After the Thaw

by Therese Heckenkamp

  The frantic pulsation of her vein against the cold barrel only accentuated her fear as she walked deep into the woods. When there was nothing but thick wilderness around them in all directions, Nails ordered Clay to face a tree and put his hands behind his back.

  Nails spoke in her ear, his breath hot. “I’m gonna release you now, but my gun’s ready. Run, and your boyfriend gets the bullet.” He let go of her and tossed a roll of duct tape at her feet. “Wrap his wrists, good and tight.”

  She plucked up the roll, praying that Nails would follow his previous pattern and as long as they cooperated, do no more harm than he had in the past. She hated the work her hands did, hated the ripping sound of the tape pulling from the roll. She watched herself go through the motions as if it were someone else wrapping around and around Clay’s wrists until Nails told her to stop.

  “Turn around, Cissy. Press your back up against the tree.”

  Clay whipped around like he couldn’t wait for a confrontation. “Feel like using me as a punching bag again, that it? Feel like you don’t stand a chance unless I can’t swing back?”

  Nails’s mouth quirked. “Gettin’ worried, are you? Maybe it’s time you started prayin’.” A look passed between the two men that Charlene couldn’t decipher, but it chilled her.

  Nails eyed her. “Wrap him to the tree.”

  Clay braced his back against the trunk.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Clay as she began, remembering the times Abner had forced him to follow orders, and she’d had no comprehension how it felt to be on this end, powerless and hating herself. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” Clay told her steadily. “None of it. Whatever happens, remember that.”

  Whatever happens? Her hands faltered, sticking to the tape. He thinks he’s going to die.

  Terror leaching into every part of her, she worked in a daze. Nails watched and nodded when she finished. “Good.” He grasped her again and pulled her back several yards, pushing away her hair to speak in her ear. “Take a real good look, and know you did this to him.”

  She swallowed hard. “You made me.”

  Nails shook his head. “I would have left you both alone, if you’d left me alone.”

  She strained against his grasp. “What are you talking about?”

  “Where is it?” His fingers traced her hair, the motion unnerving.

  “Where’s what?”

  “My money.”

  “Your money?” Her mind blanked. “How should I know what you did with your money?” Not that it is yours, you thief.

  He shoved something in her face. Strawberry ChapStick. “This is how. Found it where my money should’ve been.”

  She sputtered. “So? Is that supposed to mean something?”

  “It does mean something.” He shook her. White flecks ricocheted through her vision. “Your ChapStick was there, and the money’s gone. So’s your precious pearl necklace. The evidence says guilty.”

  “But I didn’t—” It made no sense. “Why would I—”

  “I don’t want excuses. I want the truth.” He clutched her jaw, puckering her lips. “This time, there’s no second chance if you lie. Tell me where the money is, or pretty boy dies.”

  “I don’t—”

  He aimed the gun.

  “No!” She shot Clay a desperate look.

  “She knows nothing,” he hollered. “I took it.”

  What? What was he doing? Instantly, she knew. Trying to protect her. “No, that’s not true!” She glared at him. Don’t give him more reason to hurt you.

  He looked steadily at Nails, ignoring her. “It’s in my cabin, up north. Let her go, and I’ll show you where.”

  She stared, slack jawed. He was taking the lie and running with it, digging himself into a deadly hole. He had to know if Nails took him there and found no money, he would kill him. He was trying to save her.

  Two could play that game.

  “No, I took it. I’ll take you to it. Just let Clay go.”

  Clay burned her with a look.

  Nails chuckled. “You’re both pitifully amusing, but I don’t have all day. No one needs to be a hero. I want my money. That’s it. Very simple. And I don’t need the both of you to show me. I only need one. And I choose . . . you.” He tapped her head. “Meaning I don’t need you.”

  He leveled the gun at Clay, who glowered and said, “Go to hell.”

  “Sure, just not today. Today, it’s your turn.”

  No. Her heart dropped to her feet. She’d hung onto the hope that Nails was a ruthless robber, but not a murderer. Please, God, no.

