After enduring overly loud jazz trumpets while on hold with the airport and a slightly less annoying selection of classical instrumentals with the car rental company, I finally had everything straightened out. I threw my few clothes into my new red suitcase and headed down into town to check out of the cabin.
Warm, thick air, alive with the sounds and smells of spring greeted me as I stepped onto the porch. I breathed deeply. Honeysuckle, so sweet I could nearly taste it.
Only a few puffs of white broke up the startling blue sky, which was amazingly beautiful without concrete and smog. A sigh escaped my lips. There was no sense stalling any longer. I heaved my suitcase into the beige Honda and slowly made my way down the long driveway, red dirt billowing from the churning tires.
The town of Sky Valley and its people brimmed with a sweetness that rivaled their sugar-laden tea. But, unaccustomed as I was to waving at every person or car that passed, I found them all just this side of creepy.
Across from the town’s only gas station stood the small main office for my rental cabin. Based on past experience, once I was inside, it would take me a good twenty minutes to get back out. I took a deep breath and readied myself for the manager. If the residents of Sky Valley were to elect a county Queen of Sweet-Talk, Mrs. Eula Goodrich would take the crown. Her face erupted into a grin the moment I stepped through the screen door.
“Why, Miss Burns, I didn’t expect to be seein’ you anytime soon. Figured you’d be busy with your writing. How’s it coming?”
I shook my head slowly. “I’m afraid something’s come up, and I’m not going to be able to stay. I’d like to check out, please.”
Her over-plucked eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh? I’m sorry to hear that, dear. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I just have some, um, family business to take care of. But, I really enjoyed the stay and hope to come back here sometime very soon.”
She nodded, her gray curls bouncing. “Okay, dear. I’ll just close out your account on your credit card.” She handed me a receipt. “Would you like some tea to take with you?”
I nearly declined, since the cup she’d given me at checkin could have sent a hummingbird into sugar shock. My expression must have given away my thoughts, because she pointed to the little room tucked away behind the counter. “I have some unsweet tea, too, in case you’d rather have that. Just made it.”
Unsweet tea? Wasn’t that just tea? She smiled. I smiled back. “Unsweet tea?”
She looked at me a little funny. “Yeah. It just finished brewing. I haven’t put the sugar in yet.” Her features blossomed again. “But, I’m just finishing up, if you’d like some of my famous sweet tea.”
Was everyone in Georgia this way, or had I somehow managed to stumble into Mayberry? “Just plain iced tea sounds great. Thank you, Mrs. Goodrich. That’s very kind of you.”
After the necessary pleasantries I pulled onto the road, my tea in the cup holder and the only available radio station playing some “boot-scootin’” tune. I pushed down the unwelcome lump in my throat. So what if I hadn’t really traveled in twenty years and was more accustomed to taxis and subways than driving? I could do this. The adventure would be well worth the new life I had coming.
My fingers tightened on the steering wheel as various questions bounced around in my head. Did I have a family? Was any of it left in Oakville? I ground my teeth. What difference did it make? Obviously, the Harpers had mistreated my father to the point he’d had to run away and lie about his past. Besides, Adela was a stranger. A dead one. What good could come from looking into a family that, in all practical ways, didn’t really exist? I turned up the radio and let the wind tease loose long strands from my ponytail.
I made it to the Mississippi line by dark and parked at a Wendy’s on the outskirts of Meridian, ready for a bathroom break and a quick dinner before finding somewhere to stay for the night. The smell of greasy French fries assaulted me the moment I opened the car door and my stomach growled in response. I’d driven through lunch, too preoccupied with my journey to care about food.
