by Cailyn Lloyd
Laura caught them and fumbled with the ring of keys, trying each one in the lock in a frantic struggle. None fit.
Damn! Damn! Damn! Why had she wasted so much time in the house? Why had she let the cab go?
“Dana! Call the cab back!”
A second later, Dana yelled, “I don’t have a signal.”
Jesus! Laura was angry now. She grabbed her phone from her pocket but saw she too had no signal. Why did this happen in this day and age?
Laura charged toward the house in a blind panic. She’d find the keys to the truck—no, screw the keys, she’d call the cab back on the landline. They could reach him by cell or—
i’m going to kill her…i’m going to kill that fucking bitch…i’m going to bash her fucking brains in…i’m going to kill that fucking bitch…
The evil and menace in those thoughts, those words, struck Laura with such force she nearly fell over. Movement at the periphery of her vision made her stop and look out toward the woods. The trees were only visible as a faint dark outline in the falling snow, but Laura was sure she had seen something moving.
Lucas! His bright orange hunting gear grew clearer as he walked from the far edge of trees toward the house. Only he wasn’t walking. He was running, charging like an angry bull. Her chest seemed to collapse with crushing pressure as she watched him, suddenly sure in the knowledge they were in grave danger, certain Lucas intended to harm them.
Sixty-Two
Laura stood and hesitated for a few seconds before she understood perfectly what they had to do. She ran to the car and yelled, “Lucas is coming, and he’s mad! Take Leah and run! Get to the road, call 911, flag a car down, anything. Just get Leah out of here!”
She looked at her phone; still no signal.
Dana looked frantic, distraught. “Oh my God, Mom. Why? What about you?”
“Just go! Hurry, so he can’t catch up and take Leah! He’s lost his mind. I’ll hold him off until you get help. Hurry!”
Dana looked confused, lost.
“Dana! You need to go!”
Laura looked into Leah’s big inquiring eyes. She hugged her for a moment and softly said, “I’ll see you later, baby. I love you.” There were tears in her eyes—she had nearly lost her once, and Laura was afraid she wouldn’t see her again. She wanted to go with them but knew she had to stay. Lucas had gone crazy. She needed them safe. Laura pushed Dana and yelled, “Go!”
Her tears gave way to determination as Laura watched them disappear into the falling snow. She turned and ran back to the house with only a vague notion of how to stop Lucas. If she could hold him off for five or ten minutes, Dana would reach safety and summon help. Laura was frightened, more for Dana and Leah than for herself. That fear would come soon enough.
Laura flung the front door open and ran to the closet where Lucas kept his guns. A gun was the only threat Lucas would respect and the only weapon that might keep Lucas from killing her. Would it? He had a rifle too and knew far better how to use it. Her only edge was surprise.
Her eyes darted across the gun rack; there were a dozen rifles and shotguns…which one? Alone at the end of the rack stood a slim rifle. She recognized it, a Marlin 30-30 she’d used the few times she’d gone hunting with Lucas. There was an open box of shells next to it. Laura grabbed the rifle, the box, and tipped some shells into her quivering hand. Found the chamber and pushed a shell in.
It fit. She slid three more into the gun and dropped the remaining shells onto the floor. If four wasn’t enough…
Gripping the gun so tightly her knuckles blanched, Laura stumbled toward and fell onto the deacon’s bench in the foyer where she had a clear view of the front door and the basement stairs. She reached for the phone. Thank God for landlines.
She picked up the receiver and tapped in 911 with a shaky finger, holding the gun in her lap with an elbow. It rang and rang.
“Hurry up, damn it!” She was nearly crying.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“Police! Hurry!”
“Your name and address, please?”
Laura sat, perplexed for a moment, then said, “What?”
“Your name and address, ma’am.”
Laura started to rattle off the details, silently cursing an idiotic protocol that was wasting precious seconds. Her heart pounded crazily in her chest, and her head throbbed from tension. Didn’t they realize this was an emergency?
