They Won't Be Hurt

by Kevin O'Brien

  “Why do you keep apologizing for him?” Laura yelled.

  Joe didn’t answer.

  She picked up one of the drawers Vic had left on the floor and tried to slide it back into the dresser. But her hands were shaking too much, and she gave up. “Maybe you should get in touch with the Singletons’ next of kin,” she muttered, setting the drawer on her bed. “Then you can apologize to them, too. You can tell them how sorry you are for what your friend did to that entire family . . .”

  Joe shook his head. “Vic didn’t kill the Singletons. He wasn’t even on Lopez. He was in Seattle when it happened.”

  Laura stared at him. Maybe that man in the convenience store surveillance video really was Vic. “So are you saying you killed them?” she asked.

  “No! I was asleep!” Joe yelled. “I don’t know why I didn’t wake up, but I swear, I didn’t hear anything!” He slammed his fist against the doorway frame. Tears welled in his eyes. “God, why doesn’t anybody believe me?”

  He leaned against the wall, covered his face, and sobbed for a few moments. “Seeing all that blood just a few minutes ago, it—it took me back to Saturday morning, waking up and finding them dead in that house, the whole family, all the blood . . .”

  A part of Laura wanted to reach out and comfort him. But she couldn’t. “If you’re innocent and Vic’s innocent, why did you run away?”

  Joe wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Vic said the police and everybody else had already made up their minds that I killed the Singletons. The cops, they put me up at a hotel on San Juan Island, and I was trying to do as much as I could to help them, answering their questions and all. I didn’t ask Vic to come. He just showed up. He said I had to get out of there and go on the lam. He said it was my only chance of avoiding the electric chair.”

  “They don’t have the death penalty in Washington State,” Laura said.

  Joe seemed stumped for a moment, and then he just shrugged.

  “Earlier, when you were talking to Vic, you mentioned that you two came here because you needed my help. What did you mean?”

  He glanced down at the carpet. “I can’t say right now.”

  “But you didn’t just come here randomly,” she pressed. “You chose this house—or you chose me—for some reason. You knew who I was before you even came here. Am I right?”

  Joe nodded. “I saw an article in the newspaper a few months ago about you and your husband buying this winery. I figured it—well, I figured this would be a good place to hide for a while, since it seemed kind of remote and all. I figured you might help us . . .”

  “How? I mean, exactly what do you want me to do?”

  He looked at her and winced. “You know, you still have throw-up in your hair.”

  Laura frowned at him and then retreated into the bathroom.

  “Keep the door open a crack, will you?” she heard Joe ask. “I promise I won’t look in or anything. It’s just that Vic will go through the roof if I let you lock yourself in there.”

  Laura left the door ajar. She caught her reflection in the medicine-chest mirror. In addition to having vomit on her hair and down the front of her, she was a sickly ashen color. Her lip was slightly swollen from Vic slugging her a couple of hours ago. She smelled awful, too. She draped the clean pullover on the shower curtain rod, and then carefully took off her sweater. Leaning over the sink, she ran some soap and hot water through the strands of hair that had been splattered. “So—you’re not going to say how you want me to help you,” she called. “Am I supposed to guess?”

  “Vic thought I shouldn’t ask you to do anything for us—not until the kids come home.”

  Laura stopped rinsing off her hair.

  She realized they were going to use her children as pawns. They planned to make the kids hostages in order to get her cooperation for something. For the last couple of hours, she’d been hoping to persuade the two of them to leave before her kids came home. And all the while, they’d just been biding their time, waiting for the first child to come through the front door.

  Laura shut off the water. The handle squeaked. In her bra and jeans, she backed away from the sink and sat down on the side of the tub. Water from her wet hair dripped down her shoulder, arm, and stomach. She started to cry.

  “You okay in there?” Joe called.

  She reached over and pulled a tissue from the dispenser on top of the toilet tank. She blew her nose, and then took a deep breath. “So you’re going to hurt my children if I don’t cooperate with you, is that it?”

  There was silence for a moment. “Vic promised me no one will get hurt.”