  Nails’s iron grip intensified, snatching her breath and incapacitating her arms. She felt like a useless rag doll as he peered down his gun at Clay. “Go on, beg for your life. Let your girl remember you like that, the true, cowering sissy you are.”

  Clay clenched his jaw and remained silent.

  Charlene, however, lost it, struggling as tears coursed down her face. It couldn’t end this way. Not after everything. “Stop,” she implored. “Please, don’t shoot.” Struck by inspiration, she drew in a breath. “Please, Lance.” It had worked before; maybe it would again.

  She felt the jolt through his muscles. “You’re out of luck, girl. I’m not Lance. Never will be again,” he added softly.

  “Coward,” Clay spat. “Trying to settle a score with a gun.” He strained against the tape. “Fight me like a man.”

  “Tough words.” Nails sounded amused. “But you know who’d win that fight.” He adjusted his aim. “You gonna grovel or not? It’s that or meet your maker.”

  Clay scowled. “Why they thought it was okay to let you out of prison, I’ll never know.”

  “No, you never will.” With a swift, metallic thrust of the gun slide, Nails chambered a round. “Any last words?”

  Clay’s gaze was steady as steel, landing not on Nails, but her. “I love you, Charlene.”

  “Pathetic. And pointless.” Nails squeezed the trigger.

  The gun’s sudden blast deafened her.

  “No!” she screamed. I didn’t even have a chance to—

  She gasped in horror as the bullet made impact, all thoughts obliterated by the painful lurch of Clay’s body. Then, worse, by his scream of agony.

  And the blood.

  Blood on his shoulder, on his chest, blooming like a macabre flower over his heart as he writhed and yelled.

  But at least he wasn’t dead.

  Not yet.

  Losing all sense of her own restriction, she tried to run to him, but couldn’t.

  Nails cussed and aimed again, obviously intending to finish the job. Frantic, she tried to slam him with her body, to jostle his aim, but she could barely move. Cinched against him as she was, her effort was pitiful.

  The gun clicked, but didn’t fire. Nails squeezed the trigger repeatedly and nothing happened. Not even a click. As he spewed profanity and gave the slide several rapid thrusts, Charlene realized the weapon must have jammed.

  Clay’s gasping cries continued, wringing her soul, shredding her heart.

  Nails marched forward, dragging her with him, and stopped right in front of him.

  “Shut up and die.” Nails drew back the gun and pistol-whipped him with a resounding crack to his skull.

  Instantly silent, Clay slumped against the tape.

  Drowning in horror, Charlene shrieked and struggled.

  Nails smacked a strip of duct tape over her mouth, muffling her cries, and hauled her away.

  She fought to turn around, her mind a blaze of raging panic. Was Clay still alive? Was there any hope at all? Straining insanely, she felt like she was tearing her muscles. But she needed to see him. Needed a sliver of hope.

  Nails’s fingers dug into her arms. “You gonna walk nice, or should I knock you out and carry you?”

  She stopped struggling. Dejected, sick with shock, dead inside, she plodded forward.

  “Thought so.”

  They crunched noisily throu
gh the forest until she glimpsed the parking lot through the trees ahead. Before emerging, Nails surveyed the lot. Despite her desperate prayer, no one was waiting to save her.

  Or to save Clay.

  If that was still even possible.

  Dear Lord, send angels all around him. Guard him. Protect him.

  Nails shoved her to the ground, crushing a knee to her back while binding her wrists and ankles together with tape. After pawing through her purse and snatching her keys, he picked her up and strode to her car. He deposited her on the floor of the backseat before climbing in the front and locking the doors.

  Her ears prickled when she heard the metallic sounds of the gun. He was unjamming it, readying it to use again. Dread pooled in her belly, jelling, then solidifying in a hard lump.

  The car rumbled to life, and she felt every bump and jolt acutely. At her low eye view, she scanned for something she could use to free herself, but her car was too clean. All but the carpet. Her forehead grazed it and her nose registered that it needed odor control.

