Inevitable Sentences

by Tekla Dennison Miller

  Adrian brushed snow from her coat. “I could ask you the same thing since you’re supposed to be in the hospital.” She glared at Max, but then cushioned her tone. “I can’t sit around doing nothing. Like you, apparently. Celeste treated me better than my own mother.”

  Max raised an eyebrow.

  “She did,” Adrian said. “My mom was a religious fanatic who told me I was married for life. No amount of broken bones counted to change her mind.”

  Adrian rattled on senselessly. Clearly her apprehension had distorted her thoughts and she seemed to ramble. Max leaned close to her and spoke in a quiet tone so his voice wouldn’t carry. He also wanted to sound soothing. “Although I know how you must feel, at this moment, you have something important to do.”

  “That’s right. Help Celeste.” Adrian sounded defensive.

  “No. You should be with the other women and children, especially your own children. They need your support and strong leadership. They need to know you’re okay. Celeste would want that.” He glanced at the officers moving about, itching to join them. “They must be frightened without you. Besides, you have no expertise in police matters. In fact, you could accidentally jeopardize their efforts.”

  “But”—Adrian paused as tears began to well—“you don’t understand. I never had the guts to stand up to my husband. Now I have a chance to prove I’m not a coward and that I have the courage to help take down Chad Wilbanks.”

  Max placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve shown how brave you are already tonight. You risked your life to get the other women and children to safety. And you came back here. You don’t need to prove yourself any more.”

  “I should never have left Celeste alone in that house, even if the intruder hadn’t turned out to be Chad Wilbanks.” Adrian began sobbing. “I feel like I’ve abandoned her to the devil.”

  Max put an arm around Adrian’s shoulder. “I feel that way, too. Still, you will be more help back at the inn. I’ll let you know as soon as we get Wilbanks.” He phrased that as carefully as possible. He wouldn’t let Adrian believe Celeste could be hurt. “Get back in that van and go to your children.”

  Before Adrian could concede, Hunter walked up to them. “I just got a call from town. Priscilla Madden is the other woman found at the falls.”

  “What?” both Max and Adrian asked simultaneously.

  “She’s alive, but barely,” Hunter added.

  “I can’t believe that.” Adrian shook her head. “She volunteered at the lighthouse. She counseled us. She wouldn’t betray Celeste. They’re good friends. Celeste thinks of her as a daughter, for God’s sake.”

  “Hell.” Max slammed a fist into his hand and started peppering Hunter with questions.

  Hunter listened calmly. When Max finished, he said, “She’ll be questioned when she’s able. Right now she’s in surgery. The clerk at the car rental agency identified a picture of her and said she rented the Explorer. He said she used the name Jane Sinclair.”

  “Sinclair?” Max asked. “The name sounds familiar.”

  “It should. We ran a check. She was one of Chad Wilbanks’s victims over ten years ago.”

  “That’s sick,” Adrian said. “Priscilla couldn’t have known that. She’s not that way.”

  “That’s beside the point,” Hunter continued. “She helped Chad get out of prison and here to the safe house. What does that say about her true character?”

  Max nodded and said, “First of all, I agree with Adrian that Chad Wilbanks is sick. Who else could murder so many women and feel no remorse? Also, I think he or Lizzie Chatfield—”

  “Priscilla’s best friend,” Adrian interrupted. “Sorry.”

  “Yes, her friend must have had something on Priscilla for her to go so far against her usual honest and caring nature. The important question is, what?”

  “It could have had something to do with her husband, or maybe Priscilla was only helping a friend,” Hunter offered.

  “Could be. However, Celeste is her friend, too,” Max said. “Enough conjecture. We need to solve the problem facing us—getting Celeste out of that house in one piece.”

  “Right,” Adrian said and inched toward the staging area.

  “Not you.” Max gently grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward the van. “Go back to the inn like you agreed.”

  “Okay. But let it be known it’s under protest.”

  “I don’t care how you get there as long as it’s safely.” Max’s tone was stern, but fatherly.

  Both men waited until Adrian drove the van onto the highway and they could see the taillights disappear. The worst of the blizzard had passed. Max could even hear the hum of snowplows in the distance.