  “Do you still believe that—after what just happened?”

  Once again, there was a long pause. “He’s trying to help me.”

  “For God’s sake, what is wrong with you?” Laura asked, getting to her feet. She glanced toward the opening in the doorway, and then started to wash the soiled sweater in the sink. “If you’re truly innocent, Joe, don’t you see how you’re only getting yourself deeper and deeper into trouble thanks to Vic? Before he sprung you from that hotel on San Juan Island, you were just a ‘person of interest.’ That’s what they were calling you on the news. But now you’re the prime suspect and a fugitive . . .”

  She glanced over toward the doorway again. She could see his shadow moving around in the next room. It looked like he might be picking up some of the strewn clothes. Laura hoped she was getting through to him.

  “Vic beat up that man and stole his car, didn’t he?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “You didn’t lay a finger on that reporter, I’ll bet. But because of Vic, you’re an accessory to a robbery and maybe even kidnapping and assault. And now he just murdered a man . . .”

  “Did you know him?” Joe asked once again—from the bedroom. “Was he a friend of yours?”

  “He worked for my husband, but he wasn’t really a friend.” Laura stood over the sink and let the sweater soak. “But that’s not the point, Joe. The point is that Vic has made things a hell of a lot worse for you. It wasn’t your idea to run from the police and steal a car, was it?”

  “No,” she heard Joe murmur.

  “So why are you letting him ruin any chance you have of clearing your name?”

  “You don’t understand. Vic’s my only friend. He’s always looked out for me, ever since we first got to know each other in this—this hospital. See, I was there because I’d messed up a guy, and then I tried to hurt myself. This hospital, it had a lot of disturbed, violent criminals locked up there . . .”

  Disturbed, violent criminals like Vic? Laura wanted to ask. She knew Joe was talking about the psychiatric facility they’d mentioned on the news. But she hadn’t heard anything on the broadcasts about why Joe and Vic had been locked up in the institution.

  “What do you mean you ‘messed up’ a guy?” Laura asked, glancing at the crack in the doorway. “Are you saying you beat him up?”

  “Yeah, really bad,” Joe admitted. “I put him in the hospital. It’s a long story. The short version is that his name was Larry, and he was a coworker at this packing and shipping job I had. It was a really nice job, too. I mean I got to pack stuff to send to people—you know, presents and all that? Anyway, Larry, he’d been razzing me for weeks and weeks, and I finally lost it. I went kind of nuts, and started hitting him. Afterward, when I realized what I’d done, I put both my fists through a window and cut them up pretty bad.”

  “What did Vic do that landed him in this—place?” she asked.

  “According to Vic, he threw something through a huge picture window at some big shot’s house.”

  Laura hung the damp sweater on the shower curtain rod and then dried her hands. Vic’s story sounded like a lie. It didn’t make sense that they’d put him in a state-run psychiatric facility for merely smashing a window. She put on the clean pullover. “It’s kind of strange that you both ended up in that place for breaking windows,” she said. “Are you sure that’s all he did?”

  �
��Well, Vic said it was kind of a conspiracy, because he and this rich guy’s daughter had a thing going on, and the guy had it out for him. Anyway, in the country club—that’s what we called the hospital, ‘the country club’—Vic looked out for me. A lot of guys there would have made my life miserable if it weren’t for Vic. He was like my protector. After I was released, I wrote to him and we kept in touch. A few months later, Mrs. Singleton hired me to look after their Lopez Island house while no one was there—y’know, kind of a house-sitter for the off-season. Anyway, while I was there alone, Vic suddenly showed up. Turned out he escaped from the country club.”

  “They mentioned that on the news,” Laura said. “They said he almost killed a guard. He slashed the man’s throat with a piece of glass . . .”

  “That guard was a real bastard,” Joe pointed out. “I’ll bet they didn’t mention that on the news. Anyway, Vic said he was worried about me being on the outside and on my own and all. So he kept coming around to the island house. Vic even got me to stop taking the medication the doctors at the hospital prescribed. He said I didn’t need any prescriptions as long as the two of us stuck together . . .”

