SORRY CAN'T SAVE YOU: A Mystery Novel

by Willow Rose

  “She had bruises,” I say as he is about to walk away from me. He pauses, his back still turned to me. “Clarice was beaten before she died. There were teeth marks on her body. The autopsy showed she had injuries no one could explain. Something happened to her, and you know it.”

  George stands still for a few seconds, not moving. My pulse has gone up, and I am sweating in the heat. A Hercules is preparing for landing over our heads and roars down above us toward the landing strip. As the noise is gone, George turns to face me again.

  “You need to be very careful now. I suggest you get out of here before anyone knows you’ve been here. Maybe I should call your husband and let him know, huh? Oh, wait, you’ve put out a protective order on him, so he can’t even see his children. What kind of a mother keeps her children from seeing their father, huh? That’s the kind of woman you are.”

  “That’s below the belt, even for you,” I say. “I came here to help you, to warn you…”

  Frank has gotten out of his car and approached us. He grabs my shoulder. “Laurie, maybe we should…”

  “Go ahead and get killed,” I say, letting my anger run away with me. “I’m only sorry I won’t be able to say I told you so because you’ll be dead.”

  George walks away, giving me the finger, while Frank pulls my arm. I snort as he drags me into the car and closes the door.

  “He’s not worth it, Laurie,” Frank says as he takes off. “None of them are.”

  I am on the verge of tears as we leave the base—tears of anger and frustration. I feel like I am Lunatic Laurie, like that crazy person from movies that no one wants to be seen with. And I wonder if any of this has been worth it. Was risking my life in Duke’s house worth it? It’s not like he’s really alive anyway. As a tear escape my eye and rolls down my cheek, I think about the life I used to have. Before Ryan was deployed, back when things were simple, and no one thought I was crazy. Back when we had a bunch of friends and a vibrant social life. How could life change so drastically? Did I let this happen? Is it my fault?

  I think about all that, but most of all, I wonder how it will ever be good again. Is there a way back from this?

  Chapter 41

  I am worried. I keep checking the news for stories of another suicide on base. I am concerned I might soon see George’s name and be told that he decided to end it, that he was known to have been depressed after his divorce. But so far, after three days, there has been nothing. I haven’t heard from Ryan or the police. I don’t know if they ever had that chat with him, but at least he is staying away. I wake up several times at night, gasping, thinking I hear something, worried it is him coming back. During the day, I fear he’ll come to Damian’s school or show up at Isabella’s physical therapy. There was so much rage in those eyes when he left; I fear he isn’t giving up just yet.

  If ever.

  I stare at my desk and the many photos I have hung up on the wall, then at the small yellow sticky notes and the piles of printouts I have made. I know this looks like a crazy person’s, an obsessed person’s work, but it’s what I have been up to. I have been trying to get myself an overview, trying to find anything that could help me get to the bottom of this. I don’t know what I am looking for exactly or what I am hoping to get out of it, but it feels important, and I can’t let it go. I guess you could call me obsessive since I think about it all hours of the day and even at night when I am supposed to sleep. Is there a pattern I have missed? A connection that could help me figure out when he’ll strike next? Is it on certain dates? Why did he choose to kill them in this order? Why Sandra first? How long till he strikes next? I try to figure these things out but have no success. Every day, I consider going back to warn George again. I have already called him twice, then hung up when losing my courage. Then I write him an email. I tell him that I believe he’s in danger, then delete it again. Then I start all over, starting out telling him I know I am the last person he wants to hear from, but he should listen anyway.

  I delete that too, then lean back in my chair.

  You already told him this. If he chooses not to listen, it’s his fault.

  I sip my white wine and stare at the wall when my phone vibrates. I grab it from the table and look at the display, then stop breathing.

  It’s that number again, the one that texted me when I woke up in my car at Duke’s house. He has sent me another text. With heart hammering in my chest, I open it.

  It says: BACK OFF NOW IF YOU KNOW WHAT IS BEST FOR YOU.

  I stare at the message, the phone shaking in my hand. I feel sweaty, and I can hardly breathe. Then I text back: NEVER

  I send it, then stare at the phone, hearing the pulse pumping in my ears. A couple of minutes pass, and when I don’t get an answer, I text again: I AM ON TO YOU. YOU’RE GOING DOWN.

  I look at it, waiting for him to answer, but nothing comes. I want to keep him texting me. I want to know if he really is the killer. Is it Ryan, trying to be clever by hiding behind another number?

  Still, no answer. The silence scares me slightly. I stare at the screen, wondering if I should call the number again. It’ll probably just go to voicemail like last time. If he wants to talk to me, he’ll call me himself.

  I stare at the screen, then decide I have lost him. I am about to put the phone back on the desk when it rings. I gasp slightly, then look at the screen.

  It’s him. He’s Facetiming me.

  My finger is shaking so badly I can barely swipe it across the screen to accept the call. It slips a couple of times before I finally manage to take it. There is scrambling on the other end; the camera is blurry. My heart is beating so fast that it’s hard for me to hear what is going on.

  Am I about to see him? Will I see his face and find out if it is really Ryan?