  Shifting, she spotted, wedged under the front passenger seat, a black book. Her Bible, left and forgotten long ago during her impulsive move from Woodfield. The fact that she hadn’t even realized it was missing till now, saddened her.

  Despair clamored for admittance into her soul. She needed to fight it, but couldn’t do it alone.

  “For though I should walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evils, for thou art with me . . .”

  She gained strength from the memory of the verse Clay had quoted, knowing as she stared at the Bible, it was in there somewhere, along with all manner of suffering, miracles, hope, and salvation.

  Trust in Him. All things are possible with the Lord.

  She worked her way to an awkward sitting position. Nails reached back and ripped the tape from her mouth in one swift, stinging motion. The gun jabbed her head. “Give me the directions.”

  She rattled off the route to the cabin easily, since she’d driven it recently. Satisfied, he removed the gun. At least the drive would be long, giving her time, because when they got there and there was no money . . . she’d be all out of time.

  She stared at her knees, wanting to ask if there was a chance Clay could still be alive, but not wanting to hear Nails’s inevitable cruel reply. Her heart twisted. There was no one to notice she was gone or to report her missing. Not today. Same with Clay. Sam wouldn’t think anything odd until it was far too late.

  She tried to compact herself behind the driver’s seat, to avoid any more incidents of a gun to her head, and to give herself a little support. From her odd angle, she watched bright shafts of sky slide past the opposite window. Snapshots of life. Here one second, gone the next.

  After a long while, she whispered, “How did you get in my condo that night?”

  Nails chuckled. “A simple key. I swiped yours and made a copy that day I bumped into you at school, then returned yours at lunch. Admit it, you liked my attention. It made you feel special.”

  The ludicrous claim wasn’t even worth addressing. “You took pictures of me, too.” She tried to ignore a fierce, inaccessible itch on her shoulder blade. “And you slipped that hourglass picture under my door. Why?”

  He snorted. “Whatever you’re talking about, that wasn’t me.”

  She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but didn’t argue. She focused on the itch and tried to rub it away against the seat.

  “If my money’s not at this cabin, you’re gonna wish you were the one I shot.”

  She wet her lips.

  His seat shifted. “Didn’t spend any of it, did you?”

  “No.” Couldn’t spend what I didn’t have.

  Her misery increased with each mile. What was she doing? She was backed into a deadly corner. He didn’t want to believe the truth. If she convinced him of the truth now, he’d kill her. If she didn’t, he’d kill her later. All she was doing was borrowing time.

  So make use of it. Pray. Like your life depends on it.

  The passion in her prayers drove her lips to move, to mumble, and Nails must have realized what she was doing, because he laughed. A horrible sound.

  Be with me, Lord. She thought she was fortifying herself, steeling her soul with armor, but when she recognized the distinct, slow rocky crunch of the tires over gravel, her cramped muscles seized and she felt no bravery, only panic.

  Nails left her locked in the car as he exited to case the cabin out. Much too soon, he returned to haul her from the vehicle and up the steps. Inside, he deposited her jarringly on the floor and slung her car keys on the kitchen counter. “Where’s my money?”

  “Cut me free and I’ll show you.”

  “That’s not how it works.” Anger narrowed his eyes.

  “Yes, it is.” She squared her shoulders. To have a sliver of a chance at escape, she couldn’t be bound. Willing her eyes to radiate confidence, she held his gaze unflinchingly. His gun was tucked out of sight, but she knew it was on him. She’d have to move very carefully. He’d proven that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

  Producing a pocketknife, he wielded it near her neck. “Looks like you’ve got an old scar here on your throat.” The blade touched. Pricked. “I could open that back up.”

  She pulled air through her teeth. “Kill me and you’ll never find the money.”

  He slid the knife slowly down her body, making her tremble and sweat, then slashed through the tape at her wrists.

  “Careful.” She cringed at his rough haste.

  “A little nick’s not gonna kill you. Find my money or you’ll get more than a nick.” He patted her cheek and she recoiled.

  She glanced around the cabin, desperate for inspiration as he cut her ankles free. How long could she exploit this bluff? Standing slowly, her long restricted muscles stretched in tingly protest. She pursed her lips, wandered to the trap door, and pointed. “Down there.”

