“Bitch!” Leslie cries out in surprise and pain.
Alice bends down and shoves one of her fat fingers in the dirt. She then rubs her finger against my forehead.
“You’re a dirty girl. You must wear your sin for all to see,” Alice chastises and then directs her attention to Leslie. “Get her in the car, now.”
Leslie spits in my face as payback and tosses me roughly inside the trunk. I land on top of Tucker, who is soaked in blood and covered with bits of flesh and brain matter.
Before the trunk closes, Leslie throws in a long shovel that smashes against my bent knees. I savor the last few seconds of fresh air and quickly fading sunlight until the trunk slams shut and I am jammed into a pitch-black coffin with a dead body. The odor of blood, urine, and sweat from Tucker quickly fills the car, and I hold my breath so I won’t get sick. I fight the panic growing inside of me and make mental notes of the car’s movements. I don’t hear any other vehicles, so we must still be on the property. We drive for what seems about five miles when the car comes to a sudden stop and the driver-side door opens.
“Here, Alice?” Leslie asks.
“No. Not out here in the wide open. Start digging behind those trees,” Alice says.
“How many holes?”
“Two for now. We should leave the boy’s body in the house near Kim’s, so it will be obvious to the police she killed him. I’ll be inside. Don’t bother me until you’re done. Understand?”
“Yes, Alice,” Leslie says.
The trunk opens, and Leslie reaches in for the shovel. I then realize its intent: Leslie plans to bury me alive. I look up toward the melting blues and purples of twilight and beg the universe for help.
“I don’t care what happens to me, but please just let my boys be safe,” I pray.
The sound of metal striking dirt echoes in the background as Leslie begins to dig. I rock back and forth to see if I can gain momentum and try and swing my feet over the side of the trunk but freeze when heavy footsteps approach the car.
“Why do I have to do this all by myself? Alice never does anything. She’s just a big fat pig,” Leslie says. “Stupid dried-up bitch. I bet she wants Cahill to screw her, but he’d be a fool to touch her jelly ass.”
She walks over to the trunk and stares through me with a vacant, careless gaze. I hold my breath as she reaches in and grabs Tucker. His limbs flop like a marionette’s as Leslie tugs at his limp, awkward body and hoists him out of the trunk. I hear his body scrape along the dirt as Leslie drags Tucker over to his grave. Even though it is a muggy early September evening, I begin to shiver uncontrollably as the sound of a shovel hitting the earth repeats until the last scoopful of dirt scatters atop Tucker. There is an eerie stillness for a moment, as though the woods and its creatures are mourning Tucker in a moment of silence. Leslie’s quick feet break the quiet as she returns for me.
Leslie is above me now, still panting from the exertion of burying Tucker. Her head is drenched in sweat, which rolls down her face and drips onto mine. She kneels toward the trunk, grabs my feet, and begins to pull me out.
“No, Leslie!” I say, scrambling to come up with anything to buy more time. “You shouldn’t do anything Alice says.”
Leslie ignores my plea and drags me across the ground until the exposed skin on my arms is rubbed raw. The journey over, she suddenly stops and drops me down in front of a small mound of fresh earth, Tucker’s final resting place. Next to Tucker’s grave is a second hole, the one she dug for me.
Leslie falls to her haunches, just inches away from my face. Her breath smells like sticky, sweet bubblegum. I refuse to let my last memory be of her. I picture Will, smiling wide with the gap between his two front teeth. And Logan, my brave little boy, skipping rocks across the lake and promising he will always protect his brother and me. Fear leaves my body and I am resolved for what will come, as long as my children will be safe.
Leslie stretches her arm behind her, expecting to grab on to the shovel, and then jerks up to her feet. She logs circles around Tucker’s grave like a runner around a track until her hands claw through her strawberry-blond hair in frustration.
“I left it here, I did!” Leslie cries. “Alice, come out here, now!”
A door slams in the distance and Alice’s leaden footsteps approach.
“What is it now?”
“The shovel. It’s gone,” Leslie says, her voice a high-pitched whine. “I left it right here by the tree when I went back to the car to get Julia. I know I did.”
