They Won't Be Hurt

by Kevin O'Brien

  Laura was about to say that she’d be home in ten or fifteen minutes. But she hesitated. Maybe she was better off not telling them when she was coming home. “Um, call me, okay?”

  She clicked off.

  Something had happened. Until Joe called back, she’d have to prepare herself for the worst possible scenario. At the same time, it might be too soon to call the police.

  Laura pressed harder on the accelerator. She just needed to get home. She didn’t have a plan. But she had the gun and some pepper spray. And since they had no idea how soon she would be there, she had the element of surprise on her side.

  So how come she felt as if she was the one in for a horrible surprise?

  In the distance, up ahead, she could see the town center with all the white Christmas lights sparkling.

  Laura slowed down for the turnoff that led to Rural Route 17—and home.

  * * *

  Lying on her bed in the dark, Sophie listened to Vic moving around the house. He trudged up and then down the stairs. She wasn’t sure if he was checking on Joe or stealing more valuables to take with them.

  As soon as the two of them had left her alone with James, Sophie had rolled over so that she was on her side. She faced the closed door and kept wiggling her hands and feet. But it still didn’t seem to do any good. The restraints were as tight as ever, and the constant tugging only chafed her skin until it burned.

  She might have rolled off the bed and tried to find something to cut at the rag-restraints, but Vic had already removed all sharp objects from her bedroom and bathroom. There was nothing she could do but keep struggling—even if it was in vain.

  At one point, Vic turned on the TV again—at a normal volume for a change. Sophie could hear some comedian talking and laughter from a studio audience. For a minute, she thought Vic might have parked himself in her father’s chair in front of the TV again.

  But then she heard the back door open and shut. After a few moments, a car engine started up. She remembered her mother saying that Dane’s pickup was parked behind the garage. Sophie realized Vic was getting the vehicle ready for their getaway. It made sense. The police would be looking for her mother’s Sienna, not Dane’s pickup.

  She realized something else. This was probably her only chance to get some help while Vic was out of earshot.

  “Joe?” she cried. “Joe, please, wake up!”

  Right now, he seemed like her only chance. She tried to lift her head up from the pillow. “Damn it, Joe! Please!” she yelled. “Help me!”

  In the twin bed across from her, James stirred and groaned a little.

  Sophie heard the pickup’s engine purring as Vic pulled up somewhere near the front of the house. She kept calling for Joe, even louder. She knew he’d been drugged. But how could he not hear her? He was just down the hall, and she was screaming.

  She remembered all the news stories about how Joe had slept through the Singleton murders—and the shooting that had occurred just below his garage apartment window. Still, she kept crying out his name until she heard the pickup’s engine stop.

  The vehicle’s door opened and shut. A few moments later, she heard the kitchen door slam. Vic was back inside the house.

  On the TV, there was another big wave of laughter from the studio audience.

  Sophie held her breath and listened.

  He was coming up the stairs again. “I’m going to finish what I started with you, girlie,” he called softly—in a strange singsong way that made her shudder.

  She listened to her bedroom door squeak as he removed the crowbar from the frame. “‘Hey, Joe, help me!’” he whispered, imitating her. “‘Please, Joe . . .’”

  Vic opened the door, and the light from the hall poured in from behind him. Sophie saw his silhouette in the doorway. He held up the baby monitor.

  “ ‘Hey, Joe!’” he whispered again. Then he cackled.

  “He didn’t hear you, Sophie. But I was listening. In fact, I have to admit, it got me kind of hot. So go ahead and scream. I want you to. No one will hear you, except me . . .”

  * * *

  Approaching the driveway, Laura slowed down and switched off her headlights. She leaned in close to the wheel and watched the road ahead. There were no other cars along the route. She navigated in the dark for a few moments until she reached the driveway. After she made the turn, Laura braked for a moment and studied the house in the distance.

  Dane’s pickup was parked in front. Laura guessed Vic was getting ready to leave—but with or without Joe?

