Eviscerating the Snake - The Complete Trilogy

by Ashley Fontainne

  More questions arose when I searched through the remainder of the papers and found the death certificate of Nicole. She died two years later, and her place of death was listed at a hospital in Raleigh. Her manner of death was simply listed as “natural causes.”

  Too many questions flooded my mind for me to think clearly. The small confines of the room was making me feel dizzy and I had to get out of there, so I stashed all the cash I could fit into my bag, along with the documents I just found, and started to close the lid. Then I remembered my dad’s last words about finding freedom, and snatched the gun at the last minute, shoving it down in between the cash in my purse. I shut the lid and put the box back in its original spot and grabbed my purse.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Spencer. I’ll be back,” I said as I ran out the door to my car.

  Once inside, I started up the engine and drove idly around town, not sure where I really needed to go or what my next step should be. There were so many thoughts running through my head that I couldn’t hang on to just one long enough to grasp the concept of the day. Daddy was dead. A funeral needed to be arranged. Momma was long gone. My husband was a violent fiend that used me as his personal punching bag, and there was no one to help me left in this world.

  I drove around for what seemed liked hours, not even fully aware of the fact that I was behind the wheel of a car until I realized that I was no longer in town. Surrounded by trees and endless acres of forest, I started to pull off onto the shoulder to get my bearings when I recognized the stretch of road I was on. The dilapidated fence on my right still had the yellow ribbons I wrapped around the edge of one of the posts years ago, although they turned more of a pale white from the passage of years and exposure to the weather.

  I was close to my Daddy’s hunting lodge.

  Jerking the wheel back onto the road, I gunned the engine and sped toward the dirt road on the right that was about half a mile ahead. I turned down it and drove through the dusty, red clay, slowing down through the sharp turns. The last time I had been down the dirty road was when I was twelve when I tagged along on one of Daddy’s pre-hunting trips and helped him prepare the small cabin for his yearly stay during hunting season. No one knew about the cabin except our small family, for Daddy never let anyone come out to the cabin and hunt with him. He enjoyed his alone time with nature, as well as his privacy. Once I found all his hidden cash, I understood his strange need for privacy.

  After the three mile drive through the twisted road, I arrived. The cabin looked exactly as it did the last time I saw it, just more rundown. About fifty yards away under a covered shed sat Daddy’s ancient old Dodge truck, which he only used to travel through the dense woods and set up salt licks and feeding stations. Seeing the faded blue exterior reminded me of the better times during my youth and a lump formed in my throat, knowing Daddy would never drive it again.

  I got out of the car and grabbed the bag, eager to get inside and lock the door. Carrying all of the cash, plus worrying about being followed by Frank or one of his family’s paid henchmen was making me nervous.

  The key was hidden in the same spot it always had been, and the lock opened with ease. I shut the door and turned the lock, then made my way over to the dusty table in the middle of the room that served as the kitchen and living area. It took me five full minutes to remove all of the cash and other contents of my purse, arranging them just so I could peruse it all. Forty minutes later, I finally finished counting all the cash and sort of zoned out for a few minutes, utterly stunned at the amount. In front of me sat almost $100,000 dollars, and there were more bundles of cash still in the safety deposit box.

  Pulling my focus back to the task at hand, I forced myself to think rationally. Daddy said that I could free myself from a life of misery with what was in the box. With that kind of cash in my hands, I could run away and start my life over anywhere I decided to, but I also knew that plan wasn’t failsafe. Frank had already told me that if I ever tried to leave, he would “hunt me down like the bitch you are” and kill me. Remembering that conversation while he held me up against the wall by my throat made me shiver with fear at the memory, but for the first time in my three months of hell, it also made me angry.

  My eyes moved over and rested on the gun, and the image of me blowing a hole in the bastard’s chest popped into my head, completely shocking myself. Never, not once, had I ever considered fighting back. I barely topped out at 5’2”, and Frank was right at six feet. The pain he inflicted upon me the past few months wasn’t just physical. It was mental as well, and I had been trapped by sheer terror. Feeling myself take crumb of control back was liberating to say the least. I let those foreign thoughts flow freely.

