Silence.
The silence was broken by a voice from above. The words carried downhill with crystal-clear clarity. “Hey, you big, stupid sonofabitch! You! Eckker! You’re not king of the mountain anymore!”
Jake!
Robbi’s heart leapt into her throat. He was trying to warn her. She saw Eckker then, about two hundred yards away, coming back down the slope.
She could hide. The three of them could play this game all night. But still her sister was his prisoner somewhere in those ruins. It would all be for nothing if he managed to escape and take Tobie with him.
Something below caught her eye. Lights, down the mountain. Streamers of headlights, turning off the highway, moved up the road toward her parents’ house. Police?
She hesitated. If she went down and the killer followed her, she’d lead him away from Jake and Tobie ... and into the hands of the law.
Without trying to be quiet, she ran through the shell of the church. From the corner of her eye she saw him moving in her direction.
Turning, she started to run downhill.
FIFTY-FIVE
Jake cautiously worked his way down the steep incline. When he reached the ruins of the church, he skirted the building, staying in the cover of the trees and boulders. Gripping the shotgun, he moved in slowly.
A basement. Roberta had mentioned a basement. Jake advanced, entered the shell of the church, and began to look for some type of cellar entrance.
The rain began in earnest again. Jake swiped at the dripping hair on his forehead as he stepped behind the pulpit. With the barrel of the gun he tapped at the debris on the ground. A hollow sound. Jake dropped to his knees, used his knuckles to rap on the plank. He dug his fingers around the floor until he located the seam, then pulled up the trapdoor.
He cautiously stepped down into the dark basement. He wished he had a flashlight, a lighter, or even a match. But he soon realized he wouldn’t need a light; less than three risers down, he heard a girl moan. When he touched her she made a noise deep in her throat and flailed out, fighting.
“Tobie, it’s me, Jake,” he said, trying to catch her hands.
She became perfectly still.
“Tobie, it’s okay.”
He heard her suck in her breath. Then she sobbed once.
Jake lifted her and carried her out into the pouring rain. “Are you all right. Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
“We’ve got to go after Robbi.”
“There’s a logging road.” She held the back of her head with one hand and pointed southeast with the other.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She came to her feet. Her knees buckled.
Jake handed her the shotgun, bent down, and said, “Climb aboard, you go piggyback to the road.”
Tobie climbed on.
Roberta glanced behind her. He was back there, she heard him, caught a glimpse of him now and then through the trees. Her nightmare was playing itself out exactly as she’d dreamt it. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, her throat felt raw, her chest tight. She raced sure-footedly through the trees, thankful for the cool rain, thankful for the stream of headlights weaving their way up a winding dirt road, but above all, she was thankful that her sister was out of his clutches. For now.
Through the quaking aspens in front of her, she saw a streak of lightning snake to the ground. The meadow. She was about to enter the meadow. Thunder crashed like cymbals inside her head.
The procession of lights jounced along to the east of the open field. If she could just cut across diagonally, she’d reach the road and the safety within those lights. Behind her, like a charging grizzly, his breathing as tortured as hers, he closed the distance.
Robbi lunged forward into that immense open space. With the rain hammering her face and body, weighty footfalls pounding close behind her, she ran for her life.
Jake saw the headlights, bouncing, coming toward them on the deep rutted road. He held Tobie’s hand as they ran. She was concentrating on the ground in front of her.
“Look,” he said.
She raised her head. Wonder and relief sprang into her eyes at the sight of the cars.
A spotlight from one of the vehicles cut through the pouring rain and swept across the open field. Jake followed it with his eyes. More funnels of light crisscrossed the first. The span of trees on the far side of the meadow glowed with a dozen beams of lesser intensity. Flashlights. Lanterns. Men on foot, their beacons sweeping back and forth, were combing the land.
Through the driving rain and thunder the pinpoints of light seemed to sing. Help had arrived. They’d be okay. All they had to do was find Roberta.
His gaze followed the spotlight as it panned across the meadow. Just breaking through the trees he made out a running figure. And close behind, a mere twenty feet away and gaining, was a second, larger figure.
Panic rocked Jake. The way Eckker was bearing down on her, it was obvious he had little or no regard for the score of armed men surrounding him. If he caught her, he could snap her neck in an instant and no one could stop him.
Jake gave Tobie a slight nudge in the direction of the sheriff and his men, clutched the small .20-gauge shotgun, and, oblivious of the shouts behind him, took off across the meadow.
Roberta’s breath was ragged in her throat. She thought her chest would burst, her heart explode. Every muscle in her body screamed. The toe of her shoe caught in a chuckhole. She tripped, staggered. Oh, please, don’t fall, don’t fall If she fell, he would be on her instantly, tearing her to pieces. She smothered a sob.
Someone was running toward her. Someone was coming out to help her! She heard her name. It was Jake. He was shouting something, but the thunderous sounds of the storm tore his words away. He stopped abruptly, positioned the shotgun against his shoulder, and took a shooter’s stance. His left hand slashed downward.
Drop, he wanted her to drop so he could fire. Obeying immediately, she threw herself to the side, falling, then tumbling over and over in the slick grass. Pain shot into her joints, cruelly twisted at her air- starved muscles. An explosion rang in her ears. Robbi turned to see the towering man, thrown back by the blast to his chest, stagger, then reel like a drunk before regaining his footing. The front of his shirt opened up; blood poured forth.