  The two men joined the others, including Eagle, at the command post. Hunter retrieved the bullhorn. “Well, here it goes. My first demand for the evening. Let’s hope it goes well and quickly.”

  Max seriously doubted either would happen. Chad had too much at stake.

  Hunter lifted the instrument and announced through it, “Chad Wilbanks, this is Sheriff Hunter. The lighthouse is surrounded. I am going to make a telephone call to the lighthouse. Please answer. We can talk this thing through. We don’t want any harm to come to you.”

  Max cringed. He wanted to personally break every bone in Wilbanks’s body.

  Hunter dialed his cell phone. The line was dead at the house. “No connection,” he said. “Either the storm knocked out the line or Wilbanks cut it.” He made a low growling noise of frustration.

  Max felt like growling, too. If Hunter couldn’t make phone contact, he wouldn’t be able to negotiate Celeste’s release. “What do you propose to do?” Max asked.

  “I’ll keep on using this high-tech bullhorn,” Hunter answered as he lifted the apparatus. “Maybe I can convince Wilbanks to use the throw phone, which is a better plan in the long run anyway. We’ll have total control with the phone lines and communications then.”

  No sooner did Hunter lift the bullhorn to his mouth than another car sped onto the scene and slid to a stop precariously close to the sheriff’s SUV. Snow billowed in great gusts around the two vehicles. “Who the hell is that?” Hunter yelled as both he and Max turned toward the commotion. “What’s the point of a roadblock if every Tom, Dick, and Harry can get through?” he addressed a nearby deputy who responded by sprinting to the barricade.

  “See who that maniac is,” Hunter ordered another deputy.

  That deputy barely took one step before Billy Stump fell out of the driver’s side of the car, landing in the pile of snow his car had kicked up. He eased himself up from his knees and stumbled toward Max and Hunter. “He killed her. That sonnabitch killed her.” His words slurred. Tears streamed down his face and froze to his chin like wax. He tripped into Max’s arms.

  Max turned his head away from Stump’s overwhelming cloud of stale alcohol and cigarettes. “Get back to the bullhorn. I’ll handle this idiot,” Max told Hunter. A prison officer would have alerted Stump to Wilbanks’s escape and Stump probably found out from the dispatcher where everyone had headed.

  Hunter again attempted to get Wilbanks to answer. He repeated his cushioned threat. “The EST is in place and ready to take you down if necessary. But I’d hate to do that, Chad. We don’t want to hurt anyone. Do the right thing, and talk with me.”

  For the moment Max devoted his attention to Stump. Eagle joined Max as Max was berating Stump. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” He pushed him away. “You stink like an abandoned brewery.”

  “I loved her, ya know,” Stump blubbered.

  “Who?”

  “Lizzie,” he said. The name was buried in Stump’s boozed slur.

  “You’re a damn fool. If you loved Lizzie, you should have protected her. If you ran Hawk Haven like you should have, none of this would have happened.” Max’s voice escalated. “I wouldn’t be here praying that Celeste is okay, and Lizzie would be alive.”

  “I loved her …” Stump’s voice faded into the
wind.

  “You disgust me,” Eagle ventured his opinion. “You have disgusted me since you walked through the gates at Hawk Haven.” He lowered his head and jammed his toe into a snowbank. “I should have made sure you walked out of Hawk Haven as fast as you walked in, and long before this ever happened.” He looked up and nodded toward the lighthouse.

  “What will I do?” Stump sniveled like a spoiled brat. Clearly he took no responsibility for the situation.

  “You’re too drunk to make any sense of what is happening or your part in it,” Max scolded. “Get out of here before I slug you.”

  “He can’t drive in his condition,” Eagle pointed out.

  “You’re right. Get one of the deputies to take him back to Big Bay and dump him into a snowbank for all I care. Maybe it will sober him up.” Max lurched forward when Stump staggered and grabbed onto his shoulder. Max yanked his arm free, wincing from the pain. He wasn’t recuperated enough to take on this much all at once and wondered what the long-term outcome of this stress would be for him.