  Blowing the bastard to kingdom come would work in terms of never having to succumb to his violent hands again, but it would also leave me a woman on the run, wanted for murdering her husband. And I knew my father-in-law well enough to know that he would never give up trying to find me and put me behind bars if I did that. The thought of spending the rest of my life on the lam, constantly looking over my shoulder and wondering if today would be the day I got caught did not sound like the greatest plan ever hatched.

  Then, as if some force controlled them, my hands moved over and lifted the birth certificate of my newfound dead sister. Coming to grips with the fact that I was born a twin and never told was difficult enough, but to know she died without any acknowledgment from my family was mind boggling. I could sit and go crazy trying to figure the mystery out, but I didn’t have time for that. I had to figure out a way to disappear from my abusive husband without ever being found again.

  Then I remembered the social security card.

  I stared at the two documents that belonged to a dead person—one that no one knew ever existed. Nicole Simmons was a ghost—a faint whisper in the minds of my dead parents and the doctor that delivered her, all who had departed the world. And I would be a ghost if I stayed in Havensport as Cassandra Stevenson.

  The random thoughts seemed to form a cohesive picture then, and I leaned back in the chair in my father’s dirty hunting lodge and let it come to life, feeling a huge weight leaving my chest as the sensation of a mental gate opened in my mind.

  THREE days later, I buried my father in a quiet ceremony at the edge of town, in a small cemetery on a lush hillside next to Momma. Even though the service was in the early morning, it didn’t matter. The air was thick with choking humidity, the temperature already eighty-five degrees, and the sweat was sliding down the back of my black dress.

  Somewhere, deep inside the dark recesses of my heart, I felt the tears well up, knowing I would never be able to come back and visit their graves, never be able to mark their passing each year with bright flowers and warm tears. I watched his casket be lowered into the gaping hole and felt a shudder rip through me as the first shovelful of dirt landed on it with a loud thud. As the hole filled with fresh earth, I realized that I needed to bury the frightened, abused woman I had been along with it. I forced myself to be stoic and not cry during the ceremony at the loss of not only his life, but also what soon would be my old one, because I knew that’s what he would have wanted.

  I stood by the graveside until the last patch of dirt was tamped down, oblivious to the fact that I was standing alone. I said goodbye to my parents in my mind, and with that, I shut off the last connection to Cassandra. She was dead too, and her naïveté and kind heart were just as thoroughly encased and locked away as her parents were. Besides, Nicole had other things to think about.

  Friends of the family made the long trip out to our small farmhouse eight miles out of town to pay their condolences and eat our food. Frank’s family was gracious enough, helping me set the food out and greet the guests that paraded in through the front door. At some point, Frank and a few of his buddies made a booze and cigarette run, and soon, their loud voices argued amidst a heavy cloud of smoke over whether Duke stood a chance at the championship game . Frank’s mother made the mistake of trying to quiet things down,
and even though it worked and most of the rowdy folks left not long after that, I could sense Frank’s anger bubbling under the surface at being admonished by his mother in public.

  I smiled, knowing that tonight was the night.

  Around nine, the house was finally empty of the obnoxious mourners, and I was in the kitchen cleaning up the mountainous piles of dishes for the last time in my life. Frank was working on his second bottle of scotch in the living room, watching television through his bloodshot, drunken eyes. I let him drink his fill, since it would be the last thing he would enjoy on earth.

  I slipped off my shoes and padded in my bare feet back to our bedroom. Everything I needed had already been packed and moved to the cabin the day I went to town and made the funeral arrangements. I removed my dress in the darkness and reached under the bed for my escape clothes and bandages. I slid on the matching black shorts and top, then laced up my running shoes and shoved the gauze into my back pocket. All I needed were two things: the keys to his truck and the gun, both of which were in the kitchen.

