A Grave End

by Wendy Roberts

  I thought about Barb drugged and probably also tied up in the other room. He couldn’t keep her quiet forever. Would he kill his own mother? Even if Ray tried to revisit our earlier talk about finding Alice and making a business together, how long could his deranged mental state hold that thread together before he realized it was doomed to failure?

  What little light had seeped through the blinds and under the door eventually grew dark. My thigh had quieted to a constant throb that pulsed in time with one ankle that felt sprained or fractured since Ray’s mighty tackle at the front door. At times I could hear movement beyond the door, and the sound of Ray pacing the floors while grumbling and ranting to the air around him. At which point would his mental state allow him to come to the realization that a partnership between us was not a reality and that, at the very least, he’d be spending the rest of his life in a mental hospital or going to prison?

  Lying with head, back and shoulders on the floor and hips and legs hoisted in the air was excruciating, and eventually, numbing. I could stretch my bound hands but it did little to release the pressure everywhere else. Beyond my injuries, I had no feeling at all beneath my waist, and I was in a constant battle to keep tears from clogging my throat and congesting my sinuses. With duct tape preventing me from breathing through my mouth I needed to keep my nose clear, so I alternated between meditative exercises and making lists concerning this messed-up case.

  At one point in the early morning hours a thought tripped into my brain. It was the kind of idea that I almost let pass but something about it stuck like fly paper.

  When I visited Roscoe’s mom in the care home, she’d over and over again indicated the box for food on her communication board. Food and family. What if she hadn’t been trying to tell me she was hungry. Maybe what she was actually saying was that the person who killed Alice was connected to food. Ray had mentioned the night before that he, Blossom and Kim had all worked at the care home. Although Ray said he worked in janitorial, maybe Mrs. Ebert thought he was part of the crew dealing with food. I chased the threads of that idea through my head and it became more and more plausible that Mrs. Ebert knew that Ray had killed Alice but she just couldn’t express it. Had he confided to her when he worked there?

  I thought also about how my Jeep had been vandalized when Tracey and I were inside the care home. Ray would’ve known from working there that the parking lot cameras weren’t in service. Even though he hadn’t worked there for a while, he could’ve still been confident they hadn’t yet been repaired so he felt safe spray-painting my vehicle without getting caught.

  But why would he want to warn me off the case when, according to him, he was all about finding Alice’s body so we could be heroes? A frown pulled at the tape on my mouth. There were only two explanations for that behavior. Either he did it hoping to draw even more publicity to the case, or Ray was just plain insane.

  The house had been quiet for the past couple of hours, but now I could hear movement again. I desperately needed to pee and even more importantly needed to have my feet lowered to get the feeling back. When there was the sound of footsteps in the hall, I raised my head and thumped it against the hardwood floor repeatedly. Finally Ray opened the door.

  “Morning.” His voice was low and gravelly, like he’d just woken up. “I hope you’re ready to be serious today.”

  I was serious about getting free. My life depended on it. All I could do was nod. To my dismay he turned around and left the room. A few minutes later he was back with a tray containing a first aid kit, a bottled water and a muffin. My dry throat ached at the thought of a drink.

  “I’m going to check your bandages and then I’m going to move you to a different position.”

  I grunted against the tape.

  “You want me to take the tape off?”

  I blinked hard as a yes.

  He pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans.

  “You scream and I’ll shoot you again.” He slumped down next to me on the floor and yanked the tape from my mouth.

  “Thank you.” The words came out in a low hoarse voice I didn’t recognize as my own. He picked up the sewing shears and cut through the plastic ties on my ankles. When my legs dropped to the floor, I felt immediate relief and then a flood of pins and needles as blood rushed to my lower limbs.

  He pushed me onto my side, tore off the blood-soaked bandages, and then carefully repacked the wound. As he worked, I bit my lip to stop from crying out. Once the new bandage was on, he helped me to a sitting position with my back against the sofa.

  “Could you untie my hands?” I lifted them in front of me.

  “No way.”

  He held the bottle of water to my lips and I drank greedily even as some sloshed down my chin and dribbled down my shirt. Next, he held the muffin up to my mouth.

  “I—I really need to use the washroom,” I told him.

  He gave a curt nod, got to his feet and then lifted me from under my arms until I was standing. My legs were still wobbly from being bound. With my first step, my thigh screeched in agony. Holding the gun to my back, he brought me across the hall.

  Once inside the washroom, he turned his back but told me he had no plans on leaving the room. At this point I didn’t care about modesty. I barely managed to undo the top button of my jeans with my hands clasped together and then push them down far enough to go. He turned away as I peed and then looked up at the ceiling while I fumbled to get my pants pulled somewhat up over my hips. He did the top button and zipper up for me since I couldn’t manage, and a burst of rage filled my chest. At least he didn’t appear interested in raping me, my inner thoughts reasoned, but that was small consideration because he seemed to have zero problem shooting me.

  Ray brought me back into the sewing room, lowered me back to the floor and took out more zip ties.