I shut the door with my foot, and darkness engulfed me the moment the car’s interior light went off. The streetlight charged with dispelling the gloom over this particular bit of asphalt was busted, its shiny innards crunching under my shoes. I scanned the vacant parking lot, my nerves tingling, but no monsters waited in the shadows. I tossed the keys somewhere in the depths of my oversized purse at just the instant I realized I’d been too distracted to lock and alarm the car. The ambient light from the restaurant gave me just enough hope I could find the keys somewhere in the leather abyss. I chewed my lip. Maybe I could just leave it. I’d only be gone a few minutes. But, then, with my luck, the rental would be stolen before I made it out of the bathroom, and I hadn’t paid for extra insurance. Better be safe and find the stupid key.
I pushed past my phone and wallet and had just scraped the bottom of the bag when something encircled my waist and forced the air from my lungs. An angry grunt escaped my lips, and I clawed at the offending entrapment. My nails dug into a burly forearm. I struggled to free myself from its grip. Venomous, incoherent growls instinctively rumbled from my chest, my body immediately switching into survival mode.
“Hey there, pretty girl, calm down. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Why don’t ya come have some supper wit’ me?” A man’s gruff voice slithered into my ear, his face an inch from the side of my head as he held me immobile.
Panic crawled over my skin, escaping from my pores in a cold sweat. I tried to calm down enough to think, but the rapid succession of my breath and the constriction around my midsection robbed my brain of much-needed oxygen. The stench of sweat and beer washed over me, and I twisted my face away, gagging on the bile that burned the back of my throat.
“Easy, now, little girl. You’re a feisty one, eh? Well, I likes my women spunky. How’s ’bout we skip the dinner and go get to know each other better instead?”
No!
Panic wouldn’t let the word escape from my constricted throat.
Not again. Never again.
I pushed and struggled against his barrel chest, but his iron clasp held me firm. A filthy hand smothered my mouth. Self-defense class! Why hadn’t I forked over the money to take the blasted class?
Help me, God. Please!
He started pulling. I kicked, my tennis shoes barely scraping against the asphalt. He dragged me through the dark parking lot and toward a jacked-up pickup. I had to get free. Once he had me locked in there, I’d be trapped. My eyes desperately searched for help, but the deepening darkness betrayed no onlookers.
My hands closed around the purse that was miraculously still in my grasp. The keys! Maybe I could use them as a weapon. I plunged my hand through the open zipper and grazed something long and cylindrical. My calligraphy pen. A gift from my co-workers.
My trembling fingers grasped the object and dropped the purse just as my captor reached for the door handle. He flung it open and with a swift jerk turned me to face him. He towered over me, easily six and a half feet tall. His bald head bent low, and his nose nearly touched mine.
His demon eyes shone with fire, full of lust and evil. I’d seen eyes like those before. His mouth gaped into a hideous grin as his meaty paws ripped at the front of my blouse. I stared hard at him, refusing to show him the fear he wanted.
Something in my gaze gave him pause. I tightened my grip on my pathetically tiny weapon.
“Yes. You’re gonna be a fun one,” he growled. He slid his hands to my waist and prepared to lift me into the truck.
With a swiftness that still marvels me and a banshee cry, I slammed the sharp metal point of my only birthday gift into the soft spot of his thick neck, just above the collarbone. His eyes rounded and his hands slid from my hips. In slow motion, they grabbed for the object protruding from his throat.
I ran.
The car seemed miles away. My feet skittered across the pavement, barely seeming to graze the surface. When I finally
reached the door, a sickening thought staggered me to a halt and slashed my feeble sense of victory.
Keys.
I needed keys, or I couldn’t escape. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and forced my foggy brain to focus. Where were the keys?
There! My purse! Halfway between the safety of my car and the ogre lumbering this way. I could make it. Had to make it.
I sprinted.
Scooping the purse and pivoting on one foot in a single motion, I darted back to my car. The sound behind me turned my blood to ice and made my heart gallop. Footsteps thudded closer, heavy and gaining ground. My hand covered the welcoming coolness of the door handle.
I dove through the opening, now thankful I’d forgotten to lock it, slammed the door shut, and hit the lock button just as something pounded on my window.
