Sin And Vengeance

by West, CJ

  The peal sounded again and four loud cracks followed.

  “Let’s go! Let’s go!” Charlie yelled.

  Everyone awoke agitated.

  Charlie grabbed Deirdre around the waist, picked her up, blankets and all, and carried her to the end of the short hall, the center of the house, and left her there mummified against the wall. When he returned for his mother, she was already moving toward him. He shooed her past and stepped down into the greenhouse for his father.

  For the first time, he saw Oliver at the base of the tree. The head of the sledge hammer teetered over his shoulder and started down mightily in a wide, powerful arc. Charles was on his knees as the hammer slammed into the wedge. The gun fumbled to the floor, bounced, and fell flat with the barrel pointing at Charlie’s feet. Charlie hesitated, breathless, fortunate to still have both his ankles. Charles finally seemed to grasp the urgency of the moment. He picked up the gun and took two awkward strides. His feet tangled clumsily in the blankets and he stumbled off-kilter to the center of the greenhouse.

  The tree leaned slowly forward, cracking, gathering momentum as it fell. The trunk gave way with a thunderous snap and the branches rustled and hissed; smaller cracks came faster, now with machine-gun steadiness as the tree hurtled down upon the room of glass. Charlie grabbed his father’s wrist, backed through the door, lost his footing on the slick tiles and tripped backward into the hall, pulling his father by the arm as the tree crashed into the glass roof. The ceiling exploded when the branches hit, erupting in a shower of glass and deformed metal. The branches sliced through the aluminum frame, ripping it from the house and compacting it to the foundation like a soda can. The doorway around Charlie was suddenly green with new oak leaves. Wiry brown branches poked everywhere. Charles lay pinned underneath the rubble, face down on the floor, but thankfully he was moving.

  Charlie’s first instinct was to find the gun and keep Oliver from moving in and finishing them, but the branches blinded him from anything back toward the stump.

  Oliver could be anywhere.

  An instant of panic hit as Charlie imagined Oliver rushing in after Deirdre. He shook the thought away.

  Charles groaned in agony.

  Elizabeth came tentatively down the hall with a frightened ambivalence for her husband’s condition. Charlie saw her worry, but could offer no comfort yet.

  He turned away and worked himself through the branches to the source of his father’s injuries. Young whippy branches swiped at his face, hampering him every inch of the six-foot push. He crouched beside his father on broken glass in the leaf-stuffed area that had been a greenhouse moments before. There he found the problem. A thick branch pressed down tight like a spring across his father’s back, pinning him to the floor. The weight of the other treetop limbs crushed down and Charlie doubted he could lift it.

  He checked lower to his father’s legs to see if he could help push. Immediately he knew he couldn’t. Blood soaked through the thigh of his jeans and there was another, heavier cut on his calf where a long jagged piece of glass protruded four inches.

  “Mom, he’s got a gash in his leg. I need a T-shirt or something to tie it up until we get him free.”

  Charlie heard footsteps scurry around the corner and return, but he couldn’t see anything until she thrust the white shirt in among the branches.

  “This is going to hurt like Hell. Keep as still as you can. Ok?”

  Charles groaned at the first touch. “Not much else I can do.”

  Charlie pressed his fingers against the slippery glass until he worried the sliver would fracture in his grip. With one hand on the calf for leverage, he pulled, steadily increasing the pressure in his fingers until he felt the shard rise, slicing its way back out of the leg. The blood welled up quickly inside the pink muscle, hiding any remaining glass that might be inside. For an instant, he squeezed the calf to look inside, but closer inspection of the pink, bloody flesh caused his stomach to heave. He quickly covered the wound with the T-shirt then wrapped it around and tied a tight knot in the sleeves to hold it in place.

  The branches rustled a few feet away and Charlie thought of Oliver and the gun lying somewhere in the doorway. His mind flashed to a day of trap shooting with his parents and he wondered if his mother still remembered how to use the gun. He doubted she’d broken a single clay pigeon that day, but they moved quickly and they were tiny compared to the target a man presented for a shotgun at close range. The rustling stopped. Charlie held his breath and stayed motionless among the branches. Nothing happened. Finally he breathed, looking toward his mother. He surveyed the branch again, thinking himself safer to get out of the leaves before asking anyone to handle the gun.