My stomach drops. Logan. He must have followed the car and stolen the shovel when Leslie came back for me.
“What do you mean the shovel is gone? How do you lose a shovel?” Alice asks. “Are you actually dumber than I thought? Is that possible?”
Leslie shakes her head back and forth.
“I left it right here after I buried the man. I swear. Someone took it.”
“There is no one here to take it, little girl. How dumb can you actually be?”
Leslie’s eyes turn to slits and she stares back defiantly at Alice.
“All right. Bring her inside. If you want something done right, you just have to do it yourself,” Alice says.
“It wasn’t my fault!” Leslie answers.
“Because of another one of your screw-ups, we’ve got a new plan. Go back to the house and get rid of the suicide note from Kim. Burn it.”
Alice bends down and looks at me with lifeless, grey eyes. “I’m going to kill you, but before I do, you’re going to write a note. You’re going to say you killed your sons and your friend. Kim found out that you killed Will, and when she confronted you, you killed her and then your other son, Logan. You killed the old man, too, because he came to check on Kim after you stopped to see him at his store. You killed them all because you finally snapped after all those years of guilt over not being able to save your brother.”
A bloom of fury, burning bright and hateful, explodes inside my chest. I lock eyes with the monster trying to destroy everything that is most precious to me—my brother’s memory, Will, and now Logan. I hold her gaze defiantly and silently vow I’ll kill her and Leslie before I let either of them hurt my children.
“Screw you, Alice. You’ve already got two dead bodies. Your plan is unraveling and you know it.”
“You want me to kill her?” Leslie asks.
“Not yet, girl. Bring her inside first,” Alice says. “If you want something done right, you just have to do it yourself, so I’ll take care of Julia. Are you ready? It’s time to play Wheel of Fortune.”
CHAPTER 18
Daylight begins to surrender under the horizon as I scramble to make out where we are on Kim’s property, but nothing looks familiar against the quickly darkening sky. A structure lies up ahead. It’s a modest wooden building with a red star on its roof. The psychic predicted the red star, but I know Will is not inside. It’s not the guesthouse where Alice stashed Will but an old maple sugar shack on the edge of the property the previous owners left behind. The sugar shack is the only building on the estate Kim hasn’t remodeled yet. She got rid of most of the maple sugar production equipment and began to transform the space into an art and writing studio.
“Put her in the chair,” Alice orders as she storms inside the shack.
The crude structure still smells like a hint of sweet maple syrup mixed with a more powerful musky aroma of dampness and decay. The shack is a single room, with a small sink in one corner, a few leftover pieces of banged-up furniture scattered about the relatively large space, which is narrow and long like a railroad car, and a door in the rear that probably leads to a bathroom. Leslie drops me onto a seat next to a thin wooden table tucked against one of the four long walls. I quickly do a more thorough scan of the contents of the sugar shack to see if there is anything I can use as a weapon if I am able to get free. My eyes catch a large cast-iron maple sugar pot that sits on the floor in the kitchen area. I feel a primal strum go off inside of me as I spot the ax used to kill Tucker
lying on the kitchen counter. My mind ticks off a quick estimation: six steps, all I would need to reach the weapon if I can only get myself untied.
My body, although raw from the dragging, has fully recovered from the assaults with the stun gun. I rub my bound hands against the bars of the wooden chair, and for a moment, I convince myself, hope against hope, the knot gives just a little bit.
“I have to go to the bathroom bad,” Leslie complains and begins to dance in place.
“Do it and get back out here quick.”
Leslie hurries to the bathroom, and I steal a look inside as she opens the door. The bathroom is tiny, but there is a small window above the toilet that I may be able to shimmy my way through.
“The police know I’m here. I called them right before I got to Kim’s house. They know Logan is in danger, so it’s just a matter of seconds before the cops storm this place,” I say.
Alice ignores my idle threat, turns her back to me, and pulls out a pair of cat’s-eye reading glasses from the front pocket of her grey dress. She begins to sift through a stack of letters scattered across a small desk in the corner of the room. In the dim yellow cast from the single bulb hanging from the low ceiling, I can see the letters are addressed to Casey Cahill.
