Stranger at Stonewycke

by Michael Phillips

  He paused and tried to look up at the four of them where they stood watching him through eyes of love. He felt the filling of his tear ducts and would have to make his exit soon.

  “If only . . . if I could do all this over again, I . . .” but he left his words unfinished, turned quickly, and fled from the house.

  51

  Abduction

  The sliver of a moon had broken through the clouds, but it shed no light on the deepening night. As Logan crossed the yard, the quickly moving clouds rolled past, obliterating it once more. The air was heavy. In the distance he heard a faint rumble of thunder.

  Was he running once again—this time perhaps not from God, but from people? Why had he been so afraid to open up and tell them everything? He knew they would have accepted him with open arms, would have prayed with him, would have done whatever they could to help. What made it so difficult to receive the help and love of one’s fellows?

  Suddenly a sound arrested Logan’s attention. He stopped and listened again. Was it Allison? He wasn’t sure he wanted to meet her right now.

  He glanced all about, but saw nothing. It was just as well. What could he say, anyway? As he walked on he reviewed all their times together. They had made no promises or commitments to one another. But then they were both too self-centered for that. He immediately rebuked himself for thinking ill of her; he knew there was more to Allison than that. He had seen glimpses at first, but then after that day when Fairgate came to call she had seemed genuinely different. Was she fighting a battle within herself—just as he was?

  He walked on. He didn’t want to leave. But what else could he do? He and Allison had merely had a brief glimpse of what might have been. What was he thinking, anyway? He could never settle down—even for love. The very thought of the word sent an electric charge through his body. It was not something he had encountered much of in his hard life on the streets. He had not even sought it, nor wanted it—until now, when it seemingly lay so close within his grasp. And yet his chance for love was all but gone.

  Logan reached the stable door and opened it wide enough to let himself through. All was pitch black and still, except for an occasional snort from one of the horses in back. He had never known until now what a comforting sound that was. No wonder his uncle had so loved his animals and his little world here!

  Before he had a chance to secure the door behind him, he again heard a sound, like the shuffling of feet. Again he thought of Allison. But before he had the chance to wonder what she might be doing in the stable, another voice broke through the silence. Logan froze.

  “Don’t do anything funny, Macintyre,” it said. “I have a .38 aimed right at your head.” It was the same voice he had heard with Lombardo’s earlier.

  So, the walls of mighty Stonewycke were not impenetrable after all!

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Logan struggled to keep the tremor from rising in his voice.

  “Sprague’s the name,” said the intruder coolly. “But it won’t mean anything to you. You have something I want—at least I hope you have it. If not . . . then I’ll be very disappointed. You see, Macintyre, I have a fondness for buried treasure.”

  How could Morgan have found out about that? Logan wondered. But it hardly mattered now.

  “Where is Allison?”

  “You mean that sweet young thing that was roaming around out here an hour ago?”

  “Where is she?” was Logan’s only reply as he started to spin around.

  “Hold it!” barked Sprague. “You turn around real slow and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Logan complied. “What have you done with her?” he shouted, feeling a mixture of rage and self-derision for getting her mixed up with men who were likely murderers.

  “Don’t worry. She’s safe and sound—for now. You cooperate and give me what I want, and you’ll have your little mistress back.” Sprague’s threat needed no further embellishment.

  “And what is it you want?”

  “I told you. I want that treasure.”

  “That’s all?”

  Something didn’t fit. If this man were from Morgan, settling the score against him would count for far more than some elusive treasure. He might want the loot anyway, if it chanced to come his way. But Morgan was the type who would want Logan’s blood. Morgan would want revenge.

  “I’m not a greedy man,” Sprague was saying, “nor a violent one. I can, in fact, be most conciliatory.”

  “I won’t tell you a thing until I know the girl is safe.”

  Sprague clicked his tongue in mocking rebuke. “It hurts my feelings, sonny, that you won’t trust old Uncle Ross.”