  “Ladies first.”

  “I need light.”

  He produced a small flashlight. “Go ahead, lead me to it.”

  She caught the edge of her lip in her teeth and tried to ignore a high-voltage shiver. She eased the creaky trapdoor open, then paused.

  “Go on,” he prodded.

  Down she stepped. One step, two. Into cold, clammy, musty air, with Nails at her back. The flashlight beam speared past her, thin and weak, stirring up shadows, dust, and memories.

  Old horrors mixed with new.

  Fear inflated her lungs. What would happen when she couldn’t produce the money? I won’t be leaving this cellar alive.

  “Move it.” He gave her a nudge that made her lose her footing. She stumbled onto the packed dirt floor and scanned the crooked wooden shelves. They were bare, but for dirt. On the floor and in the dirt wall were random holes—from Horace’s previous searching, no doubt.

  The largest hole in the wall, though, was not Horace’s doing. She remembered only too well the gaping portal which led to the connecting earthen room where she and Max had spent so much of their captivity.

  “It’s in there,” she whispered, not approaching the spot, merely motioning. His interest was caught by the odd sight, and he shone his light into the cavern.

  With a curse, he whipped out his gun and aimed into the depths, demanding, “Who’re you?”

  “Don’t shoot,” came a voice from within. “I’m coming out.”

  Stunned, she watched as Horace climbed out, streaked with dirt, his eyes magnified behind his glasses as he took in the sight of Nails, so huge compared to him.

  She shook her head. So he’d come back, broken in, and continued searching, despite Clay’s warning. A very bad decision, and she sensed he knew it. He looked like a confused, disheveled old man. Why had she ever been frightened of him? His eyes reflected fear when he looked at Nails. She could relate, and almost sympathize.

  “Who are you?” Nails repeated. “And what are you doing here?”

  “I’m not doing any harm.” Horace’s voice wh
eedled. “Just looking for something.”

  “You old fool,” Nails muttered, not lowering his gun. “You’re in my way.”

  Horace spread his hands. “Please, son—”

  His words were severed by a blast from Nails’s gun.

  The power of the close-range bullet flung Horace back against the wall and threw his hat off his head. Collapsing on the floor, his lifeless hands whapped the dirt.

  Charlene shrieked, turned, and bolted up the stairs.

  Nails stormed after her in an instant, footsteps thundering. She made it to the kitchen before he reached her. Seizing her hair, he yanked her back, forcing her to look up at him, into eyes of blue flint. “Is my money down there, or not?”

  “No!” She’d dragged this out as long as she could, but what was the point? Help wasn’t coming.

  “No?” He growled. “Then where is it?”

  I don’t know. I don’t know!

  She strained with her limited head movement and looked desperately at the door, but it might as well have been a mile away. Defeated, she said the words that would likely get her killed. “I don’t know where your money is. I never did!” Anger zapped through her. “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I could?”

  His nostrils flared, but the logic must have struck him, because he swore and kicked a chair, toppling it. He raged through the room, pulling her painfully with him as he trashed their surroundings. A grown man having a temper tantrum. Things definitely hadn’t turned out as he’d planned, and she sensed he’d soon take his wrath out on more than just the furniture.

  His teeth clashed together as he faced her. “Then you’re useless to me. Useless.”

  She waited for the gun to plow into her head.

  “I could kill you so easily. Maybe they’d even think your convict boyfriend killed you. After all,” he paused to kick the wood burning stove, “this is the scene of his crime, isn’t it?”

  She swallowed and resisted a response.

  “I could kill you,” he repeated. The muscles of his face twitched and contorted as he stared at her. “But first . . .”

  With a frightening glimmer in his eyes, his hands dove back into her hair and he dragged her into the bedroom. “You’re gonna have to give me something to make my time here worthwhile.” He shoved her backwards onto the saggy bed. The springs squeaked with a bouncy, taunting rhythm. His gaze never left her as he grappled his way onto the mattress after her. Like a savage beast.