I’m not sure how, but my legs loosen up and I find myself putting one foot in front of the other, albeit in slow motion. I soon reach the front of the house and I peek around the corner, looking for Harding and Walter. They are no longer standing in front of the tree. In fact, the kids are gone from the front porch, too. Now I start to panic, thinking that whoever was talking on the phone has somehow gotten to them already. They are probably like Allie fears, chopped up and stuffed in plastic sandwich bags and thrown in the river.
Allow me to pause at this juncture in my story in order to point out how illogical this thought process is. The only entrance to the house is in the front. There are no windows in the back of the cabin, either. On the other side of the cabin are tall trees and an assortment of bushes. The only way for the person behind the house to have reached the front first without passing me, would have been to fly. And as we all know, people can’t fly. Duh. Oh, and also, I don’t think there is a river around here either.
Now trembling with fear, I cautiously step on to the porch, the boards groaning under my feet, protesting my presence. It suddenly starts to drizzle and the wind is blowing furiously, the trees beating against the window panes. My hand is poised on the screen door when I hear the sound of gravel crunching under tires behind me and I swivel my head in the direction of the driveway.
Jason’s car is pulling up in front of the house and relief washes over me. As he climbs out of the car, I rush towards him, taking the porch steps two at a time.
“Amy?”
“Oh my God, Jason! The killer is here I heard him talking on his cell phone in the back of the house and I don’t know where anyone else is because I came around the corner and Allie wasn’t drawing and the other guys weren’t by the tree and now I’m afraid to go in the house and why are you here didn’t you have a meeting?” I take a deep breath after my run on sentence. I can tell by his expression that Jason is extremely perplexed.
“What? What are you talking about? What killer?” he asks while I drag him towards the house.
“Mary’s killer! He’s here!” I shout with exasperation. Geez, for a secret agent he was kind of slow witted.
Jason’s hand covers his vest, reaching for his weapon. “How do you know? Why didn’t you tell Harding? Or Walter?”
“He was behind the house. I heard him talking on his phone, telling someone he killed Mary. I went to go tell them but I couldn’t find them. And then you showed up,” I explain, suddenly lowering my voice as we approach the front door.
“You heard him say I killed Mary on his cell phone?” Jason asks incredulously.
I shake my head. “Well, not in so many words. I heard him talking and it sounded like he couldn’t me trusted. He said, and I quote, the old lady was the simplest hit he’s ever done…” Or something along those lines.
Jason raises his eyebrow. I can tell he is seriously starting to doubt my credibility. “What did he say exactly?”
I scrunch up my forehead, trying to think. What did he say actually? What made me suspicious? I couldn’t very well tell Jason about the sensation of dread I experienced when hearing the man talk, could I?
And then I remember. “He said something about killing you! To take you out of the way if necessary!” I call out victoriously. See, I knew I had a reason to be suspicious.
Jason blanches and I realize my triumphant tone was not necessary.
“Could you have heard wrong?” Jason asks me hopefully.
I think back to the howling wind and wonder, did I hear the man correctly? Maybe that’s not what he said after all.
But then it hits me. “Wait a minute! I’m sure the guy was up to no good because nobody is supposed to know we’re here, right?” And I raised my eyebrow at him suspiciously. “And whoever it was didn’t think you were around. I thought you had to go to a meeting?”
“I did, but when I got to the main road, a tree was blocking the road. It fell in last night’s storm. They’re working on removing it, but for the time being, we are stuck here.” Jason swallows hard as the significance of those words occur to him and I know we are in real danger here. “Stick close to me,” he says as he grips my arm. I close my eyes as his fingers meet my skin, willing my body not to melt with his touch. The fact that we are in the middle of a life or death situation is not calming my attraction to him at all. If anything, it is intensifying it. I’m pretty sure my blood should not be rushing where it currently is rushing to. It should be going to my vital organs and as horny as Jason makes me, I’m pretty sure that place is not a vital organ right now.