  “You’ll get nothing until I see with my own eyes that she is alive and well and will go free unharmed.”

  52

  The Abandoned Cottage

  Allison squirmed against the rough stone wall of the deserted cottage.

  Except for the blaze in the fire pit, there was no light in the single room of the hut. But it showed enough to reveal the cruel, menacing faces of her abductors. They were strangers, and, though she had heard them refer to one another as Cabot and Lombardo, the names meant nothing to her. Logan’s name, however, had come up once or twice.

  They had grabbed her in the courtyard behind the house, hustled her out through the gap in the hedge, shoved her into the backseat of a car, and driven her here. They were about half a mile from the moor, as close as any automobile could get to it. The old cottage had not been occupied for years, and though so many of them were alike and it was difficult to see, she was sure this was the same hut where she and Logan and Fergie had taken refuge. Now, it seemed it had become Allison’s prison.

  She shivered, as much from fear as from the descending cold of night. An icy wind had started to blow down from the moor, stirring up the stagnant air of the last several hours, portending a new storm.

  “Cold, little lady?” asked the man named Lombardo gruffly, but not without a flicker of genuine concern.

  Allison nodded, but she would never tell them she was also scared. Oh, Lord, she prayed, please give me courage. I need you now more than ever!

  Lombardo slipped off his jacket and laid it roughly over her. She knew she should acknowledge the gesture, but with her hands numb from the cords that tightly bound them, and her arms still aching from their rough handling when they captured her, she could muster up little thanks.

  “You’re a bowl of mush,” jeered Cabot to his comrade.

  “Well, we don’t want her to croak on us.”

  “No one ever croaked from a little cold.”

  “Aw, shut up!” growled Lombardo as he lumbered back to his place on the other side of the fire.

  The jacket didn’t help much, but it was something.

  “What do you want with me?” Allison asked. “My family doesn’t have any money.”

  “Hmm, that’s a thought,” said Cabot ominously. “Too bad we don’t have time for a side venture.”

  “Please just let me loose, then go away—no one will come after you.”

  “You’re awful generous,” laughed Cabot.

  Allison slumped back and fell silent. This seemed a harsh way to test her new faith, especially after she had failed so dreadfully when Logan had been confessing to her parents. If she hadn’t run out acting so stupidly, none of this would have happened. She prayed once more, and continued to pray for help until she fell into a restless sleep.

  A sudden rush of cold air awakened her. The door had been pushed open, but in the distorted light of the flames and the haze of sleep, she could not make out the newcomers. At last her eyes came into focus.

  “Logan!” she cried, relieved and exultant, forgetting all past anger.

  “Allison!” He rushed forward, stumbling over a piece of wood in the darkened room, and falling to his knees. She could see that his hands were tied. He made his way toward her, and, raising his hands to her, brushed her cheek as if to make certain she was real. Then, closely examinin
g her from head to foot, he asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m so glad to see you!”

  “I’m sorry to have gotten you into this. I hardly deserve your forgiveness, but I am sorry.”

  “Oh, Logan,” she said, “all that’s behind us. I treated you so rudely!”

  Sprague interrupted before either could speak further. “Sorry to break up this warm little reunion,” he said sarcastically, “but I don’t think we’re quite finished with our deal, Macintyre.”

  Logan turned. He had little faith that Sprague would spare them once he had his precious information, but Logan had few options.

  “Let Allison go. Then I’ll tell you.”

  “What kind of fool do you think I am?” laughed Sprague. “Once she’s gone, you might tell me anything! She’s my only insurance that you’ll tell me the truth.”

  Logan looked at Allison and sighed. Well, it had been worth a try. But Sprague was no dummy.

  “There’s a place called Ramsey Head,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s buried at the top.”

  “How will I find it?”

  “You’ll see when you get there. It’s under a large rock, part way chiselled to look like the head of a horse.”

  Sprague grabbed Logan by the shirt and dragged him to his feet.