  Stump dropped to the ground. After several seconds he pulled himself onto his hands and knees. Like a begging dog, Stump looked up at Max. “Don’t send me away. I can help.”

  “You’ve done enough damage for one day. In fact, for a lifetime.” Max made no attempt to hide his disdain or anger. “Get up and get out of here before I do hurt you.”

  A deputy lifted Stump from the ground and nearly carried him to his squad car. Stump’s feet dragged, then wobbled, then dragged until the deputy reached the car and folded Stump into the backseat.

  Max turned to Eagle. “We found out that the second victim is Priscilla Madden.”

  “What?” Eagle shrieked. “How can that be? She called me about four thirty. She wanted to discuss a prisoner with me, but I couldn’t right then.”

  “It could have been part of the escape plan. You know a diversion and an alibi.”

  Eagle just shook his head.

  With Eagle in tow, Max joined Hunter at the command post. Too bad the Marquette Sheriff’s Department didn’t have one of those fancy mobile command vehicles. They’d stay warm, rather than stomping around to keep from freezing. Their shadows swayed in the portable lighting, making them all look like ritual dancers.

  As Max approached Hunter, he heard yet another plea to Wilbanks. “No answer yet?” Max asked. He placed a second tablet under his tongue before Hunter could catch him.

  “He hasn’t even tried to sneak a peek out a window.” Hunter shook his head. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “If that’s true, what pill did you just put in your mouth?”

  Before Max could say anything else, Hunter got word from the EST leader that all his men were in place and that the sharpshooter would make every effort to get Wilbanks in his sights. “Let me know when he has a clear shot. And for God’s sake, tell him not to harm the hostage,” Hunter said as he eyed Max. “I know he knows,” Hunter barked. “Tell him anyway.”

  “Apparently,” Hunter reported, “Wilbanks planned for the EST. The house is dim, which isn’t a problem using our night vision equipment. The problem is that he’s pulled all the drapes over the windows that have them and he appears to be positioning himself away from those without any covering. Our sharpshooters can’t get him in a positive sighting.” He paused. “We may have to storm the place.”

  Max looked at the ground and thought through the situation. He raised his head and engaged Hunter’s inquisitive gaze. “You’ll have to do what you deem necessary. I don’t care what happens to Wilbanks. But can you guarantee the shooter will miss Celeste? Can you promise me that Celeste will be unharmed?”

  Hunter said nothing.

  The two friends stood together studying the lighthouse.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  SHOWDOWN

  CELESTE NODDED AWAKE. HER head hung against her chest as though an anchor held it in place. She could hear a man’s voice in the distance. What was he saying? It sounded like, “We don’t want to hurt anyone.” Hurt who? When she tried to lift her head, the room spun. Was she coming out of anesthesia? She quickly closed her eyes and swallowed back vomit. Heat raged in her swollen jaw as though someone had set it afire. Her head throbbed with such pain it took her breath away.

  After several minutes Celeste slowly opened her eyes and tried to focus on the painting of a sailboat on the wall across from her. The whole picture seemed to be floating. Her stomach churned like the waves.

  Moments passed. When her nausea had abated, she risked looking around the room. Why did she feel as though she had stumbled into another world? Although she knew her uncertain vision played tricks on her, everything seemed veiled in a translucent cloth. The sensation was so real, she wanted to pull the fabric aside.

  The painting slowly became fully recognizable. Max had given it to her for a housewarming present. She remembered the day they’d hung it in her living room. Ah. Her living room.

  Celeste touched the back of her head where a crusty lump had formed. How had that happened? Her light-headedness and aching body warned her that any motion could cause her to pass out again. She hardly moved as her eyes slid from one side to the other, taking in everything around her. All of a sudden it came back to her.

  Chad. Chad was here. Chad held her captive.

  But where was he? She only hoped her injuries wouldn’t prevent her from dealing with him.

  No, she only hoped she could stay alive.

  Celeste heard the voice from outside for a second time. She cocked her head to listen and an unexpected yelp escaped her. Even that slight movement made her head feel as though someone had sliced her head open. She lifted a hand to her cheek and held it there for comfort. The throbbing only increased.