The line went dead—not a broken connection, just dead. No hiss, no dial tone, nothing. Laura didn’t attempt to redial, certain Lucas had cut the line. Instead, she set the receiver down slowly.
Wary, hyper-vigilant, her eyes fixed wide open, she had virtually stopped breathing. It was deathly silent except for the distant sound of the wind. She couldn’t believe Lucas wasn’t already in the house. Had he gone after Dana?
The rear door at the bottom of the stairs crashed open and slammed into the wall. Lucas stormed in and stopped, panting hoarsely, as Laura swung around, slid to the floor, and pointed the rifle down the basement stairs.
Sixty-Three
“Lucas, if you come near me, I’ll kill you! I mean it!”
Lucas stood at the bottom of the stairs, gun at his side, staring at her curiously like a dumb oversized parrot. He looked ill, cheeks sunken, eyes dark and hollow, his beard white with frost. Laura sat rigid, her finger straining at the trigger. She would kill him if she had to.
“Laura, what’s the matter with you?” He spoke with a gentle tone. He seemed confused by her behavior—or playing a calculated game with her. She faltered.
He took a step.
“Lucas! I mean it! Don’t move! Tell me where the keys to the truck are.”
Did it matter? She worried she wouldn’t reach the truck quickly enough to escape. She had to stall, buy time until help arrived. At least he seemed convinced she might use the gun. If she had to, would she? She noticed he was still holding his rifle.
“—and put your gun down, now.”
Lucas slowly set the rifle, butt down, by the stairs. “Relax, Laura, the keys are in my pocket. What do you want them for?”
“I just want to leave. It’s obvious things are finished between us.”
“So why the gun, Laura?”
“I—I was afraid you might try to hurt me.”
“Have I ever hurt you before?” His eyes looked as cold as snow.
“No—but you’ve been different lately. You said we were finished. Why did you accuse me of hurting Leah?”
“I don’t know. It seemed like the only answer at the time. I hate to tell you, Laura, but you’re the one who’s been acting strangely. Looking at you, I’m beginning to think you’ve lost your mind. You need help, Laura. If you want, I’ll go with you.”
Laura remained wary. Something was wrong here. Lucas seemed concerned, conciliatory, and a small part of her wanted to believe, but the rest of her resisted. He was suddenly too rational. Still, he was talking. If she could stall a little longer—
He moved toward the first step. “So, what do you think?”
“Don’t move, Lucas! Right now, I’ll talk, but that’s all I’ll do.”
“Okay, okay.” He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “What do you want to talk about?”
“How about that slut you’ve been sleeping with?” Plenty of spin on slut.
Lucas dropped his eyes in a reasonably sincere gesture of regret and humiliation. Laura felt moved by it, foolishly. So easy to be taken in by emotional signals like that from people we love. Except Lucas didn’t love her now. It was a ruse. She steeled her resolve.
“Murphy was a stupid, inexcusable mistake. All I can ask is that you forgive me.”
Laura winced at the name Murphy. Her of all people; the thought made her nauseous—them kissing, Lucas lying on top of her and—
Stop it!
Lucas slipped out of his parka and set it aside.
“Forgive you? Why the hell should I? She was in our house!”
&
nbsp; He considered, then said, “Because we had a great marriage—”
“Were you fucking her in our bed?” Her finger tightened on the trigger.
“No!” He seemed shocked but pressed on. “Yes, things have been rotten lately…but we should try to fix them.”
“I don’t know if I can anymore.”
“We should try. Let me come up and talk to you.”
“No. I like you fine just where you are.” She wiggled the rifle barrel in his direction.
“We’ll go somewhere else then.” He looked relaxed, casual.
“Where?”
“The White Birch? I don’t know.” His eyes belied the offhand manner.
“I don’t know either, Lucas. You accuse me of trying to kill Leah, you bring some cheap slut into our house, and now you want to talk. Fuck you.”
“Yes, I want to talk.”
“Oh, and I filed papers on you. Just so you know.”