  “I’ll see, because you’re going to show me!”

  “Then Allison comes too.”

  But Cabot stepped forward. “No go, Sprague,” he said. “You start moving them around and you’re asking for trouble. There might be people out looking for the girl by now. I’m not letting Macintyre out of my sight. You go check it out. But believe me, my friend, if you find it and try to double-cross us and skip town—we’ll find you!”

  “What if it’s not there?” asked Sprague.

  “We won’t have at them till you get back.”

  “That’s going to waste time,” argued Sprague.

  “You’re not running this show anymore. We’ve done our part and I’m taking no more chances on losing Macintyre. You’ve got two hours. If you’re not back by then, I’ll just assume you don’t need Macintyre anymore.”

  “Two hours! You must be crazy! I’ll need help. Who knows how deep the stuff’s buried.”

  Cabot gestured with his gun toward Lombardo. “You go with him. I’ll watch these two.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” grumbled Lombardo. “This is your idea. So you go!”

  Cabot eyed his accomplice intently, then rose, apparently thinking it fruitless to push the point. Where could the two kids go, anyway? Even Lombardo should be able to handle that. But Sprague just might try to skip. Maybe it was good for him to go, to keep an eye on Sprague—and the loot.

  ———

  There was at least some comfort in the fact that they had some time to spare, and Allison tried to be thankful for that. Logan had come. Perhaps the Lord had sent him. She was no longer alone. And when Lombardo pushed him down next to her, she felt a warm peace from his nearness.

  “Logan,” she said softly, “you’re not the only one who has things to be sorry about. I haven’t treated you fairly either. From the very beginning I judged you. When you hurt your foot, I knew it was fake.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. But believe me, I didn’t keep quiet about it for any noble reasons. I planned to wait till the right time, then use it against you. Don’t ask me why. I’m not even certain myself. Let’s just say I was a different person back then. Not a very nice person. Everything was so twisted in my mind.”

  “I asked for it,” Logan replied. “I badgered you—”

  “It’s enough that we forgive each other,” Allison interrupted. “And I do forgive you. Something’s happening inside me, Logan—”

  “Hey!” broke in Lombardo’s sharp voice, “what’re you two whispering about.”

  “Just passing the time,” Logan replied.

  “Well, no funny business, that’s all!” He waved his gun in the air to add emphasis to his words.

  “We can’t do any harm talking, can we?”

  Lombardo grunted and fell silent.

  Logan said nothing for a few moments. Allison wondered what he was thinking. She wanted to tell him that what she had felt that day in the rain was not mere accident, as she had said earlier. But she didn’t know how to begin. Then she noticed that he was working his hands, within his bonds, back and forth. Quickly she jerked her gaze away, not wanting to alert Lombardo’s attention.

  “Logan,” she said at length, “you know all those things I said earlier about our time together, you know, coming home from the Bramfords’?”

  He nodded.

  “I was wrong to try to make so little of that. It was a special moment for me. I didn’t mean what I said later.”

  “You mean if I tried to steal another kiss from you, you wouldn’t slap me?” he teased.

  “Logan . . . please. You’ll embarrass me,” she replied with good-natured chiding in her tone.

  “Now,” said Logan more softly, “how are you at acting sick?”

  “Maybe as good as you,” she answered with a coy smile.

  “Well, give it a try—and make it look good.”

  Allison doubled over and let out a terrible groan. She repeated it over and over several times, but still Lombardo paid no attention. Finally Logan intervened.

  “Help her!” he cried in a most convincing tone. “She’s in pain . . . please.”

  “That’s an old dodge,” said Lombardo callously. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  Allison rolled over onto her side, still moaning.

  “Come on, lady,” said Lombardo, “it’s the oldest trick in the book.”

  “You can’t just let her lie there!” yelled Logan. “What if your friends come back and she’s dead? They’ll feed you to the cops, while they make off with the loot.”