  And what about her children?

  Everything looked quiet. The living room light was on. Upstairs, the lights were off in Sophie’s room and in the master bedroom. But the upper windows weren’t completely black, so she figured the upstairs hall light might have been left on.

  Laura pulled the car into the driveway, then turned and parked in front of the winery’s tasting cottage. She couldn’t see the house from here, but they couldn’t see her either.

  Switching off the engine, she reached for the cell phone and started to dial her number. Maybe they’d answer this time, and maybe Sophie would get on the line and tell her that she was tired. Then perhaps they could get through this night without anyone else getting hurt.

  But the phone screen light flickered on for a moment, flashing the message: Low Battery. Then the light went out. She wasn’t even getting a signal.

  “What?” she whispered. “Damn it . . .” She hadn’t been paying attention to the power grid along the top of the phone screen. She’d figured it had been charged up for the day. Why hadn’t she gotten more warning? Her last call had been just fifteen minutes ago. Was that how long the phone had been dead?

  For all she knew, Vic or Joe may have tried to call her back. Maybe when they hadn’t gotten an answer, they’d thought she had gone to the police.

  Laura remembered the old landline in the cottage’s closet. She could call them from there.

  But Vic wasn’t about to pick up a random call—unless he figured out that it was her home phone number. And then she’d only be giving herself away. The whole point to calling was to check on her kids without letting Vic know how close she was. If she called from the cottage, she might as well just walk up to the front door and knock.

  Laura decided if she was to use the phone in the cottage, she’d use it to call the police.

  But first, she had to know what to tell them. She needed to know what was going on inside her home. She needed to know exactly where her children were—and if they were still alive.

  Laura transferred her house keys from her purse to her coat pocket. Then she reached into the bag on the floor of the passenger side and took out the handgun and the pepper spray. The gun felt so strange in her trembling hand. She carefully slipped it inside the pocket of her peacoat, and tucked the pepper spray into the pocket of her jeans.

  The cold night air hit her as she climbed out of the car. A light flurry descended from the dark sky. Laura quietly closed the car door. Then she took a few deep breaths and started to skulk up the long driveway toward the house.

  * * *

  There was just enough light from the hallway for Sophie to see the grin on Vic’s face. He stepped into the room, set the baby monitor down on her dresser top, and then reached back for his gun. He put that on the dresser top, too, and sauntered toward her.

  Lying on her side, Sophie squirmed helplessly. The mattress squeaked. She lifted her head from the pillow and glared at him. “I know you don’t give a damn about waking up my little brother and what he might see, but you don’t want Joe hearing us. He’s right next door. My mother’s out there, helping to prove he didn’t kill those people. Do you really think he’ll let you do anything to me? I don’t care how drugged up he is. He’ll stop you, Vic. He might even kill you . . .”

  He stood over her in the darkness. “Joe’s asleep, honey. He’s dead to the world. And he won’t remember any of this. Just a few minutes ago, you were screaming for him to help y
ou. I heard you on the baby monitor. He didn’t wake up then. He won’t wake up now . . .”

  “You heard me on the receiver, because the monitor’s under my bed,” Sophie said, looking Vic in the eye. “But you couldn’t hear him answer me—twice. He’s half-awake, and if he realizes what you’re doing in here, he’ll never want anything to do with you . . .”

  She kept staring at Vic and wondered if he believed her lie.

  Vic said nothing for a moment. He turned and grabbed his gun off the dresser top and tucked it back under his shirttail. Then he came over to the bed, and with one yank, he turned her on her stomach. Then he grabbed her under the arms, pulled her up, and dragged her to the door.

  Sophie struggled as he hauled her down the corridor. With her hands and feet tied, she was powerless. Towels and sheets that had been pulled from the linen closet tangled around her feet and left a trail as he kept dragging her along. Just outside the open door to her parents’ bedroom, she screamed: “Joe, help! Please . . .”