  “Hello?” I say. I try to make out what it is I am looking at on the screen. It’s defocused and pixelated at first. I squint my eyes to see better.

  “Hello?” I say again. “Who is this?”

  There is no answer. The camera is moving toward something. “Ryan, is this you? Hello? Are you there? What am I looking at here?”

  Finally, the camera stands still, and soon the picture becomes clear. I am looking at someone’s face, but it’s definitely not Ryan. It’s not a man either. It’s a woman, and she’s crying.

  Oh, dear God, no!

  As the realization sinks in, my heart drops. I can feel the blood leaving my face.

  “M-MOM?”

  I am almost screaming now. The camera moves again, and I am looking at another person.

  “DAD?”

  “Please,” my dad’s voice pleads. “Please, don’t hurt us.”

  I realize they’re on the ground, both of them are lying on the floor of their condo. I recognize the tiles in the kitchen.

  “Dad? What’s happening?” I scream.

  The camera moves back to my mom. She has a gun pressed against her skin. Her makeup is smeared; she’s been crying. She also has a bruise on her cheek.

  “Please,” she says. “Laurie. Just do what he tells you to. Please.”

  “Mo-om?” I can hear the desperation in my own voice. It gets shrill and ugly. I can’t breathe. “What are you doing to them, you bastard?” I scream at him while I sink to my knees. “Don’t you dare hurt them!”

  The camera goes closer to my mom’s face, where the gun is being pressed against her cheek, hard. I can hear her whimper. It completely paralyzes me.

  “Please, don’t,” I say. “Please, don’t harm them. Please.”

  I stare at the screen through my tears, and I can hear my mother crying out in distress. She’s terrified. It’s the worst sound in the world.

  Not my mom. Not my dad. I need them, God, please.

  Tears spring to my eyes, and I can’t stop screaming into the phone. “You sick bastard. You sick, sick bastard!”

  I hear him cock the gun, and then my mother screams as he grabs her hair and pulls it back, then places the barrel of the gun against her temple. My mom
closes her eyes and screams, just as the phone goes dead.

  Chapter 42

  I can’t breathe. I look at the screen, then press it, trying to call the number back, but nothing happens. My kids have heard me scream and have come out of their rooms, Damian rubbing his eyes.

  “What’s going on, Mom?” Isabella asks, visibly worried.

  “Take care of your brother, will you?” I ask and rise to my feet. The way I say it makes it sound like I’ll never see them again. I don’t know how I am even standing now, where I’m getting the strength to stay upright. I am fueled by nothing but fear and anger now.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just to Grandma and Grandpa’s place,” I say and rush to the bedroom, grab my gun, then rush to the door, and open it.

  “Lock it after me, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Did something happen to Grandma and Grandpa?” she asks.

  I look into her eyes, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible, while waves of fear rush through my body, threatening to overwhelm me.

  I can’t lose them. I can’t lose them now, God!

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Isabella sends me a concerned look. I know she can tell how desperate I am. I run into the hallway and take the stairs down, taking two, sometimes three, steps at a time. I rush into the street, then run as fast as I can toward my parents’ condominium. I cross their parking lot, my heart hammering in my chest, everything inside of me screaming.

  No, no, no! Please, don’t let them be harmed. Please, let them be alive, God! Please, protect them!

  I fumble with the key to the front door of their building, then run up the stairs, running faster than I ever have, fear knocking in my chest.

  The door to their condo is left ajar. Seeing this, I stop.

  “Mom? Dad?”

  There’s glass on the floor. The vase they usually have by the door is lying on the tiles, shattered. I am careful not to step on any of the broken pieces while walking inside, holding the gun between my hands.

  “Mom?” I say, my voice shrill and high pitched. “Dad?”

  There’s a trail of blood across the tiles, leading toward the kitchen. One of my dad’s woolen slippers is lying by the couch. It has drops of blood on it. The only sound I can hear is the rushing of my own breath. I see the details of Sandra’s bloody corpse in the water flashing before my eyes. Images of her, the sensation of her cold skin against my fingers, and I shiver in fear as I move across the living room toward the small kitchen, gun lifted in front of me. I am holding onto it as terror rushes through me in waves.

  “Mom?” I cry out. “Mooom?”

  I see legs sticking out behind the counter, and brace myself, trying to remain calm, even though my body starts to shake violently.

  I approach the legs behind the counter with the gun still pointed ahead of me. I see their faces as I turn the corner. Two sets of terrified eyes are staring up at me, both their mouths covered with duct tape. I sense they’re trying to tell me something.

  That’s when I hear a sound coming from the hallway as something large is tipped over.

  It sounds just like the umbrella stand that I myself have tipped over a few times when coming to my parents’ place. I know exactly where it stands and run back to the hallway just as someone storms out the door. I see nothing but a black figure, someone wearing a ski mask. I go after him. I know he is armed, but so am I. I am not letting him get away. Not this time.

  “Stop!” I yell.