I turned my purse upside-down, dumping everything onto my lap. There! I grabbed the single key on the rental company’s logo keychain and shoved it into the ignition. A bloody hand pounded the glass. The little four-cylinder turned over. Almost free.
A gurgling roar penetrated the window. I didn’t want to look, but I did.
Blood dripped down his throat and covered the front of his shirt. Above the gaping wound, his demented face revealed snarled teeth tinted crimson. The devil himself had come for me this time.
I slammed the gear into reverse and sent him flying backward. Rocketing from the parking space, I shifted into drive without hitting the brake. The transmission protested but obeyed my command. Customers were flooding from the restaurant, drawn by the commotion.
The man’s crumpled form lay in a heap on the pavement. People gathered around him, their wide eyes staring at me.
They were too late. They were always too late.
I pushed the accelerator and didn’t look back.
Cold air coursed over my trembling hands as the compressor did its best to turn my car into a little piece of the arctic. Sweat still prickled my forehead, but the air conditioning helped with the clamminess and held the nausea at bay. I needed to stop and find somewhere safe. And maybe take a long, hot shower.
A sign glowed up ahead. I turned on the blinker. This one would cost more than I could really afford, but I wasn’t taking any chances on a seedy hotel tonight. Holding the key firmly in my hand, I locked the car and darted across the well-lit lot, pulling my struggling suitcase along behind me.
The suit-clad man behind the counter smiled. “Good evening, Ma’am.”
As I came closer, a surprised look raised his groomed eyebrows. Catching himself, he smoothed his features into a professional cheeriness.
Who could blame him? I must have looked a mess. I reached up to smooth my hair. Red spatters dotted my fingers and partway up my arm. Horrified, I thrust my hand behind my back.
“Um,” I stammered, “would it be okay if I used the restroom before I check in? It’s been a long trip, you know.” Stupid. How would he know how long my trip had been? I must have looked guilty of murder.
Maybe I was.
He smiled. “Of course, Ma’am. The facilities are just around that corner.” He gestured toward the end of the entryway.
“Thank you.” I hurried off before he could ask questions.
Thankfully, no one was in the ladies’ room. I turned on the water and started scrubbing my hands, feeling a lot like Lady Macbeth.
“Out, out, spot. Out, I say,” I muttered under my breath as I scrubbed the offending stains.
I dried my raw skin with a rough paper towel, glancing in the mirror before tossing it in the trash. No wonder the man at the front desk had struggled to keep the surprise from his face. My ponytail hung limp from one side, several dark strands sticking up in all directions. Wide, haunted brown eyes stared back at me like they were high on some illegal drug. Thankfully, though, no red splatter decorated my face and neck.
I straightened my purple blouse, fingering the button hanging by a thread. So much for one of my favorites. I’d never wear it again. His smell still lingered, forcing continued contact I desperately wanted to break.
Pull it together.
I smoothed my hair and fixed my ponytail, then took a deep breath and studied my reflection.
“I am strong. I will not let you get to me.” My eyes burned, threatening tears. I fought them back. This time, I’d won.
I spun on my heel and rolled my suitcase back to the front desk.
“One night, please.” I thrust my credit card at the man without meeting his eyes.
A few moments later, I was safely on the second floor with the deadbolt and privacy latch secured. The tears would not be contained any longer. The memories came to me then, images I’d fought for years. The suffocating monster of fear uncoiling from his lair.
I’d been eleven the first time. The house mother was supposed to be home when the bus dropped us off after school; I still don’t know why she wasn’t. One of the older foster boys had been waiting in the room I shared with Lisa. Lisa and I had been close friends. She was the only one I ever really made in the foster system. I still wonder what would have happened if she’d been home that day instead of serving detention. But, she wasn’t, and I’d been alone. He’d said he wanted to show me what it was like to be a grownup. He could teach me. Something in his eyes had made my stomach knot. But, there’d been nowhere to run, and he’d been too strong. The house parents never found out. I’d been too ashamed to tell anyone.