  Vic slapped his hand over her mouth. Sophie tried to bite him. But his hand pressed against her lips so tight she could barely move her jaw.

  At the top of the stairs, she tried to throw herself under him in an effort to trip him. Vic merely stumbled. He let go of her and sent her tumbling halfway down the steps. Sophie let out a cry as she landed on her side and bashed her shoulder. It knocked the wind out of her. But the fall had done nothing to loosen her restraints. And the pain was nothing compared to her frustration.

  From the second-floor landing, Vic smirked down at her. He wasn’t even angry. It was as if he wanted her to put up a fight, and this was just foreplay for him. “Joe’s still asleep, Sophie,” he said. “But I like your idea of doing it down here in the front room, so I can keep an eye out for your mom. Is that where you and Matt do it when you’re alone here?”

  Sophie gazed up at him with her one good eye. She shook her head. “Joe!” she screamed at the top of her voice.

  Before she could scream his name again, Vic rushed down the steps. Then he gave a little kick and sent her toppling down to the bottom of the stairs.

  * * *

  Laura snuck up to the kitchen window—the one above the sink. She could still see the smudge marks from when she’d wiped away the message she’d written in the steam yesterday morning. That seemed like a week ago.

  The kitchen was empty. Vic’s backpack sat on the counter-bar. In the family room, the lights were on, and Laura could hear the TV. The sliding glass door’s curtains were open, and the darkened glass was like a mirror for the entire room. Sean’s recliner was unoccupied. The television was playing to an empty room.

  Past the sound of some comedian’s spiel on TV, Laura heard a sudden rumble and then a crash. The sounds seemed to come from one of the rooms near the front of the house.

  Hurrying over to the kitchen entrance, she pulled at the old screen door. The flimsy little hook lock was fixed in the holder. Laura couldn’t believe someone had actually locked the screen door—unless it was Vic, trying to trip up one of her kids in case they attempted a quick escape.

  She could hear him now—past the TV. He chuckled. He was talking to someone, but Laura couldn’t make out the words.

  From her coat pocket, she pulled out her keys and looked at the little replica of a Washington State license plate that spelled MOM. She tried to slip it between the old screen door and the doorframe. But her hand was shaking. “C’mon, c’mon . . .” she muttered impatiently. She finally squeezed the thin plastic trinket through the crack in the door.

  Just then, she heard Sophie scream.

  For a moment, she was paralyzed.

  What was Vic doing to her? She wondered where Joe was—and why he wasn’t doing anything to help her daughter.

  Tears in her eyes, Laura worked the mini license plate up through the crack and lifted the hook out of its holder. She swung open the screen door and then fumbled with the key in the lock. She knew she had to be as quiet as possible. At the same time, it was all she could do to keep from taking out the gun and shooting off the lock.

  She thought she heard a car in the distance, but she wasn’t sure. Practically everything was muddled in her head right now.

  Only one thing was clear: Sophie was in there with that animal.

  * * *

  Vic threw Sophie on the sofa, and she screamed.

  Again, she landed on her side, banging her other shoulder this time. The restraints continued to chafe and burn the thin skin around her wrists and ankles. She squirmed and writhed on the sofa as Vic hovered over her. He brought his face down close to hers, and she could smell his breath.

  Then, past the noise from the TV, Sophie thought she heard a car. It sounded like someone turning into the driveway, but she couldn’t be certain.

  Vic seemed to hear it, too. He glanced toward the window for a second.

  Sophie saw he was distracted, and she knew she had to grab this opportunity. She reeled back and slammed her head into his. She heard an awful crack.

  He howled in pain and pulled away.

  Sophie struggled to get to her feet but couldn’t get her balance. The head slam had her seeing stars. Her ears were ringing. Helpless, she fell back onto the sofa again. The ringing stopped, and she heard the TV—a roar of audience laughter. She heard Vic groaning and grunting.

