Followed

by Mark Lukens

  She couldn’t help him until she got loose. He must have a handcuff key on his key ring; it must be why he had pulled them out. Unless he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. Maybe he had the handcuff key in his car somewhere, and he was giving her the keys so she could open his car.

  If that was the case then she was screwed.

  But then she saw a short fat key on the ring that was separate from the other keys. That had to be it.

  Lightning lit up the churning sky every few seconds as a waterfall of rain poured off of the edge of the porch roof. Thunder rumbled and it felt like the ground shook. The wind was raging now, howling around the eaves of the house. Cool blasts of air were hitting her in waves. She turned around with her back to Wells and fumbled around blindly for the handcuff key on the ring.

  It felt like the seconds were ticking by way too fast, but she forced herself to slow down. She picked up the key on the ring and maneuvered it in her fingers to stick the fat key down into the cuff on her left wrist. At least she had enough slack on the handcuffs to move her hands; Phil hadn’t tightened them down too much after he had clamped them down on her wrists. Even though the cuffs were loose, they weren’t loose enough for her to pull her hands out of them—no way in hell was that going to happen. Her only chance was this key.

  She finally managed to get the key into the slot on the cuff. She tried to twist around as much as she could to see what she was doing, but a sharp pain in her back prevented her from doing that. She was going to have to do this blind.

  And then a terrible thought struck her as she struggled with the key. Would the handcuff key that Officer Wells had work on these handcuffs? Did handcuff keys work for all handcuffs, or did each set of handcuffs have its own specific key? It seemed to her that all the keys should be the same, but she couldn’t be sure about it. And even if that was true, then was there a difference between police handcuffs?

  And just at the moment that she was beginning to doubt it was the right key for these handcuffs, she heard a click and felt the handcuff break free on her left wrist.

  She flew into action, turning around and unlocking the other cuff on her wrist. Now she needed to help Officer Wells. He had a walkie-talkie on his shoulder. She pushed the button on the side of it and bent down to talk into it.

  “Hello!” she yelled into the speaker.

  A blast of static answered her back, then a woman’s voice spoke in police jargon, codes that she didn’t understand.

  “Officer down!” she yelled after she pressed the button down again. She didn’t know if that was the correct thing to say, but she’d heard it on cop shows, and it was the first thing that came to her mind. “Officer Wells has been shot. He’s still alive, but he’s hurt pretty bad.”

  Another quick blast of static, and then she heard the woman’s voice again: “Who is this?”

  Cathy pressed the button again. “You need to send an ambulance and backup to 912 Winding Oaks Way in The Oaks subdivision. Please hurry.”

  More static and squawking.

  But Cathy ignored it. She saw the gun in Wells’ holster. She knew she was probably going to get into major trouble for this, but she needed to think about Megan and Phil right now. She pulled the gun out of the holster, not even sure how to use it.

  She stood up and ran for the kitchen to get the keys to her SUV.

  FORTY-TWO

  Phil

  Phil followed Grady’s sedan down the street through the thunderstorm. Even though Grady had a head start, Phil was catching up to him quickly. He couldn’t let Grady get to Barbara’s house; he couldn’t let him get inside, he couldn’t let him get to Megan.

  He saw the lights of Barbara’s house in the distance, blurry through the wet windshield. They were coming up to her house so quickly, but then it almost seemed like Grady was slowing down.

  Was he slowing down purposely?

  And then everything happened so fast. Phil knew he was speeding, driving too fast, in danger of losing control. It seemed like Grady had slammed on his brakes well before reaching the edge of Barbara’s property, where the thick weeds gave way to her manicured St. Augustine lawn. But Grady had stopped so quickly that Phil slammed into the back of his car, buckling the trunk in a little, the trunk lid popping up.

  Grady’s car spun sideways on the slick street, then overcorrected and veered back to the left, jumping the curb and driving across Barbara’s grass. Grady’s car plowed into the corner of Barbara’s garage, the car stopping abruptly.

  Phil, following right behind Grady, slammed into the back of his car again, but he had turned to the left just in time so that he just clipped the corner of the bumper instead of a direct hit into the trunk again. The front bumper of his Lexus tore part of the bumper off from the back of Grady’s sedan. Phil’s car came to a stop on the grass next to Grady’s car, his headlights shining on the driver’s side door.

  The airbag had gone off in the collision, a white wall suddenly blinding Phil for a split second. The bag knocked him back. He hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt, so the impact from the airbag felt like a punch to his face.

