Followed

by Mark Lukens

  Wells knew he could be wrong about all of this tonight, but hopefully he would get there before something bad happened. Hopefully he could convince Phil that he and his family were in danger.

  Phase II of The Oaks subdivision turned into Phase III with its sea of empty lots, only two houses standing far off in the distance. He turned onto the lonely road where only Phil’s house stood halfway down the street. The home looked so odd standing by itself among all of the homeless lots. Lightning split the sky, lighting up the world for a moment, shining a spotlight down on Phil’s one-story home and its manicured lawn. The rain was falling even harder now, a downpour.

  Wells didn’t see any vehicles parked in the street or in the driveway, and he began to get the first sinking feeling that maybe he’d made the wrong decision, overreacting. But he felt that it was better to err on the side of caution, even if his captain probably wasn’t going to agree with him.

  It was too late now. He was here, and he was going to knock on the door and talk to Phil and his wife about this.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Phil

  “I remember what Dolores said now,” Phil told Grady. “I must’ve blocked it all out through the years, and maybe it didn’t make sense to me at the time, but I see it all now.”

  “Stop talking, Phil, or I swear I’m going to start shooting your kneecaps out. I’ll make you beg me to kill you and your wife.”

  “Your sister,” Phil went on quickly. “Dolores. She said, ‘He’s following me. Save me.’ You were following her through the woods that night. You were chasing her.”

  “Shut up.”

  “She was terrified. That’s why she rode her bicycle out of the woods into the street. She hadn’t even been watching the road as she rode in front of us. She’d been watching the woods behind her, watching you.”

  Phil was back on that road again for a moment, crouched down beside Dolores on the road beside those dark woods. The moonlight shone down on Dolores, making her blood look black in the silvery light. She had split lips and bruises, but those were older wounds—they hadn’t come from the impact with Travis’ car; they’d already been there before Travis had hit her.

  “Shut up!” Grady yelled, bringing Phil’s focus back on him.

  “I remember now,” Phil said, continuing anyway. “Dolores had blood on her face before we hit her. Those bruises she had, her split lips. What did you do to your little sister?”

  Grady seemed ready to explode with anger. And maybe Phil was antagonizing him, pushing him too far, but there was a slight chance that he could shock Grady into admitting what he’d done to his sister. Maybe Grady had blocked some of these horrors out in his memories. Maybe he had hidden this secret so deep down into his subconscious, blaming Travis and Phil for all of this for so long now. Maybe this sudden exposure to the truth would somehow trigger Grady’s guilt and shame that he needed to tap in to.

  “You did it,” Phil said softly, acting utterly shocked by Grady’s crime. “You were chasing your sister after you hurt her. She was running for her life. She was so terrified, and she knew the only way she could outrun you was on her bicycle. You had her so scared, so distracted, that she rode her bicycle right out into the street. You did it. You killed her.”

  Grady’s face seemed to crumple just a bit.

  Was he getting through to him?

  Grady lowered his gun a little, nodding.

  Phil nodded right along with him. When he spoke, his voice was even softer, compassionate. “It’s okay. You can admit it now. You can admit what you did. You need to get it out.”

  Grady seemed on the verge of tears, of possibly breaking into a sob. “You’re right. I . . . I was chasing her that night. I had hurt her. Hit her. She was going to tell on me. Tell people about the things I’d been doing.”

  Phil didn’t say anything—he just let Grady keep going.

  “I was going to hurt her some more,” Grady said. And then his cruel smile was back, his eyes cold again. “But you two ruined all of that. You took her away from me. Oh, I had some big plans for my little sister, and you two ruined it all. I was chasing her. I even let her get to her bicycle. I wanted her to think that she had a chance of getting away.” He sighed with satisfaction. “I love the chase.”

  A lump formed in Phil’s throat, and he realized in that moment that he was dealing with a true psychopath. There would be no getting through to Grady; he’d never had a chance.