  “Ok. I’m going to lift up this branch. You need to help me, but I think together we can get you out. You ready?”

  “Yeah. Go.”

  Charlie strained against the branch, but the weight was too much for him alone. Charles didn’t budge.

  “Hang on. Hang on. It’s too heavy.”

  Charles blew out a breath, sounding exhausted though he hadn’t moved at all.

  Looking around the twisted mess for help, Charlie noticed a heavy branch snapped in the fall that was straight enough and thick enough for a lever. He wrestled, twisted, and kicked at the stringy fibers that clung to the tree, finally breaking it away.

  As he slipped the lever under the branch, he could hear his parents whispering.

  “Mom, I need your help.”

  “Just tell me what to do, hon.”

  “Grab him by the armpits and pull when I tell you to.”

  “Ok.”

  Leaves rustled as she worked herself into position.

  “Ready?”

  “Tell me when.”

  Charlie braced his shoulder under the lever and heaved upward. “Go!”

  The branches rose only an inch, but the pressure eased enough for Charles to inch forward with Elizabeth’s help. When his good leg was free, Charles kicked himself forward until he disappeared out of the tangle of branches.

  “I’m out.”

  Charlie eased the lever down and pushed through the branches for the gun. He found it pinned to the floor, wrestled it free, and made his way back into the house. Charles was bleeding heavily from two places on his leg and the front of his clothes were soaking wet from lying face down in a puddle. Elizabeth was at work cutting away his pant leg and bandaging the gashes.

  Charlie considered how to get his father and Deirdre to safety. He couldn’t carry them both, but he couldn’t think of a better option than the stone wall.

  Charles had no doubt. “Get Deirdre ready to go.”

  Charlie looked at Deirdre, cowering low against the wall, and then back to his father. “You’re in no shape to go now, either of you.”

  “I’m not going to sit here bleeding and wait for him to finish me off. We’ve got to get out of here. We’ll be safer by the wall where we can see him coming.”

  “It’s daylight now.” Charlie waved the gun. “We can defend ourselves here. We’re defenseless outside. He could be anywhere.”

  “He can’t be on both sides of that wall at once, can he?”

  Elizabeth pulled off Charles’ shirt. “Can you walk that far? It can’t be good for your leg,” she said.

  “I’ll take my chances outside.”

  “Someone’s bound to come to the winery eventually,” she said.

  “Who knows what he’s done up at the road? He could have blocked the drive for all we know. He’s going to come crashing in here and I don’t want to be here when he does. Get ready. We’re leaving.”

  Charles turned away and buttoned the fresh green shirt Elizabeth handed him. Then he hobbled off toward the back door testing his leg.

  Charlie checked the safety and trailed through the house, checking the lawn for signs of Oliver. During the night, he had imagined the chainsaw ripping a wide entryway through the siding, but there was no damage on the first floor. Apparently, Oliver had only used it on th
e single oak and possibly to keep them awake during the night. The living room and dining room were in tact. The yard looked like it did on any spring morning.

  Charlie realized that both houses had looked perfectly normal from the outside, despite what Oliver had done to terrorize them. He could have held them inside and tormented them for days, but the fallen tree changed everything. The first visitor to the winery would know something was wrong and they might call the police. Oliver didn’t do things by chance. The tree was a sign. His plan was building to its climax. The Marstons were weary, hurting, and scared.

  Whatever Oliver was planning, it would happen soon.

  Charles was right, it was time to go.

  Chapter Forty-six

  A gentle spring breeze drifted into the forest, breathing life into new dangling leaves and bending up braches at the forest’s edge. Charlie’s eyes darted after each new movement, hoping to catch a glimpse of Oliver and prove his suspicion true. Five minutes passed and Oliver didn’t show himself, but Charlie knew he was there. He knew this man that tormented them. The others saw only the anger, a hunger for revenge, but Charlie knew the anger lay dormant, concealed while the strategist terrorized them into submission. He would wait until they were trapped and helpless then he’d release his anger in brutal fashion.