“Whatever.” He seemed to be losing patience. She didn’t want to push him too far. How long had they been gone? How long before help arrived? Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes seemed like hours. How much longer could she keep him there?
“Okay, I’ll talk. But not here, not like this.”
Lucas slowly put his foot on the first step.
“Stop!” Laura raised the gun. “You’re going to have to accept the fact that I don’t trust you right now. We go separately, me first. Throw me the keys to the truck.”
Laura imagined a way out. She knew Lucas was playing a deceptive game with her. She had no intention of talking to him anywhere. If she could get the keys, single out the right one, back away slowly, fire a shot over his head if need be, she’d have about a five or six second lead on him. It might be enough. If she could get the keys or the police arrived—anything.
“So why don’t you trust me?” he said.
“How about the note under the hood of my car?”
He looked confused. “What?”
“Oh, you know. What in the hell did I ever do to you?”
“Seriously. I don’t know—”
“Liar!”
He seemed ready to say something, then thought better of it. He took another step.
“What are you doing? Stop!”
“I’m bringing you the keys.”
“Throw them to me.”
His face hardened. “I can’t do that.” His eyes narrowed, focused, like a snake, with a gloss concealing a darkness beneath. He no longer looked like Lucas. Was he crazy? Possessed? No time to ponder.
“Lucas, I’ll kill you if I have to,” Laura said in a rising, shrill voice. Could she? The thought set off an insane mental cascade, a mess of emotions: fear, anger, the sense this would end badly. The man she loved had lost his mind.
He started up the stairs with slow deliberate steps, never taking those eyes from her.
“You won’t shoot,” he baited. “You don’t have the nerve.”
Laura felt a rapid, rising dread, a crushing pressure in her chest. He kept coming in slow motion, staring at her, step by step, pushing her—pushing them to the brink, coming, until Laura felt compelled to act, closed her eyes, and squeezed the trigger.
Sixty-Four
Dana ran awkwardly with Leah on her shoulder, up the drive and along the road, praying help was near. She glanced back, could vaguely see Laura running for the house. Moments later, Laura and the house disappeared in the blowing snow. Pure terror and a blast of adrenaline fueled her run, a rush of energy feeding the illusion she could run forever.
After a second glance, Dana kept her eyes focused forward, only dimly aware of the trees bouncing up and down on either side of the road. Her feet beat a steady thump thump on the snow-covered pavement, and this, with measured breathing and her pounding heart, merged into a primitive rhythm Dana found comforting, spurring her on. The running was a good substitute for thinking and the attendant panic and fear that would follow. In her grasp, Leah was docile and quiet.
The storm gnawed at them, the wind a howling animal in the trees, icy torture on the road. Her body contracted within her clothes until they felt too large to protect her shivering frame. The road, swallowed by the enveloping greyness of the storm, never changed as she ran forward. In her mind, the highway was only a mile away, eight or nine minutes at this pace. There, she’d find a signal for her phone or flag a car down and summon the police. Maybe they were already on their way.
Five minutes in, Dana questioned her progress. How far had she come? Without visible landmarks, the road, the trees, the snow all looked the same. Lugging a child was a bigger burden than her legs could bear. Her muscles cramped with pain, her side ached, her arm felt numb from Leah’s weight. She couldn’t maintain the pace. She stopped to catch her breath and walked, convinced the highway was near.
Fear and anxiety rushed at her, couldn’t be held at bay.
Why did she leave Mom behind? Was Dad dangerous? The house yes, but Dad? She couldn’t comprehend it. He was the coolest guy she knew.
If he was dangerous, how would Mom fend him off? Morbid images played in her mind: her mother dying, lying in a pool of her own blood, eyes open and staring sightlessly to nowhere.
No! Dad wouldn’t do that.
Dana realized with a painful longing just how much she loved her mother. How had things devolved to such insanity between her parents?
If something had happened to her mother, was her father somewhere behind, chasing them? She had to get help before anything happened. It was the only tenable solution.