  I tiptoed back into the kitchen and made my way to the archway after picking up the keys and removing the gun I had hidden behind a box of cereal in the back cabinet. Securing the gun in my waistband, I held the keys with one hand while the other snagged a small kitchen knife. Peeking around the corner to make sure he was still in the living room, I smiled. His drunken ass was sprawled across the couch, his snoring light and steady. Best of all, his unfinished cigarette was resting on the carpet, a faint wisp of smoke languidly floating above it. I stood as still as a mouse for the next five minutes and just watched, making sure he wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon and that the small flame didn’t die. Satisfied that he was out for the night and that the fire would continue, I snuck out the back door and made my way through the grass over to his truck and unlocked the doors and climbed inside on the passenger side. My next move was the only part of my plan that I didn’t like. Oh well, I would rather be the one spilling my blood than him. I took the knife and sucked in a huge breath and sliced, the pain making me bite my lip to keep my screams inside. I smeared my bright red blood all over the cab of his truck, across the windows and the door handle. I exited the cab and looked at my handiwork. For good measure, I let the wound leak out enough blood to cover my palm, then left a bloodied handprint on the hood, then streaked my hand down the side of the fender.

  Satisfied with the gore, I yanked the dishtowel I left on the back porch earlier in the day tightly around the wound and went back inside. I paused at the door and listened for any noise other than Frank’s snoring, but that was all I heard besides the faint crackle of the burgeoning flames.

  On to phase two of “Operation Free Cassandra.”

  I took the gun from my waistband and cocked the hammer back as quietly as I could. Creeping like an alley cat, I made my way over to his body on the couch through the smoke-filled room and raised the gun, ready to blow his fucking head off. I knew I only had one chance to do get it right because if I screwed up, he would end up using the gun on me. I maneuvered my body and crouched down below his head, my right elbow resting on the armrest near his temple. Frank’s drunken stupor didn’t allow him to sense my presence or feel the cold steel pressed against his temple.

  I couldn’t believe how easy gaining my freedom was going to be.

  The sound of the gun exploded throughout the house and made my ears ring. The force of the shot knocked me backwards on my ass onto the carpet, the lamp on the nightstand behind me crashing to the floor. The stench of the gunpowder burned my nose and my eyes began to water, blurring my vision temporarily. Momentarily stunned, I shook my head to clear it and wiped my eyes on my shirt. I looked up and laughed at the limp, bloodied corpse of my husband on the couch, his brains splattered across the entire living room, the smoky tendrils of the fire roaring to life as they licked up the side of the couch.

  “Rot in hell, you monster,” I said, laughing hysterically as I looked at the mess in my once clean home. I took the gun and stuck it in Frank’s hand and then, for added dramatic flair, took off the towel holding my own bleeding wound at bay, and let the blood flow once again, flinging little droplets all over the room while I held my breath from the pungent smoke.

  It would be a gruesome crime scene for sure, and one that would hopefully buy my freedom, since everything was going down in a ball of flames.

  I let myself out of the front door and re-wrapped my arm, securing it tightly with the gauze from my pocket. The entire living room was fully engulfed in flames, and I could hear glass shattering from inside. Without another glimpse back, I ran off into the night to my new life. The cabin was fifteen miles away, and Daddy’s old blue horse was packed and ready to take me to my new world. It would be a hard run, but I had plenty of time and energy reserves to make it there before sunup, and besides, running was something I was good at ever since I was little.

  I ran through the humid night through the outskirts of Havensport, never straying from the back roads that cloaked me in darkness. I left behind every single trace of Cassandra Faye Stevenson with each drop of sweat that ran off my body in the heat of the night. I was ready to begin anew as Nicole Simmons, a huge smile plastered on my face the entire way….

  …The knock on my hospital door startled me enough that I actually jumped. So much for reliving past triumphs, but I could think about that later since my ride finally arrived.

  “Ms. Simmons?” came the deep, baritone voice from the other side of the door.