  Grady raised his gun back up, aiming it at Phil. “Nice speech, Phil. Time’s up. You had your chance, and now things are going to get much, much worse.”

  Just then someone knocked on the front door, pounding on it.

  Grady turned and fired three shots into the door.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Cathy

  Cathy watched in horror as Grady turned and fired three shots at the front door, blowing holes in it the size of silver dollars, wood splintering away. The smell of gunpowder filled the air of the living room. Her ears were ringing from the booming gunfire. Grady hadn’t even hesitated to shoot. As soon as he heard the pounding at the front door, he’d turned and fired, surely killing anyone who was on the other side.

  And then Phil did something that Cathy never would’ve expected—he rushed at Grady the moment he turned to shoot at the door. Phil had the hunting knife in his hand, and he sprinted towards Grady like a linebacker ready to sack a quarterback, his head down a little, the knife up in the air, ready to stab down at Grady.

  Maybe the only thing that saved Phil was that Grady had been distracted for a moment by the pounding at the door. Grady had had such control over the situation, that he seemed shocked now that something had gone wrong. And for just a moment, Grady seemed trapped in that momentary fog of disbelief as he stared at the door, almost like he was trying to run the possibilities through his mind of who could be on the other side of that door.

  Cathy didn’t know who was at their front door. For a split second she feared it might be Megan, she feared that her daughter had walked home from Barbara’s house in the darkness and the rain for some inexplicable reason. But no, that couldn’t be—Cathy had dismissed the idea of it as soon as it had entered her mind. It wasn’t Megan on the other side of the front door, couldn’t be. Megan wouldn’t have pounded on the door like that. And Megan had a key. And Cathy also couldn’t forget that Grady had said, implied at least, that he had Megan held captive somewhere, in some kind of trap.

  No, Cathy didn’t know who was on the other side of the front door, but she was pretty sure of two things right now: One. Whoever was on the other side of the door was probably already dead now. Two. That person might have just saved their lives.

  That was if Phil could somehow overpower the larger Grady.

  Cathy had seen Phil angry before, but now she’d glimpsed such a mask of rage on his face, an expression she’d never seen from him as he rushed Grady in a last-ditch effort to save himself and his family. But even more than that, Cathy thought she’d seen a willingness to hurt Grady in Phil’s expression, a willingness to hurt the monster who had promised to hurt them. She thought she saw the capability to kill another man in her husband’s eyes in that moment.

  The seconds seemed to both slow down for that moment and speed up to a blur at the same time. Phil and Grady collided as Grady was turning back around, gun in his hand, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot. Phil was stabbing down with the hunting knife as he tackled Grady, a cry of fury roaring from his throat. The two men fell to the floor as Phil sliced Grady in the shoulder, but Cathy already knew it had only been a glancing blow with the knife blade, just a slice that might’ve scratched Grady’s skin after tearing the sleeve of his shirt.

  But the one good thing was that Grady had dropped his gun in the fall, and the weapon had slid across the tiled floor away from the two of them, sliding to the couch and then underneath it. Cathy wanted to run over to the couch and . . . and what? What could she do with her hands handcuffed behind her?

  Grady h
ad somehow flipped over on top of Phil and slammed Phil’s arm down on the floor, dislodging the hunting knife from his hand and stunning him. Grady punched Phil in the face, but it hadn’t been a full-force blow. Grady left Phil alone, lunging for the knife on the floor as Phil tried to crawl away. Grady got the knife. He turned over on the floor, and then he was back up to his feet in a second, madness in his eyes, a lunatic smile on his face.

  But then that smile faltered.

  While Grady had been scrambling for the knife, Phil had backpedaled on the floor towards the couch and grabbed the gun where it had slid underneath. He was still on the floor, on his butt, but he had Grady’s gun in his hands, aimed at the man.

  Grady froze, seemingly not sure of what to do.

  “Where’s Megan?” Phil growled.

  Grady was still smiling, shaking his head a little. “You can’t kill me, Phil. You kill me and I promise you won’t find her. You’ll never get to her in time.”