Jason pulls the screen door open with caution. With the tip of his boot, he pushes the slightly ajar door open all the way. The warmth of the cabin comes rushing at us and I shiver, not realizing how damp and chilled I had been outside.
To my relief, we can see that Allie and Sean are in the living room, leaning over the record collection again. They are arguing over the greatest group act of the 1960’s. Sean is claiming the Beatles while my daughter is pulling for the Rolling Stones.
Jason’s eyes dart around, looking for his fellow agents. Other than Allie and Sean at the record player, the house appears to be deserted. My pulse quickens as I observe Jason’s fingers inching towards his gun holster.
“Where’s Grampy?” Jason asks Sean. I guess he isn’t planning on explaining that Walter isn’t his real “Grampy” yet.
Sean looks up and shrugs at his father. “I don’t know, but Agent Harding’s in the bathroom.” He wrinkled up his nose. “I wouldn’t go near there if I were you.”
Jason grimaces as he takes a step towards the hallway. I notice that Jason has not relaxed his reach on his gun.
At that very moment, Agent Harding steps out of the bathroom, newspaper tucked under his arm. The sound of the bathroom fan is audible and I detect a toxic odor even from thirty feet away.
“Damn, what did you eat?” Jason asks, covering his nose with the crook of his arm. “That smells like something died in your intestines.” Men can be so uncouth.
Agent Harding shrugged. If he was insulted by Jason’s crass accusation, he didn’t show it.
“Where’s Walter?” Jason asked, attempting to peer around Agent Harding’s wide girth.
Harding shrugged again. “I came in when the kids did and he was sitting outside. Said he wanted to get some fresh air.”
Jason and I glanced at each other uneasily. Walter hadn’t been outside when we walked in.
“Shit,” Jason mutters under his breath. He spins on his heel and dashes off towards the front door. I race after him, taking two steps for each of his one. I grab the door before it slams in my face and chase him out to the porch.
He is standing in the middle of the driveway, eyes darting around nervously, hand inching towards that gun again.
Panting, I join him. “Do you think Jimmy got Walter instead?”
“Get back inside, Amy,” Jason growls as he scans the area. “It’s not safe out here for you. Go watch the kids.”
I place my hands boldly on my hips. “Harding’s got them. Let me help you.”
What? Who are you and what have you done with Amy Maxwell? The Amy Maxwell I know would be hiding under the bed, dresser pushed up against the door, shaking like a leaf. Who is this ballsy chick, willing to risk life and limb for a little adventure?
Jason opens his mouth to protest again, but there is no need. We hear a rustling coming from the direction of the woods and Walter steps into view, clothes disheveled, a leaf stuck in his hair. There’s a scratch on his cheek and he’s bleeding.
“Walter!” Jason calls out, rushing towards him, hand still on his gun. “What happened?” he asks when he reaches the older man, who appears visibly shaken.
“I’m okay,” Walter pants, obviously out of breath. “I was on the porch and everyone else was inside. I was actually reading the life story of Benedict Arnold…” He gestures towards the Adirondack chair where we can see the pages of a book flapping in the breeze.
&
nbsp; “Benedict Arnold?” I ask.
Walter nods. “I found it in the cabin. In the night stand drawer. I was bored so…” he shrugged.
“Anyway, back to the story,” Jason says, sounding annoyed.
Walter touches his forehead as if he is deep in thought and desperately wracking his brain to remember. “Oh, yeah. Anyway, I heard a noise coming from the woods and I thought it was odd because everyone was in the house. It sounded like someone talking. And if everyone was inside, who was talking? And who were they talking to?” I take Walter’s arm and lead him over to the porch where he gingerly sits down on the step. The scratch on his check has stopped bleeding, but I notice he has a rash of scratches on his arms.
“I crept over to where I heard the noise and I saw a dark shadow of a man dash into the woods. So I took off after him but I lost him about a quarter mile in.” He shrugs. “I’m not a young man any more, you know.”
“Was it our suspect?” Jason asks.
Walter shrugs. “I don’t know, Jason. I can’t see that well, either.”