Eckker braced his feet, stood spread-eagle. He put his bandaged hand to his chest; blood instantly soaked into the porous fabric.
The wounded man opened his mouth and screamed, a savage, primal, beastly scream, then turned, glared at Roberta with eyes so wild, so enraged, so utterly mad that she thought her heart would stop, seize from the sheer malevolence of it.
Roberta scrabbled backward in the wet grass, trying desperately to get to her feet. He came for her, fell on her, his massive weight knocking the air out of her. His blood flowed over her, hot, sticky, the acrid smell mingling with the rank odor of his body and its particles of putrid, dying flesh.
The shotgun blast had failed to bring him down. He seemed to possess the power of ten men. He must kill me before he can die, Roberta thought in despair. Nothing can stop him now.
Beams of light danced over her. Through the storm’s steady cadence she heard shouting, advancing forms, yet no one dared fire.
On his knees now, the man held her across her chest. His hands moved to her throat.
Jake charged. Hauling back, he swung the shotgun at the killer. The wooden stock grazed the back of the man’s head.
Roberta screamed when Eckker wrenched the shotgun from Jake’s hands and, with the barrel, clubbed him across the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. He raised the weapon up, high above his head at arm’s length, to club Jake again.
Suddenly, from nowhere, she heard pounding hooves rapidly approaching.
With the shotgun above his head, the killer gazed in confusion at the horse and rider bearing down on him. He released Roberta, fell backward.
The horse reared up as Hanley fired the powerful shotgun, p
umping shell after shell into his grandson. The giant flew backward, a mass of bloody, ravaged flesh tumbling over and over to finally lie unmoving, facedown, in the marshy grass.
Hanley slid from the horse, the gun falling from his hands. “Joseph,” he whispered, his hand stretching out toward his grandson.
Jake moved to Robbi.
Over Jake’s shoulder Robbi saw a score of people running, advancing on them. Tobie led the pack.
Roberta buried her face in the soft, pulsing place of Jake’s neck and sobbed.
FIFTY-SIX
Three days after the storm the ground was once again hard, unyielding. The summer morning dawned calm. Easterly clouds blocked the sun.
Roberta and Jake stood on the springy grass of the cemetery grounds. She leaned against him, his arm circled her waist. Several feet away Lois and Tobie stood tall, proud, despite the presence of the man who scowled from his wheelchair on the other side of the coffin.
The funeral service for Hanley Gates ended. An aide began to push the wheelchair toward the limousine. Lois and Tobie followed, holding hands. Tobie wiped tears from her eyes, turned to look at Robbi. She smiled weakly and raised her fingers in a gesture of parting.
Roberta waved back. Then, with the aid of the cane, she let Jake steer her off in the opposite direction. They walked in silence, the solemnness dropping away like falling leaves as they distanced themselves from Hanley’s gravesite.
Crossing an arched latticework bridge, Jake said quietly, “Feel like getting away for a few days?”
She slowed, glanced at him. “I’d like nothing better. You must’ve read my mind.”
“No, that’s your department. I only work with minds, you read them.”
“I hope not for a while. It’s weird, isn’t it... nothing for over twenty years, then in just a few weeks enough to last anyone a lifetime.”
“You saved her, Robbi. You said you would and you did.”
“I had help.” She leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Now, back to the subject of a weekend getaway.”
“It doesn’t have to be just the weekend. We can make it a week, two weeks. What’s a decent interval for a honeymoon?”
The sun broke through the clouds. A perfect omen.
Roberta felt a rush of happiness, then fear. She gazed into his keen blue eyes, now tender. “Jake, have you thought this through? What if it comes back? The nightmares, the visions, the telepathy . .” The words faded.
“Then you’ll have a doctor in residence. One who knows your case ... intimately. You have no idea what a valuable asset you are. With you around, no more lost car keys, no more getting caught in the rain.” He turned to her. “Honey, I love you and all that goes with you.”
She smiled, looked away, her gaze following the path of the tiny stream beneath them. “I shall always remember this day. The day the man I love proposed to me in a cemetery.”
He took her in his arms, held her tight. “Roberta,” he said softly in her ear, “it could be you in that coffin back there. Belinda, Maggie, Carl, Avondale, Howe— Christ, it hurts just to think about what could have happened.”
She felt stinging tears behind her lids. She thought of that day in the hospital when she had first met Jake. A blind woman, listening to the sweet mandolins of Harry Geller. She had refused to give in to the music that day. Yet she had promised herself a time, a very special time in the near future, to let it all out. She had much to be thankful for ... much to reflect on.
Would there ever be a day more special than this one? A perfect day to treat herself to the Gypsy melodies, she thought, and let the tears flow ... tears of happiness, tears of hope.
“Jake, that sounds so good . .”
“I detect a but in there. What?”
“But—I hope you’ll understand ...” She squeezed his hand. “There’s something I have to do today. And I have to do it alone.”
He stared into her eyes, searching. Then he nodded. “And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow I’m yours. Yours for as long as you’ll have me.”
On this day Hanley Gates was laid to rest. And the women from the mountain, once lost souls, were free to go on with their journey.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Carol lives with her husband, Bob, and their psycho cat in Sparks, Nevada. She is the author of five suspense novels: SKIN DEEP; NIGHT STALKER; NIGHT PREY; NIGHT PASSAGE and NIGHT GAME.
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