  “Please,” I begged. “Could you leave my hands untied?” I offered him a wince of pain. “That way I’ll be able to eat and drink a water bottle on my own.”

  He puffed out his cheeks and then tilted his head from one side then the other as if weighing the decisions.

  “I’ll make them looser. But don’t do anything stupid or else.” He waved the gun in my face.

  Instead of laying me back on the floor with my ankles in the air and attached to the wooden slats of the love seat, Ray sat me on the teak bench, tied my wrists in front of me and then attached my bound ankles to the leg of the small sofa.

  “We should talk about today’s plans,” Ray said, clearing his throat.

  He left the room and returned with the notepad from the night before. He handed me a muffin and stuffed a water bottle between my knees. Although the zip ties were still tight around each wrist, he’d looped a third one between my two wrists so that there were a few inches between my hands.

  Between nibbling pieces of the muffin and drinking the water, I listened to Ray read aloud from the long list he’d made. It was a deranged itemization of all the places he thought we should check for Alice’s body. He must’ve stayed up late itemizing every green belt, park, culvert or garden shed within a twenty-mile radius. It was completely unhinged only because the places he suggested searching for Alice were places she definitely would’ve been found long ago or would’ve been searched at the time by police. Dumpsters, ditches and sheds in and around town.

  My stomach rolled with nausea. The dry bran muffin I’d choked down sat like a rock in my stomach as he read the list. I needed to get out of this house if I had any hope of surviving. I couldn’t trust that Ray would take me on outings to these locations without losing his cool and shooting me on the spot.

  While he talked, my gaze fell on something on the desk next to the sewing machine. A long black hinged case that I recognized immediately because my grandmother had one just like it. Inside that case would be Barb’s favorite, prized fabric shears. Most seamstresses kept a few pairs of scissors and
the ones in that case were special and particularly sharp. I remember my grandmother once dragging the point of those scissors down my back, carving a deep, bloody groove with hardly any effort. Next to a bundle of fabric lay the other scissors Ray had used earlier. His eyes had skipped over the black case when looking for something to cut my jeans because, like most people, he wouldn’t recognize that black case. I realized Ray had stopped talking and I returned my gaze to him.

  “When do you want to start the search?” I asked, shaking my head to get a lock of hair off my face.

  “Tonight,” he said. “Daylight would be preferred, of course, but your boyfriend is on a mission at the moment to find you. So we’re going to move to a different place for the day.”

  Garrett was searching! I closed my eyes to keep emotional tears from rolling down my face.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “I’ve got a few places in mind. I’m just going to go get myself ready.” He smiled and his eyes sparked with madness. “All you need to know is that I’ve got your dowsing rods so you’re ready.”

  There was a low pitiful cry from across the hall. Barb was waking again.

  “I’ll be back.”

  When he left the room, I began to flex the muscles in my legs, and even though my ankle pulsed painfully, I wiggled all my toes and stretched. Wherever we were going, I had a feeling this would be my last chance to make a run at freedom, and when the time came, I was going to be ready. As I stretched, I reached for the sewing desk to see how far I was from those sewing shears, but even at my longest stretch, they were a few feet away.

  Ray must have drugged Barb again because she was, once again, completely silent. I heard another door open and close across the hall and the sound of water running. There was the distinct clang of sliding shower doors opening and shutting, and I knew now was my chance. He might only shower for two minutes but it might be the only time I had.

  Once again I stretched toward the sewing table, and abruptly the heavy teak love seat scraped forward. It never occurred to me that I’d be able to move the entire bench but I did so now. Every inch I dragged it across the hardwood emitted a raucous dragging sound that I hoped was covered by the sound of the shower.

  Finally, I was able to lunge forward and snatch the case from the desk. I snapped the hinged case open and grabbed the shears. The heavy-duty carbon steel had been well cared for and remained razor sharp. Even with my wrists bound, I was able to cut through the straps at my ankles like they were dental floss. It took more effort to position the scissors between my knees and saw through the ties around my wrists. A bubble of panic clogged my throat as I frantically worked, dragging the ties against the blade of the scissors until finally one side was free.

  Keeping the scissors in my hands, I moved to the door and tried to hear above the blood pounding in my ears to listen for the sound of Ray in the shower. The water was still running so I opened the door to the room and began to run. I reached the front door and turned the dead bolt, the door squealing on rusty hinges as I burst outside. My ankle could hardly hold my weight as I bounded down the steps, and the wound in my thigh began to bleed. Warm blood ran down my leg as I was cutting across the lawn. In the distance, I could hear sirens coming closer but if they were coming for me, I knew they wouldn’t get there in time. I’d almost reached the street and heard Ray’s guttural scream from inside the house.

  There was nothing but wide-open street beyond his cul-de-sac. There’d be not even a tree to hide behind, so I took a sharp right and dipped against the side of the last house on the street that was under construction. I could hear him approaching at a dead run and I waited for him to round the corner. He’d expect that I’d be running through the field behind the house and heading for town but I was crouched behind a scraggly brown cedar, and when he came around the side of the house, he never saw me.