  “Where is she?” Phil yelled.

  Cathy felt like running at Grady even though she was handcuffed. It was an irrational thought, and she had to fight against a mindless attempt to hurt Grady. “What did you do to her?” she yelled at the monster.

  “She’s alive,” Grady said, his cold eyes flicking to her for just a second like he was trying to get through to her if he couldn’t get through to Phil. “But not for long. She doesn’t have too much time left. If you don’t find her soon . . .”

  Cathy looked at Phil. He was still on the floor. He looked both scared and angry, his adrenaline possibly getting the best of him now. His arms were trembling, like the weight and responsibility of the gun was beginning to get too heavy for him. She knew that Phil had never shot a gun before; she knew he was morally against weapons of all kinds. But did Grady know that? Would Grady take a chance on rushing Phil, take a chance that Phil wouldn’t shoot? Would Grady rush at her, try to take her hostage or kill her, see if Phil would shoot? What did Grady have left to live for now?

  “Shoot him in the knees,” Cathy yelled at Phil, trying to sound as convincing as she could, trying to pretend that Phil had that kind of skill with a gun.

  But Grady would know, wouldn’t he? He said he had stalked them for months; he said that he had watched them and studied every aspect of their lives. He’d been the pool guy, the customer in the supermarket line next to them, the driver of the vehicle three car lengths behind them. Grady knew every detail about all three of them, knew their strengths and weaknesses.

  Yet he still wasn’t willing to take the chance right now that Phil would fire and miss, or that Phil might not even shoot at all. No, he had some kind of backup plan—it all showed on his face.

  Grady made his move. He neither ran towards Phil nor Cathy. Instead, he began slowly backing up towards the archway that led to the dining room and the kitchen.

  “Stop!” Phil yelled, thrusting the gun towards Grady.

  “Shoot him!” Cathy screamed.

  Grady just smiled, backing up even farther, the hunting knife still in his hand. “You don’t have much time, Phil. I’m not lying about that.”

  Phil managed to keep the gun aimed at Grady as he got up to his feet.

  But then Grady bolted into the kitchen, running towards the door that led out to the garage.

  Phil stood there for a moment, the gun aimed at the archway—but Grady was gone. He ran over to Cathy with Grady’s gun still in his hand.

  “I’m okay,” Cathy told him. “Go after him! He’s going to go after Megan. You can’t let him get away. Go find Megan!”

  For a second Phil seemed lost in indecision. She knew he wanted to help her, make sure she was safe, but he needed to find Megan.

  “I’ll be okay,” she told him. “Go get Megan. Get our daughter.”

  Phil was off and running towards the kitchen.

  Cathy let out a sigh of relief, tears blurring her vision, and she couldn’t even wipe them away. She looked at the front door. She needed to get it open and see if the person on the other side was still alive.

  FORTY

  Phil

  Phil was already questioning his decisions as he ran into the kitchen. He should’ve shot Grady in the leg. He should have blown out his kneecaps like he had threatened to do to them. But what if he had missed? What if he couldn’t shoot and Grady saw that in his eyes? What if Grady would’ve rushed him in those few seconds of their standoff? Would he have pulled the trigger? He liked to think he would have, but he didn’t know for sure.

  What if Grady had left the safety on? Phil wouldn’t even know for sure. But Grady would’ve sensed Phil’s ignorance when it came to guns if the safety was on and Phil hadn’t switched it off, so the safety had to be off. Besides, Grady had just used the gun to shoot at the front door, so the safety had to be off. All Phil had to do was pull the trigger now. Grady had fired three times, so how many bullets did that leave in the gun? Phil didn’t know what kind of gun this was, but it wasn’t a revolver, he knew that much. This gun had a magazine in the handle, but Phil didn’t know how many bullets this magazine held. Six? Nine? Fourteen?

  Obviously Grady knew that the safety was off, and he knew that there were still plenty of bullets left in the gun—if not, then he surely would’ve rushed at him. Instead, he had run for the kitchen, for the door that led out to the garage.