  “This better not be some game.” Lombardo hitched his frame to its feet, then motioning with the gun at Logan, added, “You get way over there.”

  Logan complied, and still Lombardo had taken no notice that the cords binding his hands had loosened considerably. The big man bent down beside Allison and tapped her shoulder.

  “All right, lady, what’s wrong?” he asked.

  “My stomach,” gagged Allison.

  Lombardo had been careful to keep Logan, who had moved to the far end of the wall, in his sight. But for the single moment while he took Allison’s arm to pull her up from the ground, he let his gun hand drop.

  Logan’s next move was so quick and unexpected that even the split second it would have taken to raise the gun was not enough. Logan sprang across the space between them, his weight momentarily stunning the hoodlum.

  “Ali . . . run!” he shouted. He knew he was no fighter, and this man was nearly twice his size. There might be only a few seconds for her to escape.

  Allison scrambled to her feet, but instead of taking flight looked about for a way to help Logan. In the meantime, Lombardo had regained what wits he had, and tried to aim his gun. Logan caught his arm and flattened it to the ground. They struggled for another minute, until, with a horrifying crack, the pistol fired.

  For a frightening instant everything stopped. Then Logan raised his hand, the weapon gripped tightly between his fingers. Lombardo stared, shocked both that he had fired and that this amateur had been able to wrestle the gun from him. Then he backed slowly away. Pale and trembling, with his right arm pressed against his side, Logan steadied the gun in his left hand toward Lombardo.

  “Ali, go!” he repeated.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes! I’m fine,” he answered with a weak smile. “You have to run for help.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “You have to. Don’t you understand? There’s no one else. I’ll keep him here. You’re the only one who can do this.”

  “But you’re hurt!”

  “It’s nothing much,” he lied, thankfu
l that his jacket hid the spreading red beneath his shirt. “I would only slow you down. Just go. I’ll be fine.”

  Then he turned to his prisoner and said, “Untie her, Lombardo.”

  With hesitancy Allison at last approached the door. With her hand on the latch, she turned and looked back, her eyes pleading with Logan. Reading her unspoken, “Are you sure?” Logan nodded and said, “Now, make a run for it.”

  The moment she cleared the rickety wooden step of the cottage, she broke into a run, a prayer on her lips, and an ache in her heart that she might not get back with help in time.

  53

  Looking Death in the Eye

  Pain seared through Logan’s side as if a red-hot iron had been thrust through his chest.

  Sitting on the ground, he had to raise one knee in order to rest the arm that held Lombardo’s pistol. When the slug had first hit him there had been no pain, only a jolt and an instant feeling of weakness. That’s how he knew he’d been hit bad. He’d seen flesh wounds; they were the worst of all. The deeper the bullet, or so he’d been told, the greater the shock, the less the pain. But the stabbing throb had followed soon enough, and if the slug didn’t kill him, he’d no doubt faint eventually from sheer agony and loss of blood, and then Lombardo would finish him off. In either case, he was a dead man.

  He had never been hurt like this, never knew this kind of physical torture. Already his vision was blurring and his hand was so weak it shook. Then Lombardo stirred and Logan tensed.

  “Don’t, Lombardo,” warned Logan in a voice thin and dry.

  “You’re not going to make it, Macintyre. You’re half gone already.”

  “I can still pull this trigger.”

  “You don’t have the stomach for it,” taunted the hoodlum.

  “Maybe not. But I’m beyond caring, so I might be able to do what I don’t have the stomach for.”

  Lombardo sat back quietly. Logan’s point made sense, and was well taken. What was the hurry? He would faint soon enough anyhow. Lombardo’s chief worry now was what to say when his cohorts came back. If they found no treasure, and discovered the girl escaped and Logan dead, they would be none too pleased. True, Morgan’s mission would have been accomplished. But then the girl was loose to point the finger at them, and Sprague would be furious. He did not relish a tangle with that man. If the kid died, maybe he should split and try to get back to Morgan first, with his side of the story.