  Laura sat down on the edge of the tub again. She had a ponytail barrette in her hand from the medicine chest. “I think your doctors know better than Vic about what you need,” she said.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Joe argued. She could hear him shuffling around in the bedroom. “As Vic pointed out, where was my old doctor when the police had me locked in that hotel room? Vic’s the one who came to help me. He didn’t have to get involved. He could have gone anywhere and just disappeared, but he took a real chance and got himself into a lot of trouble coming to rescue me.”

  “Rescue you?” Laura repeated. With the barrette, she clipped her hair back. “Is that what Vic told you? Joe, you’re in a hell of a lot of trouble thanks to him. You’d have been better off if you’d stayed in that hotel room. It sounds to me like Vic needs you a lot more than you need him. He was a fugitive alone, but now he’s forced you to go on the run with him. He hasn’t helped you, he’s hurt you. And I’m worried he’s”—her voice started to crack—“I’m worried he’s going to hurt my children. Joe, I’m begging you.” She got to her feet and glanced over at the door. “You need to stop him. I promise I’ll help you. You just need to . . .”

  She choked on the next word.

  In the crack of the doorway, between the hinges, she saw an eye peering in at her. It was Vic, she could tell.

  Laura pulled the door open. Vic didn’t move from the doorway. He glared at her.

  Joe was sitting at the end of the bed with his head down in defeat.

  Laura didn’t know when Vic had come in. But he’d obviously heard enough.

  She stared back at him defiantly. “You know every word I’ve said is absolutely true,” she whispered.

  His response was sudden.

  Laura didn’t even have time to recoil.

  Vic hit her in the face so hard that he knocked her unconscious.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Laura woke up with a horrible headache and a sore jaw. She was in the bathtub. There wasn’t any water in it—except for what dripped down from her wet sweater hanging on the shower curtain rod above her. She was clothed. Her hands, feet, and legs had been bound with some of Sean’s neckties. One of Sean’s belts pinched her arms to her sides so that she couldn’t reach forward and untie her feet.

  In her lap was a frozen bag of peas. It took her a moment to figure out that Joe must have held it to her chin for a while to keep the swelling down.

  She could hear the TV blaring downstairs—some show with a lot of yelling and screaming. There must have been something wrong with the TV reception, because the sound kept cutting in and out.

  Moving her shoulders back and forth, Laura tried to loosen the belt’s grip on her arms. She tugged at the wrist restraints and wiggled her feet to loosen the ties around her ankles. The bag of peas slid off her lap and became wedged between her hip and the side of the tub. With every movement, her head ached even more. The noise from the TV downstairs wasn’t helping either. People were chanting, “Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry . . .”

  She finally realized one of the men downstairs was watching The Jerry Springer Show. The sound going in and out was obviously the participants’ profanities getting bleeped out. Next to watching the evangelical channel, this was Laura’s idea of torture-by-TV—especially with the volume cranked up so high.

  Not being a Springer fan, she had no idea what time his show aired, which was unfortunate. She wanted to know how long she’d been unconscious, and she was worried about what would happen when Patti dropped off James at 2:30.

  Laura kept struggling with the tie-restraints. She figured if her head didn’t explode by the time she freed herself, maybe she could escape out the bedroom window. They certainly wouldn’t hear her past all that shouting on TV.

  She tugged and pulled at the ties around her wrists until her skin burned. Some of the ties were among Sean’s favorites. Well, too bad. He could cry on his girlfriend’s shoulder about it. Laura still didn’t want to think that was true about this other Mrs. Gretchell. She wondered if Sean had tried to call her back yet. She was pretty sure Vic had switched off her phone when he’d confiscated it. If Sean couldn’t get through, he might call someone and have them come check on her. She’d told him it was “no emergency or anything,” but she’d been pretty adamant that he call her back.