  He had other plans now—Megan.

  Even if Phil wanted to shoot Grady, he couldn’t take the chance of killing him at this time, not without first finding out where Megan was. Where could Megan be? Was Grady even telling the truth about that? Had Grady gone to Barbara’s house earlier before he’d come to their house tonight? Grady already knew where Megan was tonight, he’d heard Cathy and him talking about taking Megan to Barbara’s house when he’d been there earlier. But maybe Grady was bluffing. Maybe there was a chance he hadn’t gone down to Barbara’s house earlier. Maybe there was still a chance to save Megan. A chance she was okay.

  Phil heard the garage door going up as he hurried through the kitchen. He stopped at the counter to grab his car keys, the gun still in his right hand. He ran to the door that led out to the garage, and then stopped suddenly. What if Grady had opened the garage door as a trick? What if he was waiting on the other side of the kitchen wall, ready to attack Phil and catch him by surprise as he rushed out the doorway? He had to be ready for that.

  You’ve got to think!

  Phil heard Grady’s car starting up outside. He rushed out into the garage, flying down the steps to the concrete floor. He looked out at the open garage door as he ran to his Lexus. It was raining out there, and a light illuminated the driveway through the downpour as Grady’s car bolted into view, speeding down the long driveway towards the street.

  Phil got into his car. He started it up, shifted into reverse, stomped the gas pedal down and backed down the driveway, flipping his headlights on as he reversed. He saw in the rearview mirror that Grady’s sedan was already in the street. But Grady wasn’t heading the way that led out of the subdivision, he was turned the other way, towards the end of the road, towards Barbara’s house.

  As Phil reversed out into the street and whipped the steering wheel, his car sliding, he couldn’t help but notice the cop car parked in the street during a lightning flash. The cop car had its parking lights on, the car idling. But there was no one inside the car.

  It had been a police officer who had been pounding on their front door.

  And Grady had shot the officer.

  Was the police officer dead? Wounded? He wasn’t in the cop car.

  For a second Phil thought about going to the police officer and trying to get help. But he couldn’t take that chance. He couldn’t waste those precious seconds. In those seconds Grady could get to Megan and kill her.

  FORTY-ONE

  Cathy

  Cathy wasted no time hurrying to the front door. She didn’t bother trying to get to a phone, there was no way she could dial it correctly, and even if she did, she would have to yel
l into it. Maybe she could use the phone later, but her first priority was to check on whoever was on the other side of their front door.

  She managed to get the door unlocked and then opened. And there, crumpled up on their front porch, was a police officer. He had blood all over the side of his neck. There was more blood on his left arm and chest. The blood had leaked down underneath his body, pooling on the concrete porch floor underneath him. It was an alarming amount of blood. For a moment she thought he was dead, but then she saw his chest moving slightly, and she heard his shallow but labored breathing.

  Cathy crouched down beside him and read his nametag: Wells. She recognized him—he was the police officer who had come to their house last Saturday night after they’d been followed home.

  “Officer Wells,” she yelled over the pouring rain. “Can you hear me?”

  Wells’ eyes fluttered, then opened all the way. He stared at her like he was confused about what had happened and where he was.

  “Don’t try to move,” she told him. “You’ve been shot.”

  He closed his eyes again and swallowed hard. “I’m too late,” he whispered.

  Cathy felt more tears in her eyes, but she forced herself not to cry—she needed to be able to see. “No. You saved us. A man was in our house. He tried to kill us. I need to get these handcuffs off.” She turned a little, showing him that her hands were shackled behind her.

  Wells opened his eyes and then closed them again, struggling to stay conscious. He moved his right hand to his belt, grunting in pain, clenching his teeth. His left arm was drenched in blood, and she wasn’t even sure he could move it. He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and dropped them down onto the stone floor beside him.

  And then he passed out.

  “Officer Wells! Can you hear me?”

  No reaction now.