  The voice surely meant someone had gotten through to the lighthouse and would rescue her. She cushioned her swollen cheek in the palm of her hand again. This time the warmth brought a slight relief from the pain.

  Indeed the police had to be on the scene by now, didn’t they? But she didn’t know for certain how long it had been since Chad had broken into the house. How could she know for sure who was outside? Maybe the voice belonged to Chad’s accomplice.

  Maybe it was too late for her.

  Where was Chad? Although her vision was still murky, she could make out almost everything around her—the two matching sofas, the other wingback chair across from hers, the game table where the children often gathered, the shelves that held her beloved books, the fireplace. The scant remaining embers offered little warmth. She should feel comforted by what she took in. It was her home, after all. Yet she couldn’t. The toppled rocker said it all. Celeste shivered. What would happen to her?

  It was too quiet. Perhaps Chad fled when he heard the voices. Could she be that fortunate? She wouldn’t be reassured until she knew without a doubt Chad had gone.

  She heard a rustling sound coming from the kitchen. Please, dear God, let it be the police. Celeste dared to look. No matter how little she could actually see, there was no mistaking the figure walking through the doorway. Hope vanished.

  “HEY. YOU DECIDED TO join me again,” Chad sang out. “You’ve been sleeping for nearly an hour.” He paused and pointed his gun toward the woods. “We have company.” He smiled. “You probably already know that, don’t you?” He seemed to enjoy the intrusion.

  Celeste wanted to cry as loudly as she could. Joy at the police’s arrival warred with fear that their appearance would push Chad over the edge. That would mean the end of her. What was he waiting for?

  Chad went from window to window. He pulled back each curtain enough to peek out into the yard. He seemed less sure of himself and more anxious. Celeste found it difficult to gauge his next move when his mood kept changing.

  Chad tossed the gun from hand to hand as he walked from window to window. He spoke to himself in an inaudible tone. From everything Celeste knew about him, this behavior was uncharacteristic. Normally he liked to be heard, because he felt
in control. Normally he … Celeste refused to think about the awful things Chad normally did to his victims. It was enough to recognize Chad wasn’t behaving according to pattern. Could he be afraid?

  Celeste decided to take a gamble and lay out what she saw as Chad’s prospects. Before she could gather her thoughts, he spoke. “You’re not saying much. You should be delighted your friends are here.” He leaned close to her and she could smell the smokiness of the ham he had eaten earlier. “Maybe we should have a welcome party. Never mind. You won’t be around to enjoy it.”

  “We could both enjoy it,” Celeste whispered. With every word came a sharp pang ricocheting around in her jaw. She feared Chad had broken it. “You have to let them know that I’m still alive.” The blood caked around her mouth tugged at her skin each time she spoke.

  “Why would I do that? I’m not planning on you still being alive, remember?” He smiled again but this time with the bravado of a man who had conquered Mount Everest.

  “Don’t you want to stay alive?” Celeste tried to speak louder to sound stronger. The motion made her head feel as though it would explode out through her eyes.

  “Hurts you to talk, doesn’t it? So why don’t you shut up?” Chad sneered. He walked to the fireplace, then to a window, and back to the fireplace. He paced to the kitchen doorway, stood there for a while, and tilted his head toward the window. Did he hear something?

  “I want to help you, Chad.” Did she dare go in this direction? Did she dare appear to be guilt-tripped by his earlier accusation that she had abandoned him? Would that temporarily appease him? “I want to make up for what has happened to you,” she lied.

  “Ha!” Chad slammed the gun on the table next to Celeste. The lamp fell to the floor and rolled to the corner in a clatter. At least he hadn’t hit her this time. “That’s bullshit. You don’t give a damn about me. You’re trying to save your own skin.”

  “Truthfully? Yes. But I’m trying to save both our skins.” Celeste inhaled slowly and deeply. She released the breath in a long unhurried exhale. She only wished such meditative breathing would help ease the stinging in her face and settle her nerves. She had to take chances with Chad. She just couldn’t sit there and let him kill her. “You know you have no way out of this. The house is surrounded. You can’t escape.”