  All her struggling with the restraints wasn’t in vain. The ties around her wrists finally loosened and she managed to free one hand. But her arms were still constrained. She awkwardly pulled at the belt until she could reach for the buckle. She finally grabbed it, took a deep breath, and then unfastened it. The belt slid down and the buckle clinked against the inside of the tub. At last, she could move her arms. She bent forward to untie the restraints around her ankles.

  All at once, the TV went silent.

  Laura froze. She heard someone running up the stairs.

  She frantically pulled at the ties around her ankles.

  The footsteps in the second-floor hallway got closer.

  Joe rushed into the bathroom. Vic was behind him.

  “An SUV is coming up the driveway!” Joe said, out of breath. He stooped down and started tugging at the ties around her ankles.

  “Is it two-thirty?” Laura asked anxiously.

  “A quarter to three,” Vic said.

  “Oh, God, it’s my neighbor, Patti, with my son,” she said. She kept thinking about what had happened to the last person who had come near the house.

  Joe struggled to unfasten the ties. Some of the knots had only gotten tighter from all her wiggling. Neither one of the men seemed to notice that she’d nearly liberated herself from the makeshift restraints.

  Laura looked up at Vic. “Please, don’t hurt anyone. I’ll make up some excuse to my neighbor so that she’ll take James for the rest of the afternoon. I’ll send them away. There’s no reason to bring my child into this. He’s just a toddler. Please . . .”

  Vic smirked. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the switchblade and flicked it open.

  Laura automatically shrunk back.

  “I think I’d like to meet your kid.” He pushed Joe aside and, in one motion, he cut the ties around Laura’s ankles. He turned and pointed the knife at her. “This neighbor of yours, you’ve got sixty seconds to get rid of her, or I will. Now, hurry up . . .”

  Joe helped her out of the tub. Laura’s head throbbed as she stood up. She felt nauseous and wobbly on her feet, but she managed to make her way through the bedroom to the hallway. Vic started down the stairs in front of her. “C’mon, move it,” he hissed.

  It wasn’t Vic’s command that made her pick up the pace, but rather the sound of the SUV’s door opening and shutting. Joe hovered behind her. She rushed to the front door.

  But as she reached for the doorknob, Vic grabbed her arm. “Don’t try anything cute,” he whispered.
“We’re listening. And remember, the kid stays. Leave the door open a bit, so we can hear you . . .”

  He stationed himself on one side of the door. He still had the switchblade in his hand.

  Laura opened the door and stepped outside. She still felt a little woozy. But the cold air was bracing. With an unsteady hand, she half-closed the door behind her.

  She wanted to scream at Patti to drive away as fast as she could. But her neighbor had already switched off the engine, climbed outside, and come around the front of the SUV. She was in her mid-thirties and pretty, with dimples and wavy, shoulder-length red hair. She opened the back door to help James out of his toddler seat. She glanced over her shoulder at Laura. “I decided to treat the boys to Mickey-Dee’s, and I was so worried about them spilling in the car . . .”

  She handed James a McDonald’s bag, and he ran toward Laura.

  She stepped down from the porch to meet him. She took the bag from James and then grabbed his hand.

  Patti murmured something to her son, Leo, who was still in the back. Then she turned to face Laura. “And after all my fretting about the boys making a mess, look what I just did when I turned into your driveway. Am I a klutz or am I a klutz?” She showed Laura the chocolate milkshake stain down the front of her beige fisherman’s knit sweater. “Do you mind if I come in and get cleaned up?”

  Laura glanced back at the house—and then at her friend. She didn’t dare try to tell Patti what was happening. Vic was watching her every move. One look of alarm on Patti’s face, and Vic would probably slit Patti’s throat—and her little boy’s. Then there would be three bodies in her orchard.

  “Laura, can’t I come in?” Patti asked.

  She shook her head. “Ah, now’s not a good time . . .”

  Patti laughed. “Are you serious? You’re not really going to make me drive home like this, are you?”

  “I’m sorry,” Laura said, shaking her head again.

  Patti squinted at her. “What’s happened? Laura, are you okay?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she answered, holding James closer to her side. He started to squirm.