I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my head on my arms. Maybe if it had only happened once, I wouldn’t have been quite as screwed up.
The second time had been worse, in a way. I was sixteen and thought he loved me. He’d called me “baby” and brought flowers. I’d had dreams we would be together forever. I’d be a part of his family and be surrounded by people who loved me. I’d finally have a place to belong.
A few weeks in, he’d started talking about making our love more tangible. Those thoughts had always brought along feelings of guilt and a strange, thick sense of being dirty. Finally, though, I’d given in. It would be much different with someone who loved me. He’d said I could trust him. But, when the date had come, I hadn’t been ready. I’d told him I wasn’t ready.
He didn’t care.
For some reason, I’d continued to date him. Bad love was better than no love, I supposed. After only two months of dating and a promise of a future marriage, he’d left me for someone else. Probably because I was insecure and clingy. Or maybe because he’d already gotten what he wanted, and there was no excitement in damaged toys.
Now, it had nearly happened again. Why did I attract the worst type of men? Maybe they were just all that way, in some form or another. Maybe women were just something to be used and then tossed away. I drew a ragged breath into my lungs. No. I could not wallow in the abyss that threatened my sanity. If I gave in, I might never get back out. The time had not yet come to fight that dragon.
There was no sense feeling sorry for myself. The past was unchangeable, and at least this time I’d fought back. I might always be unwanted and unlovable, but I was done being a victim.
When my breathing evened out, I pushed soggy hair from my eyes and surveyed my home for the night. Simple, but clean. Two double beds with multicolored spreads and a small desk and chair. The bathroom door stood open, and the shower invited me in.
I let the nearly scalding water flow over me, trying to wash the memory from my skin. Finally feeling somewhat clean again, I dressed for bed and plugged my computer into the hotel’s Internet dock. Maybe if I did a little research, I could fall asleep with different thoughts galloping through my head.
A quick Google search for Buford Cornwall showed me a few small-town news articles and human-interest pieces, but nothing incriminating. A black-and-white photograph showed him smiling, standing next to an elderly woman. He seemed honest enough. But then, they usually did. If I was going to meet with him tomorrow, I wanted to gather a little intel first. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to find.
&n
bsp; Sighing, I powered down my laptop and crawled under the comforter. I turned on the television and watched a home improvement channel until my eyes finally began to droop. Tomorrow held the opportunity for a new life. I could be someone else. Soon, I would have the one thing I’d always wanted: freedom.
By eight AM, I’d grabbed a few muffins from the lobby and was on the road again, ready to put the town of Meridian safely behind me. In just three short hours I’d be in Oakville finalizing the paperwork on my new life.
Radio blaring and windows down, I finally started to feel good again.
Bam!
The steering wheel jerked from my hands, and the car swerved hard to the right and across the white line. Gravel spewed as I skidded onto the shoulder, peppering the underside of the chaise. I screamed and fought to maintain control as I hit the brake pedal with both feet and finally slid to a stop. My heart hammered in my chest. A car horn blared behind me, and dropped my clunking heart to the floorboard. I sat for several moments, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles as cars whizzed past me.
Biting my lip, I finally got out and walked around the front of the car and down the side away from the speeders who wouldn’t get over into the left lane. Great. Blown tire. Just what I needed. Could this trip get any worse?
I kicked the offending rubber, which did nothing but add a throbbing toe to my troubles. I’d never changed a tire before. Not that not knowing how to do something had ever stopped me before.
I opened the trunk and stared at the spare as if it were a coiled rattlesnake. Oh, well. It was as good of a time as any to learn. I poked around under the felt liner in the bottom of the trunk, figuring there should be some tools around there somewhere.
“Need some help?”
I jumped, spun, and thrust the tire iron at my attacker in one fluid motion.
Heir of Hope: Return to Ironwood Plantation (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 2) Page 2