“You slaughtered that good man with your nasty little stories,” Alice says while stuffing a piece of blue stationery into a matching envelope and sealing it with a quick lick.
Outside of the shack, the early-night breeze rattles the still-ajar front door and edges it open a few more inches, and I clutch onto the new glimmer of possibility it offers for all I’m worth. If I can only get loose, I know I could make it outside and outrun Alice and Leslie both. I contemplate an escape plan when a thin silhouette darts past the open door. The shadow comes closer, and in the contours of the quickly falling night, I can make out Logan.
No, baby, keep running toward the road, I silently beg my son.
The bathroom door opens, and Leslie ventures out with slow, hesitant steps toward Alice.
“Did you wipe?” Alice asks.
Leslie’s face blushes with embarrassment. “Don’t talk to me that way. I’m not a child.”
“It’s a test God has given me to take care of such a pagan child. But I do it with love and compassion and an iron fist when I have to,” Alice says, still engrossed in her fanatical letters to the imprisoned reverend. “The Bible tells us that sinners must be punished. And when your child does wrong, you can’t turn a blind eye.”
I sneak a glance toward the outside and spot Logan crouched behind Leslie’s car. I watch in horror as Logan begins to creep from behind the vehicle with the pocketknife flipped open in his trembling hand, ready to charge. I can’t let Alice see him, and I can’t let him venture any further.
“Alice, your niece left the door open,” I say. “Thanks, Leslie. The police are going to have an easier time finding me now.”
“Shut your selfish piehole,” Alice bellows and throws her reading glasses down on the desk. She slams the door shut and waddles over to the kitchen, where she begins to wash the ax, which still has a tuft of Tucker’s thick white hair matted to the blade.
“It would be a lot easier to shoot her in the head,” Leslie says.
“No. Let’s make this fun, shall we? It’s time to play Wheel of Fortune. You get to pick, Julia. Ear or nose? What should we chop off first?” Alice opens her arms wide as though she is engaging a live and adoring studio audience. “Oh, please, stop your applause. I do quite fancy the idea of cutting off her nose to spite her selfish face, but let’s start with her ear first. She never listened to God’s word, so now she needs to hear only silence. Go ahead, Leslie. Do it.”
“Don’t listen to her, Leslie. You’re going to get caught and you’ll go to jail for the rest of your life if the police don’t kill you first.”
Leslie looks between Alice and me and then calmly makes her way across the shack floor in my direction with the ax.
In one last, desperate attempt, I tug against the thick knots tied around my hands and feet. The rope around my wrists gives just enough. I rip one hand free and leave it hidden behind the chair. Leslie is just steps away now, her slender hand pressed tightly around the weapon’s handle. She begins to rear the hatchet behind her head, but I snatch Leslie’s arm with my free hand and yank her arm backward in one fluid movement. Leslie screeches, and the hatchet slips from her fingers and clatters to the floor.
A high-pitched wail sounds like an urgent alarm and fills the room. I look toward the noise and see Alice charging toward me with her shrieking mouth wide open. I snatch the hatchet and swing it sideways toward Leslie. The blade connects and slides deep into her thigh seconds before Alice reaches my side.
“I’m hit!” Leslie cries and grabs at her wounded leg.
Alice barrels into me at full speed like a crazed linebacker until she collides shoulder first against my chest. I crash to the floor, still holding onto the hatchet for dear life. Before I can get to my feet, Alice slams her foot down on my wrist.
“I’m hurt bad. I need a doctor. I could bleed out and die,” Leslie says as a deep stain of red seeps down her bare leg.
“I don’t care if you bleed to death. Get the weapon,” Alice says.
Leslie limps toward me, and she wraps both of her hands around mine in a vise grip.
“I’m done being nice,” she moans and squeezes my hand until I feel the bones crunch and then give way.
My cry reverberates through the small room and out into the night. It is answered by a pounding that begins against the back wall of the shack, steady and hard knocks made by little hands.