  As soon as he’d taken a step beyond me I leaped out of my hiding place with the sewing shears high above my head. With both hands, I plunged the scissors into Ray’s neck. He dropped to his knees and the gun in his hand tumbled forward. As he reached for the firearm, I yanked the shears from his neck, raised them again and plunged them into his hand. An animalistic howl escaped his throat but still he crawled forward toward the gun. I jumped forward and scrambled beyond him so that I got there first.

  He looked up at me, his eyes wide and mouth moving but no words were coming out. Then he collapsed into the dirt and curled into a fetal position.

  I could hear sirens closer now and the sound of loud voices and car doors slamming but all I could focus on was Ray Hughes.

  I took a step back, closed one eye and raised the handgun, using two hands to steady it. I was aiming to shoot him in the head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ray was unarmed, injured and writhing on the ground in agony, but I wanted to unload the weapon into him. It was Garrett’s voice calling my name that stopped me.

  “Over here,” I cried out.

  I moved to step around Ray and he reached a hand out to grab my ankle. With all my force, I raised my good foot, and though my sore ankle screamed, I stomped on his hand and ground my heel into it before I stepped around the corner of the house. There were police cars, their lights and sirens going, and officers with guns drawn standing at Ray’s door. Other officers were surrounding Ray’s house but Garrett stood in the middle of the cul-de-sac by his car. The sun was shining and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as he looked toward the sound of my voice. When he spotted me, I limped toward him, dragging my sore ankle. My thigh shrieked in agony and warm blood gushed from my thigh. His long stride reached me before I could take more than a couple steps, and Garrett swept me into his arms, burying his face in my neck and squeezing my ribs so tight I could hardly breathe.

  I began to cry then, sobbing wordlessly against his chest and unable to speak. Pointing in the direction of where they could locate Ray, I allowed Garrett to carry me to his car. While I sat in the passenger seat, he examined my injuries, and still the tears kept coming. When the ambulance arrived, he tried to step aside so the EMTs could examine me but I wouldn’t let go of his hand.

  “Can you give her something for the pain?” Garrett asked them as they prepared to put me into the ambulance.

  “No!” I shouted as they strapped me to the gurney.

  “You need something.” Garrett released my hand and stroked my face. “Some kind of painkiller to take the edge off.”

  “I can’t.” I shook my head firmly and then I reached again for Garrett’s hand and pulled him down toward me. “I’m pregnant.”

  His eyes registered surprise before they became bright with tears. He bent to embrace me and his entire body shook with emotion, but he couldn’t find any words as they wheeled me away.

  At the hospital I was immediately brought to X-ray, where they made sure they covered my pregnant belly with a lead apron before taking images. Garrett was waiting for me in the curtained area of the triage area. Immediately I began to talk, explaining to him about what really happened at Wayland, and he held the tip of his finger to my lips.

  “I know. Tracey told me.” He gave me a sad smile and lowered his tone to a near whisper. “That’s why you didn’t tell me you were pregnant? Because you thought you may have been raped?”

  Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks. Not raped. I was worried I’d gone and drunkenly slept with some random guy.

  He took both my hands in his, turned my palms upward and bent and kissed my wrists tenderly. With his lips he traced the abrasions from the ties on my wrists then, finally, rested his face against my hands.

  “You don’t need to do this,” he whispered while placing more kisses on the palms of my hands. “You always said you didn’t know if you wanted to have children, and just because you’re now pregnant...”

  “I want this baby.” My voice was firm, and suddenly I was never more
sure of anything in my entire life. “If my drinking was out of control... If this baby wasn’t yours...” I swallowed a sob. “Then I don’t think I could’ve brought myself to have it but...” I lifted his face from my hands so that I could look him in the eye. “I’m absolutely sure I want this because I want us. This baby is us.”

  There was a wave of relief and love that flooded his face as he wrapped his arms around me and kissed my mouth.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Tracey said you parted ways at the grocery store so I went and searched the lot. When I saw your vehicle abandoned there, I demanded to see the surveillance videos of the parking lot. The video quality was poor but eventually we could enhance the license plate enough to trace the van to Barb and Ray’s house.”

  I closed my eyes and murmured, “Thank God for cameras.”

  Hours later, with a freshly sutured thigh and a boot on my ankle, Garrett brought me home. Shortly after we arrived, the police showed up wanting a full statement from me. I gave them all the details I could remember, going all the way back to being drugged at Wayland and right up until me stabbing him with scissors and breaking free.

  “Is he...” I couldn’t finish the question.

  “You didn’t kill him.” The officer slapped his notebook shut and got to his feet. “In fact, he’s lucky because you missed all his major arteries. He’s going to jail with stitches in his neck and hand but it could’ve been worse.”

  “Yeah, I could’ve gotten my hands on him,” Garrett snarled.