Jason slaps his forehead. “Why didn’t you call Harding for back-up?”
“It all happened so suddenly,” Walter explains. “Sorry, Jason. I didn’t think.”
Jason groans as he shakes his head. He takes a step towards the woods. I drop Walter’s arm and creep behind him. Jason swivels around to face me, fury in his eyes.
“Amy, I told you to wait here,” he practically growls at me.
I shake my head defiantly. “No way. I’m not letting you go into there alone. There’s a madman out there. A madman who wants you dead.”
Jason sighs and turns to Walter. Pleadingly he asks, “Can you take her inside?”
“I’m not going,” I reiterate.
Walter nods as he struggles to his feet. He seems rather unsteady and I realize that chasing a criminal in the woods may be out of his scope of practice.
“Let me help you,” I offer as I dash to his side, trying to steady him on his feet. He needs a band-aid for the cut on his cheek and I am wondering if we have any inside the cabin. I glance up to ask Jason if there is a first aid kit and he is gone.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, realizing that he has outsmarted me.
Walter chuckles. “You might as well help me into the house then,” he remarks with a wink.
“You men are in cahoots,” I mutter as I help the older man into the house. I can’t help but pause and stare longingly out into the woods, my fingers lightly brushing my lips.
~EIGHTEEN~
After sending Harding to follow Jason, I help Walter clean up his cuts. He tries to wave me off, insisting that I was fussing over him, but what else do I really have to do?
After pacing for a good half hour, continually peeking outside, and not being able to see through the night rain, I absentmindedly prepare a dinner of frozen pizza and burn my hand taking it out of the oven. I dash over to the sink to run it under warm water when I notice a figure slinking around by the bushes outside the house.
My heart starts racing and my throat becomes dry as I try to call out to get Walter’s attention, but no sound comes. One eye on the suspect, I peek over my shoulder. Walter is sound asleep on the sofa, head hanging off the back, snoring loudly. His gun and holster are on the coffee table despite the fact that the kids are on the floor, playing tic tac toe on the giant sketchpad.
I don’t want to alarm the kids, but I need to get Walter’s attention. He’s the one who knows how to use the gun after all. “Walter,” I hiss as I watch the dark figure creep around towards the front of the cabin. Shit. He’s getting close to the front door. Did we lock the front door when we came in? I can’t remember.
“Walter!” I am panicking now, eye on the front door. Is that locked? Shit. I can’t tell.
I have no choice at this point in time. If that door really is unlocked, we’re dead where we stand. I dash over to the front door, not only locking it, but sliding the deadbolt into place. The clacking noise causes the kids to glance up, but it still does not interrupt Walter’s nap. Even over the wind and the now pounding rain, I can hear the sound of boots stepping on to the porch.
“Walter,” I am practically shouting, my hand still on the door as if touching it will keep the bad guy away. Walter snorts, but he doesn’t wake up.
“What’s the matter?” Sean asks, concern on his face. Allie gazes at me wide eyed. I realize they’re relying on me to keep them safe. I’m the person they think is going to protect them right now. Damn, I don’t want to let these kids down.
Realizing that I have no time to wake Walter, I abandon the door and reach over to the coffee table and grab Walter’s gun (a .22? .38 special? Colt .45?) Since I never held a gun before, my hand drops; it is much heavier than I thought it would be. I stare at it, trying to figure out where the safety is. Is the safety supposed to be on? Or off? And how do I know? Pointing it towards the ground, I turn it over, searching for God knows what. Then I realize, the kids are now staring at me. So much for not attracting their attention.
Allie’s big eyes get bigger as I whisper, “Go into one of the bedrooms.”
Allie shakes her head as she leaps to her feet and pushes her body against the wall. “No. I’m not going to let you do this by yourself.” Sean nods and stands between me and the door.
“Don’t be fools,” I growl under my breath. “There’s no point in you two getting hurt, too.” And then I realize. They’re just being as stubborn as I was with Jason an hour ago.
Jason! Where is he? Oh no! What if the bad guy got Jason and Harding already?