“Give me that hatchet,” Alice orders.
My knuckles and fingers are shattered, but I struggle to keep holding on.
“Selfish girl,” Alice says. She stomps down again on my broken fingers and easily pries the weapon from my ballooning hand.
“They’re coming for you, Logan. Get out of here!” I scream.
“Shut up,” Alice says. She hauls her fist back and smacks me in the mouth, splitting my top lip open. She then fixes her sights on Leslie, who is crouched in the corner, clutching her bloody leg.
“Get up. We need to find the boy,” Alice says. “Take the hatchet and kill the child.”
“I need to go to the hospital. I don’t want to die.”
“You aren’t going to the hospital. Now move.”
Leslie does as she’s told and hobbles outside with Alice close behind. The pair disappear into the thick shadows of the country night as they head to the grove of trees by Tucker’s grave to search for Logan.
“Mama?” a small voice calls out from behind the front door.
Logan emerges in the doorway, muddied and clutching the small pocketknife I gave him earlier.
“Get out of here. There’s no time to save me.”
Logan rushes inside the shack and tries to dab away the blood now flowing freely from my lip.
“What did they do to you? I’m going to get you out of here.”
“Run to the road like I told you. Don’t come back for me until you find help. Will is in the guesthouse. Tell the police where he is.”
“I’m going to cut you free, and we’ll get Will together,” Logan says and begins to saw at the rope around my feet. “Almost there, Mom.”
“Stop! I hear something outside. Go into the bathroom and lock the door. Don’t open it, no matter what. There’s a window above the toilet. Lift yourself up and go through.”
The front door of the sugar shack bangs opens, and Logan bolts toward the bathroom, fastening the lock in place just as Alice’s fat hands seal around the doorknob.
Leslie stands motionless in the doorway and watches as Alice lifts a single finger to her lips as a warning to me. Alice then clasps her hands around my throat and presses her thumbs against my windpipe.
“Logan, you poor baby. I’m so sorry,” Alice says. “Leslie did this. She took the baby and then tied up your mother. I had to commit Leslie be
fore, but I thought she was all right now. I’ve already called the police, and they’re on their way. Come on out. Your mother is waiting for you.”
“I need to ask my mom something first,” Logan answers.
“Yes, go ahead, son. Your mom is here, just like I promised,” Alice says and digs her fingers deeper into my neck.
“What Alice said . . . if that’s true, tell me what Mr. Moto’s secret weapon is,” Logan asks.
Logan knows from our bedtime story, Mr. Moto’s secret weapon is his invisible shield he uses to protect the village from fire-breathing dragons.
“Tell him,” Alice grunts as she relaxes her grasp slightly.
“Sure, baby. You know Mr. Moto’s secret weapon is his ability to turn his enemies into stone by giving them one withering glance.”
“That’s right,” Alice answers. “Now come on out. I would never hurt anyone.”
Alice looks expectantly at the bathroom door, but it doesn’t open as Logan easily catches on to my lie.
“That’s it,” Alice says. “Where’s the key?”
“Kim told me all the keys to the property are in the guesthouse,” Leslie says.
“God is testing my resolve. Drive me there, Leslie. We’ll get the key and my gun and I’ll slaughter them both. I’m going to make you watch as I kill your boy,” Alice warns me.
Alice charges over to the desk and pulls out a padlock. I hear it snap in place as Alice padlocks the front door shut as she and Leslie leave.
“Don’t come out, Logan,” I warn. “This could be a trap.”
I listen for movement as Leslie’s car engine roars to life and then muffles to a distant rumble as they drive away. Feeling safe, Logan unlocks the bathroom door and cautiously peers out from behind it.
“Come here, sweetheart,” I say.
Logan hurries over to my side and throws his arms around me. His breath is rapid and warm against the side of my face.
“It’s okay, buddy. We can do this. That window in the bathroom, climb through it and get out of here before they get back.”
“They’re going to kill you. I’m not leaving you behind.”
The Last Time She Saw Him Page 24