  But he’s out the door faster than I can get there. I continue after him, then run to the stairs where I can hear him below me. I hurry after him, taking several steps at a time, but so does he, and he has longer legs than me. Soon, he’s at the bottom, gunning for the door. It’s locked, and he’s fumbling with it, so I see my chance to catch up to him. I jump down and point my gun at him.

  “Stop it right there!”

  The figure pauses. He lifts his hands in the air, and I walk closer to see him better.

  “Turn around and take off the mask,” I say.

  He does as he is told, but he is way too fast for me. As he turns around, he reaches out his hand and grabs my gun, then pulls it out of my grip. The gun falls to the floor, and he kicks me in the stomach so hard that I fly backward with a loud scream. I hit my back against the wall, then slide to the floor, the air knocked out of me. I am so dizzy I can hardly see. I manage to raise my head. My head swims, and my mouth is flooded with saliva. I can’t think straight; I can barely see. My back is in deep pain, and I am gasping for air. I bite my lip, so I don’t lose consciousness. I see him jolt for the exit. Seconds later, he’s back by the door, unlocking it, and soon he’s running out into the parking lot.

  I am still on the floor, moaning, as the door slams shut behind him.

  Once I am okay to move, and I can breathe again, I grab the gun from the floor and drag myself back up the stairs and into my parent’s condo. I find them still lying in there, their terrified eyes staring up at me, their mouths duct-taped, and their hands tied behind their backs. I help them get free. My mom is in shock and can barely speak.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I say, sobbing. I hug her tightly and don’t want to let go. My body is shaking, and I am fighting to hold back my tears. “It’s all my fault. I am so, so sorry. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  I look at the bruise on her cheek while she shakes her head. “I’m okay. Help me get up.”

  My dad is sitting up too while I help my mom to a chair. But as I look at him, I realize something is off with him. He’s holding his chest and bending forward. And that is when it occurs to me.

  “He’s having a heart attack,” I say.

  I rush to him and fall to my knees by his side while I scream at my mother to call nine-one-one.

  Chapter 43

  As you can imagine, I am completely out of it at this point. My dad is being rushed to the hospital, and my mom is with him in the ambulance while I drive there on my own. We wait for hours till we can see him, and the doctor says he’s had a heart attack, as I suspected. The doctors fight for his life and manage to save him. I still remember that smile he sends us as we walk in once they let us see him. My mom is in a state of shock and can barely talk. She sits by his side, holding his hand the rest of the night, while I go home to the kids. I sleep in their room all night, keeping the gun close. I barely sleep at all, naturally, but we make it through the night. We report the attack to the police, and they come to take my parents’ statement the next day. They keep asking them what the attacker looked like, but neither of them saw his face. He was wearing a mask when he rang their doorbell and my mom went to open the door. It all happened really fast, she tells the police. He grabbed the vase by the door and hit my mom with it, then dragged her into the kitchen, where he placed both of them with their heads to the tiles.

  Laurie pauses and looks down at her fingers. Jonathan nods while Detective Grande looks at her watch.

  “You have somewhere to be?” Jonathan asks.

  She shakes her head. He knows she is lying. Of course, she wants to get home to her husband. It’s late, and she should want to go home. It’s a good thing that she feels that way. He wants to tell her to enjoy it while it lasts, but he doesn’t want to sound like an old geezer.

  “Actually, I am getting kind of tired,” Laurie says. “I think I’d like to stop for today.”

  “Just answer me this,” Jonathan says. “Did you ask your parents if they believed it was Ryan? I mean, he is your husband and their son-in-law. They should be able to recognize his voice or his eyes.”

  Laurie sighs and shakes her head. “As I said, they told me they didn’t get to look at his eyes properly.”

  “And the voice?” Grande asks, leaning forward. “What about the voice?”

  “They couldn’t say for sure. It all went by so fast, they both said. He was yelling, and they never heard Ryan yell before. My mom leaned toward it being him, while my dad said it wa
s way too vague to be certain.”

  “Sounds like a scary experience,” Jonathan says, then turns off the dictation app and smiles at Laurie. “We’ll leave you for now and see you in the morning.”

  “You think she’s pulling our leg?”

  Grande asks Jonathan this as they meet for breakfast at Emmet’s Diner the next morning. Jonathan ate his dinner there too, and now he’s having the best bacon he’s had in many years. Joanne is behind the counter, refilling his coffee, and smiling at him every time she does. Jonathan is beginning to like it in this town. It’s growing on him. He loves the small cabins in the mountains, like the one where they found Laurie. One day, Jonathan wants one of those cabins and to wake up to the fog covering the mountaintops while he’s drinking his coffee on the patio, overlooking the valley below, listening to the sound of the rippling creek. Maybe one day he’ll see a bear or a wild boar, and once in a while, he’ll rent a boat and go sailing on the lakes. Maybe he’ll even learn to like fishing. In the distance, he can hear the old steam train as it takes off from the town’s center, carrying tourists on the long trail ride through the beautiful mountains. It has finally cleared up after it has been raining for almost twelve hours in a row. Jonathan’s shoes are wet at the tips from stepping in a puddle this morning. The creek is overflowing in several places, and they have been warned about the great risk of mudslides.