The sound of the footsteps is getting louder; it sounds like whoever is on the porch is walking its length, which extends the entire front of the cabin. SLOWLY.
“Get behind me,” I whisper. “Do not get between me and the gun.” Both kids nod as they push their backs against the wall. “I’d prefer if you’d get the hell out of the way, though,” I add, hoping that they may take my advice. Allie shakes her head resolutely.
Suddenly, there is a crack of thunder, a surge of light, and the entire cabin goes dark. Allie screams in my ear and clutches my arm (the one holding the gun, I might add).
“Relax!” I shout. But even as my mouth shouts the words, my body tells me, RUN! Oh my God, get the hell out of here!
Stop, Amy! Keep it together. Allie and Sean are depending on you. And Walter. But I don’t care about Walter as much as I care about the kids. They are helpless, looking to me to protect them. And if I was shaking so hard I couldn’t even point a gun, what good was I to them?
I steady my hand as Allie continues to whimper in my ear. The rain is pounding at the windows steadily and the sound of the screen door creaking open reaches my ears. Shit. I can hear that the doorknob is jiggling now. Whoever is on the porch is trying to get in. I try to glance around the room. If that thunder bolt didn’t wake Walter up, he must be dead. But I still can’t see him as my eyes have not adjusted to the dark yet.
“Back up,” I whisper to my daughter and Sean as I take a step backwards, ordering my legs to stop feeling like Jell-O. My heart is racing so rapidly that it’s sucking the air out of my lungs and my breath is trapped in my throat.
We are almost in the kitchen when a sound, like rapid car backfiring, pierces the night air. We are all alone on a mountain top, no neighbors for miles. That can’t be the sound of a car backfiring. That can only mean one thing. Gunshots. And Jason is outside.
I have no time to panic because now the front door is being pushed open and is slamming against the chain. I can hear the person on the other side curse under their breath and start banging against the door, trying to force it open.
“Hide in the cabinets,” I command the kids under my breath and amazingly, I feel Allie let go of my arm as she follows my orders. Now it is just me and the gun pointed at the door and whoever is trying to open it. I can hear something heavy slamming against it, perhaps the Adirondack chair that had been sitting on the porch.
Stead
ying my grip on the gun, I pull back what I believe to be the safety. I’ve read enough detective novels to figure it out. Or so I hope. My finger anxiously twitches as I feel for the trigger, ready to shoot the intruder as soon as he enters. He may get me first, but at least I can stop him from getting the kids.
Calm, Amy. Relax. Just steady your hand, focus on the target and pull the trigger. What’s that saying? Don’t shoot till you see the whites of their eyes?
At least that is my plan as the door swings open, slamming into the door jam. Thunder ominously cracks and lightning illuminates the sky. I can see the dark figure crowding the doorway, the silhouette of a gun in his right hand. And that’s when I lose it. I don’t see the whites of his eyes, but I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and pull the trigger nonetheless.
There is a deafening crack and the recoil of the gun throws my arms towards my head and slams me to the floor. It is hard to breathe; dust is in my throat and I smell the odor of a gun that has been fired. When I open my eyes, I can see that all around me, sheetrock is raining down, creating a cloudy atmosphere in the room. And the figure in the doorway is no longer standing there.
I jump to my feet, clutching the weapon. Did I shoot him? Did I hit him? And then, the sickening thought, did I kill him? I know it was in self-defense, but the thought of killing another human being makes me want to vomit.
I creep over to the doorway and see that the man is clearly gone. I guess shooting the ceiling scared him off? The rain is blowing in the door as I step out onto the porch, wondering where he has gone. I brace myself against the wind and rain and step further out onto the porch, peering over the railing.
This simple act may or may not be Mistake #8. I’m not sure if the outcome would have been different had I not done this, but I’m pretty sure what transpired next would have played out differently.
Without any street lamps or lights from the cabin, all I can see is the vast darkness that spreads in front of me. I shudder and wrap my arms around myself, gun still in hand.
The 8 Mistakes of Amy Maxwell Page 22