She drove her legs and feet to a slow and pitiful run, more attuned to the sounds around her. The wind howled through the trees and played a mournful dirge in the wires above. A lonely sound, Dana imagined they were the only people walking the earth, that nothing existed beyond the road and the storm. The cold tree branches creaked and groaned, and the snow that concealed them also became an enemy, slowing their progress and gnawing at every breech in her clothing.
Just when she thought she could go no farther, Dana saw a flickering of light in the distance, uncertain at first, growing brighter in the dusky greyness of the storm.
The highway!
It had to be, but the lights weren’t moving. In fact, they appeared to be large multifaceted squares floating in the blowing snow.
Dana blinked and stared.
The house!
How in God’s name had she come back here, to the house? She had run in circles!
How was this happening?
In her fear, she didn’t rationally examine the question, instead flailing herself with pitiless and bitter self-loathing.
Besides, the answers were too terrifying to contemplate.
Over the rising storm she heard a single gunshot, a sound quickly lost to the wind. She stifled a scream at the implication of that sound and ran again, fueled by a strong dose of terror. Her run was wearied but as straight and true as she could envision within the raging blindness of wind and snow. The race of the hunted, the stalked, and though exhausted beyond any imaginable bounds, she didn’t falter, certain any misstep would be the death of them.
She imagined hearing a voice and tried to ignore it. No one was out in this weather. She heard it again, growing louder, calling her. A female voice, and at first, Dana thought it was her mother. With that thought, a rush of elation.
Mom got away! Mom’s safe!
The voice was ethereal, soft, yet cold like the wind.
It wasn’t her mother. Dana looked back, seeing a mirror image of the scene ahead, the road disappearing into a swirling mass of snow. The wind, the storm, her fear and imagination were playing tricks on her, taunting her.
Or someone was following them. Not her mother. Not her father. It could only be—she dared not think it, but the name popped into her head anyway.
Anna Flecher.
Sixty-Five
The rifle wouldn’t fire.
Laura squeezed harder, but the gun refused to discharge. Sensing her disadvantag
e, Lucas charged up the remaining stairs, yelling with a throaty growl, “I’m going to kill you, you fucking bitch!”
She stared wide-eyed at the gun.
The safety! She hadn’t flipped the safety!
Laura fumbled, clicked the button, and fired, but pulled up on the barrel and shot high, sending plaster raining down on Lucas. The explosion in the confined space was deafening. He hesitated, a flash of shock in his eyes, then charged again.
In the last instant, Laura rolled and dodged his lunge, losing the rifle in the process. Lucas, surprised and off balance, crashed into the deacon’s bench, sending the phone clattering across the hardwood floor, the bell ringing randomly as it bounced away.
Laura leaped over him and ran. He grabbed the hem of her parka which slid off her back.
Thank God she hadn’t zipped it!
“Bitch!”
She bolted through the sitting room and the library into the Hall, looking for a weapon, a place to hide, anything that looked like a reprieve; too frightened to scream, wanting to live, praying that Dana had found help. Her eyes lit upon the brass poker by the fireplace. Footsteps closed in from behind—
Lucas plowed into her, sending Laura sprawling into an end table, knocking the air from her lungs. He leapt upon her, mashing her face into the hardwood floor, panting like a feral animal in her ear. Laura tried to scream but only a muffled croak escaped.
He spoke quietly with clear menace, “Now I’m going to kill you.”
Awful images flooded her mind—her body splayed out, head lolled, her neck broken—as if reading his thoughts. Perhaps she was.
Laura struggled, twisting, trying to bull her way free in any direction, growling through clenched teeth, “Go fuck yourself!”
Lying upon her, he grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, nearly breaking her neck. Searing pain ripped down her spine to her toes. He struggled to stand, pulling and lifting Laura by her hair, then grabbing her roughly by the shoulder, keeping a distance between them, evidently wary of her. Laura fought harder, writhing every which way to break loose.