  Oliver was waiting for them to step outside. It was the next logical step in his plan. The snakes herded them into one house. The rainwater pushed them to the greenhouse and the tree destroyed their last indoor refuge. Oliver was driving them like a wolf trailing four wayward sheep. Whichever way they turned, there was a trap ahead and only Oliver knew where it would end. He knew they were coming out. He wouldn’t be hiding in the cellar with all the dripping water or in among the snakes and mice at Charlie’s house. He’d be somewhere with a good vantage point, ready to turn them back or herd them into another disaster, but Charles wouldn’t be dissuaded.

  The logic of his plan made arguing difficult. Retreating to the wall was tactically sound whether Oliver was hiding in the barn or the tree line. Either way, the wall was excellent cover and the shotgun would stop him from rushing them. The only position of advantage for Oliver would be behind the wall itself. Still, Charlie knew Oliver wouldn’t let them walk away. He expected them to leave and the wall was the obvious choice. Oliver would be waiting, but Charlie couldn’t convince his father that Oliver was anything but an unhinged lunatic. Charlie knew better. Oliver had studied this scenario a thousand times. He’d played out every conceivable response and he was ready.

  Charlie returned to the group at the back door. They were huddled low behind the table, keeping out of sight as long as possible before streaking out into the open. Charlie eyed the lawn with trepidation and reported what he’d seen out front.

  “This doesn’t feel right. He’s expecting us to make a run. I know he is.”

  Charles was indignant at the challenge. “He’s one man, nothing more.”

  “He’s no fool. He knows it’s wet in here. He wants us to leave.”

  “We’re going. If you want to stay behind, we’ll send help for you.” Charles gestured for the shotgun.

  The women looked more unsteady than ever.

  Charlie checked the safety for the fourth time, turned his back to his father and slipped through the door, plunging deeper into the morass his father created. He hesitantly stalked off the deck rather than run, cutting his eyes all around, paying close attention to the corners of the house behind him. Oliver was uphill in the trees beyond the houses and the parking lot. Charlie could feel him there, but quashed his hope. If he was there, the wall would protect them all the way to the road. If they crawled low enough, he might not even realize they’d escaped until they were gone.

  Charlie stopped halfway down the slope by a tall maple with a trunk just wider than his torso. Any further and the house would be out of the shotgun’s range. He hunched down at the base of the tree, waved to the deck, and eyed the corners of the house and the upper windows. Deirdre ran off the deck and down the slope. When she passed the tree, Elizabeth followed at more of a hurried trot than a run. The two women crouched against the stone wall and began inching their way to the street. Without instructions to the contrary, they might have scooted through the wet grass all the way to the road. Oliver might have let them go. It was Charles he really wanted, but Charlie didn’t want to take that risk. He motioned them to stay still before they moved ten yards.

  Charles still hadn’t stepped down onto the grass. He was limping badly and his pace would force them to defend themselves wherever Oliver found them. The women could sneak ahead. They might even outrun Oliver if he was busy with the men, but for now Charlie wanted them close until he knew they’d be safe.

  After three arcing hand signals, Deirdre mounted the wall, sending two heavy rocks tumbling over. Elizabeth followed, her head bobbing out of sight as Charles hobbled to the tree. There was no sign of movement up the hill. They had slipped out quietly and it was possible the house blocked Oliver’s view of their escape. If he was across the drive and hadn’t seen them yet, they might remain hidden for the entire journey. Charlie imagined police cars skidding to a stop all around Oliver, cuffing him, and taking him away. But first, he had to get his lame father over the wall then help him crawl more than three hundred yards without being seen.