  He came into focus again. Undeterred, he climbed on top of her once more. Blood dripped onto her face.

  As Sophie wriggled beneath him, she realized she must have broken his nose. The blood gushed down over his mouth and dripped off his chin. But it didn’t stop him. He was almost trancelike in the way he couldn’t be stopped. He had a blank expression on his messed-up face as he started to paw at the neck of her T-shirt. His eyes were dead.

  “Get away from her, you son of a bitch.”

  It was her mother talking.

  As Vic turned, Sophie peered over his shoulder at her mother. She stood in the front hallway with a gun pointed at him. But Vic didn’t move. The blood from his nose dripped onto the front of Sophie’s T-shirt.

  Her mother nodded toward the front door. “Move away from her now,” she said steadily.

  Vic laughed—a low, defiant snicker. But he pulled away from Sophie and took a couple of steps toward the hall. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. “You aren’t going to shoot me, Teach.”

  The gun was shaking in her mother’s hands. She glanced at Sophie for just a second. “Where’s your brother? Where’s Joe?”

  Dazed, Sophie stared at her. “Uh, upstairs—asleep,” she heard herself say. “He—he drugged them both.”

  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” her mother said to Vic.

  He stopped and held his hands out in front of him at waist level, palms up, as if he was about to catch something. He chuckled again. “I saw what kind of markswoman you were yesterday,” he said. “Even if you tried to shoot me, you couldn’t hit me. And by the way, that gun you’ve got is a piece of shit.”

  “Open the front door,” her mother said, standing her ground. “Open it!”

  As Vic slowly turned toward the door, Sophie saw the smirk on his blood-smeared face. He didn’t seem at all intimidated. Still, he opened the door. Then he turned toward her mother.

  “Now get out of my house,” she whispered.

  He didn’t move. He just laughed again. “Oh, I’ll bet you’ve been just dying to say that since yesterday morning. Did it feel good, Teach?”

  She stared at him. “It sure as hell did, you worthless scum.”

  He still had a tiny smile on his face as he turned his body to one side and edged out the door. Sophie saw him move his hand toward his back. “Mom, he’s got a gun!” she screamed.

  Vic lurched forward in the doorway and aimed the gun at her mother.

  Sophie screamed. She tried to get up from the sofa.

  She heard two shots go off.

  Her heart stopped. She fell to her knees and gazed at her mother.<
br />
  With a stunned look, her mom clutched her stomach and backed away until she bumped into the wall. All the while, she stared wide-eyed at Vic.

  He stood in the doorway, the grin still plastered on his crimson-smeared face. He cackled—and then started coughing. A spray of blood came out with every cough. His hand dropped to his side and the gun fell to the floor. He tipped his head to the left, and that was when Sophie saw the blood gushing from a hole in his neck.

  “My God,” her mother gasped. She was still in shock, still leaning against the wall. There wasn’t a drop of blood on her.

  Vic stumbled back and collapsed on the front porch.

  He was out of their house at last.

  Her mother looked at her and winced. “Oh, look at what he did to you . . .” she murmured, out of breath. “Sweetie, are you all right?”

  Sophie nodded. “Are you?”

  Her mother nodded back. She even smiled a little.

  Then she staggered over to the door and shut it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Wednesday—12:57 A.M.

  It felt good to shut the door on Vic—for a few minutes.

  Laura didn’t have to see his corpse lying on their front porch while she frantically searched for a knife or scissors to cut Sophie’s restraints. She kept thinking of James upstairs. Sophie had said that he and Joe were asleep. As much as Laura wanted to see him and hold him, she reminded herself that Sophie was the one who needed her help right now.

  Laura realized Vic had collected all the sharp objects. The scissors and cutlery were in a garbage pail somewhere out in the garage. So she went through his backpack, which he’d left on the kitchen counter-bar. But she couldn’t find anything of use in there. She thought she might discover one of the phones, but no such luck.

  Then it finally dawned on her where she could find a knife.