  “Yes, come in. Jesus, it’s about time…”

  My words faded into nothing as two men walked in, their plain clothes unable to hide the fact that they were cops. The shorn heads, dark suits, and highly polished shoes reeked law enforcement. My guess was F.B.I. I felt my vocal chords lock with fear.

  Daddy, help me, I said in silent prayer.

  They stopped in front of my bed, looking like two tree stumps stuck in mud. Their rigid demeanor was not lightened by the formal words of the older one.

  “Ms. Simmons, I am Special Agent Lucas Kendal, and this is Agent Justin Doster. We would like to talk to you about the events that occurred on Friday and Saturday of the past week if you are feeling up to it.”

  Shit, shit, SHIT! No, I’m not feeling up to it, and never will be. Get the fuck out of my room! “Well, I am still pretty shook up and feeling rather tired, and actually, I was just preparing to rest for a while. I might feel more up to speed tomorrow. Could you come back then?” I said, hoping I had just enough inflection in my voice to pull off the stressed patient.

  Special Agent Kendal shifted his weight and rubbed his forehead in mock confusion.

  “Well, I guess we were given false information, since your nurse just told us you were officially discharged and awaiting a ride to take you home. Funny how stories can become so jumbled from one person to the next, isn’t it?”

  His sarcastic tone at catching me in a lie, right off the bat, made the hairs stand up on edge on my neck. Damn, the world’s most inept nurse has a moment of clarity? Couldn’t her brain have fired on all cylinders another time?

  That slip up was sure not the best foot I could have put forward, and I knew in my current state of disarray that my feminine charms wouldn’t work. Instead, I opted for another route, reaching up to rub the knot on the back of my head and responding in the best feeble voice I could muster. “Am I? Oh goodness, I am so embarrassed! The bump on my head really rang my bell. Things are, well, fuzzy right now. I’m going home? How, I don’t even have a car here?” I then intentionally stumbled, and the other one moved quickly to my side to help me sit down.

  “Do you need some water or something, Ms. Simmons?” he said. His voice was flat and devoid of any emotion, and I was unsure whether he bought my charade.

  “Yes, please, that would be lovely,” I said, scooting up fully on the bed.

  Special Agent Kendal wasn’t buying my act. He sat down in the chair across from me, took out a pad and pen from his pocket,
and pretended to study it for a moment while the other agent handed me some water. He waited until I finished my first sip before he continued.

  “I realize that recovering from a slight concussion can be difficult, but I only have a few questions for you, and I promise not to take too much of your time. They mostly consist of tying some loose ends up on this case, and then we will be out of your hair so you can rest…until your ride gets here,” he said, his dark sarcasm and fake concern making me want to hurl the cup in my hands at his face. Pompous prick.

  “Well, I will do my best to answer them with what little information I do remember, sir.”

  “Of course…I’m sure you will. Tell me, Ms. Simmons, how did you end up in Rosemary Milligan’s house in the early hours of Saturday morning?” He leaned toward me, his deep brown eyes burning holes into my own.

  “Well, let’s see. Audra and I were at a restaurant in Phoenix having dinner and waiting for our client to show up, which she never did. We both started drinking heavily, and I think, although I am not one hundred percent positive, that we left the restaurant in a cab. That is the last thing I remember until waking up hog-tied to a chair,” I said, forcing a tear to trickle down my face at the memory. The agent that brought me the water was scribbling away every word I spoke while the Stonehenge looking bastard just continued to stare at me.

  “What was the name of the place you were dining at?”

  I stared at the ceiling for a moment while I pretended to search for that information.

  “Oh, it starts with a Z…um, oh yeah, Zargento’s. They serve the finest Italian food in all of Phoenix.”

  “And what time did you leave the restaurant?

  “Our meeting was scheduled for six or six-thirty. I really can’t remember. We waited for, well, long enough for both of us to eat and drink. I really can’t say, sir, how long we stayed. Maybe a couple of hours? I’m sure you could contact the cab company and ask them. I don’t remember the name of the cab company, but I bet someone at the restaurant does.”