  Charles descended at a tedious pace. Charlie backed down behind him, aiming the gun toward the house even though the pellets wouldn’t have much sting by the time they reached it. He comforted himself that the sight of the gun should keep Oliver at a distance. Just closing the gun’s action was enough to frighten most people. The boom would put Oliver on his heels. He had to know that deer slugs would reach right up into the woods. Charlie crouched against the wall, trying to convince himself Oliver had overlooked the gun cabinet, but something told him Oliver wouldn’t be so careless.

  The rocks Deirdre knocked off the wall created the ideal spot for Charles to sit back and lift his legs over. Elizabeth helped bring him down on the other side. Charlie handed her the gun and vaulted over with one hand on a massive stone.

  The hundred-year-old wall stretched arrow-straight three hundred yards to Hixbridge Road and another three hundred yards behind them along the vineyard and into the woods. Many stones along the base approached three hundred pounds and they were taken from the fields well before tractors replaced muscle power with financial power.

  Crouched on the soggy ground, the wide green leaves on one side and the wall on the other limited their view to the narrow tractor path. They could see the road clearly in that window and all the way to the woods in the other direction, but they were blind to anything on either side.

  Oliver isn’t behind the wall, so where’s the trap?

  Charlie let out an intense whisper. “Deirdre, you lead. Keep low.”

  When Deirdre had crawled five yards on her hands and knees, Elizabeth followed. Charles took up a position behind his wife, but quickly fell behind. The deep cuts on his leg prevented him from bending it, so he crawled on one knee, pulling himself with his hands and dragging his right leg out straight behind him. The toe of his shoe dug a shallow trail in the mud as he went. Soon the women were twenty yards ahead. With no sign of trouble, Charlie let them go while he stayed back with his father. With luck, a motorist would see them before Oliver did.

  They reached Charlie’s house, though they couldn’t see it. Charles’ arms were shaky with exhaustion with at least another two hundred yards to go. Deirdre looked back from forty yards ahead, looking wary about the growing gap between them. Charlie nodded ahead and pointed her toward the road. Deirdre hesitated, but she seemed to understand what Charlie had in mind. She turned away and crawled forward even faster. Elizabeth kept pace a yard behind.

  Charles collapsed on his stomach to rest. Charlie sat beside him, watching the women go and hoping they’d make it without being seen.

  Just as the gap between them outstretched the shotgun’s range, Charlie heard a squeal u
p ahead. Deirdre and Elizabeth lay flat on the muddy road a few feet from the wall. Nothing else seemed unusual. He couldn’t imagine what had frightened them unless they heard Oliver moving on the other side of the wall. He thought for a second about rushing ahead and jumping over the wall for a look. He pushed himself up into a crouch, ready to move, and watched.

  A handful of dirt and pebbles kicked up two feet in front of Deirdre. Something smacked into the stone wall so hard and fast it could only be a bullet, but there was no report.

  Charlie prodded his father.

  Another handful of dirt kicked up in about the same place and Deirdre instinctively backed away.

  “A silencer?” Charlie asked his father in a whisper.

  “Must be. He’s out in the vines.”

  Charlie looked overhead. “How about the trees or the roof?”

  The next bullet struck the base of the wall and ricocheted skyward.

  “That didn’t come from the trees. He’s in the vines.”

  How could he have been so wrong? He knew Oliver was on the uphill side. He felt it so strongly he’d never doubted it, but bullets didn’t lie.

  Charlie whistled. “Get over the wall.” He motioned to the other side and watched the women climb over before helping his father do the same. Safely on the lawn, Charlie gestured rapidly ahead and Deirdre hurried away faster than before.

  Charlie raised the gun over the wall. Thousands of new leaves fluttered in the gentle breeze screening any view of the killer in the field. He eyed the road and the vines, straining to see feet rushing ahead of them. Charlie clicked off the safety and blasted two shots where he guessed the bullets had come from. The reports boomed over the vineyard as he slid two fresh shells into the magazine to keep it full. Oliver wouldn’t rush them now.

  He hunched behind the wall and clicked on the safety with the gun pointed skyward. Deirdre was frozen up ahead, watching him. He urged her ahead with a frantic motion that suggested she could outrun Oliver.