ten feet below. My footing gave way and I slipped onto my back, then slid down the side of the bank. I fell into the river and lost my grip on the gun.
The water rushed over me, pulling my face under and threatening to drag me downriver, away from the shack. I scrambled to my feet and my lower back began seizing up. I saw the gun barrel bobbing up and down in the water as it floated away. I threw myself at the gun, my fingers squeezing the tip with just enough
pressure to pull it toward me.
I tried to touch down with my feet, but the water was too deep and began dragging me downriver. I quickly swam perpendicular to the current until my foot felt the soft river bottom and I was able to regain my balance. I pulled myself onto the river's edge.
The shack was two hundred yards ahead. My wet clothes flapped in the wind, and the trees beside the riverbank swayed up and down. I took large steps, sloshing through the river's edge.
As I approached the shack, wind whistled and howled against its rickety boards. Three silhouettes moved in front of the shack. I lifted the shotgun, the butt firmly against my shoulder, and took aim.
"Stop there," I yelled.
The figures stopped.
"Don't move."
I walked carefully up the slippery riverbank, keeping the gun pointed at the shack. As I got closer, I saw that the silhouettes belonged to Karen, Sheila, and Renee.
Karen and Sheila stood with their arms bound behind their backs. Rolled-up bandanas were tied over their mouths. Their hair was matted down from the rain, and streaks of blood ran down their faces. Karen tried to scream, but Renee swung her arm and hit her square in the face, sending her to her knees. Sheila winced and whimpered as Renee jerked Karen back to her feet.
"Stop there, Tori," I said, moving forward, gun aimed at her head.
She grabbed Karen by a fistful of hair and dragged her beside Sheila, then pointed a handgun at Karen's head. Karen recoiled and moaned through the cloth stuffed in her mouth.
"Who first, Gus?" she said. "Your daughter?"
I didn't say anything, only tried to aim the gun at her body, but she wisely stepped behind Karen. I was about eight yards from her, which meant if I shot, the bullet spread would be somewhere between eight and fifteen inches. I'd have to be inch-perfect in order not to hit Karen too.
"You'll know what it's like. To lose what you love most."
"You don't know love, Tori," I said. "You owned Madeline. She was your possession. Yours to control."
"I loved her."