  Woozy for a moment, Phil pushed the deflated airbag out of his way. He suddenly felt light-headed, that surreal feeling that came when a shocking event occurred.

  But he needed to focus, clear the cobwebs from his mind before Grady went into Barbara’s house after Megan, or came for his gun.

  The gun.

  Phil grabbed the gun out of the center console. He was surprised that the gun hadn’t gone flying in the crash, but it had been wedged pretty securely in the little pocket there.

  He opened his door and stumbled out into the downpour, his eyes on Grady’s sedan the whole time. The trunk was crumpled in, the lid up all the way. Steam poured out of the front of his car, rising up along the corner of the garage in the orange glow of the parking lights.

  Phil kept his eyes on the driver’s door, his gun aimed at it, ready to shoot Grady this time.

  But Grady wasn’t getting out of the car.

  Was he hurt?

  Phil took a few steps closer, and then he saw a splash of bright pink inside the trunk of Grady’s car. There was a person curled up inside the trunk, a girl with dark hair, a girl wearing a bright pink hoodie . . . Megan’s hoodie that she’d just bought for her birthday.

  Oh God, no . . .

  Phil felt his legs weaken, felt his stomach drop. The world of rain and wind seemed to darken all around him, that darkness creeping in at the edges of everything, creating tunnel vision where all he saw was the girl in the trunk of the car.

  Megan.

  His daughter’s name was on his lips, but he couldn’t say the word. He couldn’t make it real. Megan was in Grady’s trunk. She’d been in his trunk the whole time. And she wasn’t moving.

  Was she dead?

  Maybe she was just hurt, knocked out from the impact when Phil had slammed into the trunk.

  “You did it, Phil!” Grady shouted, giddy with glee. “You killed your own daughter!”

  Phil’s eyes darted to the driver’s door but Grady wasn’t there. He had gotten out through the passenger door. He stood there, leaning against his car, his arms on the roof, both hands wrapped around the handle of a gun. He was a dark shadow in the rain, but Phil could see that insane smile on his face.

  “Yeah, I’ve got another gun,” Grady said. “You think I only had one gun? You don’t think I was ready for this? You don’t think I had every possible scenario planned out?”

  Phil didn’t answer. He realized that in the shock of seeing his daughter in the trunk of Grady’s car, he had lowered his gun—it was now pointed down at the soggy ground.

  “I told you,” Grady said. “You had your chance. All you had to do was kill your wife, and I was going to let you and your daughter go. But no, you had to chase me and slam into the back of my car.”

  But Grady had slowed down, Phil thought. He had slowed down on purpose so I could ram into the back of him.

  “You
just can’t stop killing, can you?” Grady laughed.

  Phil knew that he should raise his gun back up and aim it at Grady, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Megan now. How come Grady was so sure Megan was dead and not knocked out?

  The only way Grady absolutely knew that Megan was dead was if he’d already killed her hours ago.

  Grady had killed Megan before he’d come to their house earlier tonight. He’d stuffed her body in the trunk of his car. He had let them build up hope that Megan could be saved, while he’d known the whole time that she was dead.

  “I would love to let you suffer longer,” Grady said from beside his car, his gun still aimed right at Phil. “I have another surprise waiting for you, and I’d love to show it to you, but I’m going to have to end your life now.”

  Phil looked at Grady, at the gun aimed at him.

  A surprise?

  There was a rumbling noise—but it wasn’t thunder.

  Grady heard that same rumbling sound . . . but he heard it a few seconds too late.

  A sudden flash of light illuminated Grady as Cathy turned the headlights of her SUV on and then slammed into Grady before he even had a chance to turn and aim his gun at her, before he even had a chance to move. Cathy’s Soccer Mom Tank pinned Grady between the front of her SUV and the side of his car. The gun slipped from his hand on impact. The top half of his body slammed back so violently from the crash that his spine must have snapped, and then he slumped forward right onto the hood of the SUV, a fountain of blood erupting from his mouth, spraying onto the hood.

  FORTY-THREE

  Phil

  Phil jumped out of the way just in time when Cathy slammed into the side of Grady’s car, crushing Grady in between both vehicles, and pushing both his and Grady’s cars two feet away from the garage .

  Phil dived down onto the wet grass and mud to get out of the way of his sliding car, but he managed to hold on to Grady’s gun the whole time. He got to his feet and ran around the back of his Lexus towards his wife’s SUV. Her airbag had erupted, and she was slumped forward in the seat.

  A quick glance at Grady and Phil knew he was dead; if not dead, then in the process of dying. He was pitched forward, bent over the hood of Cathy’s SUV, the top half of his body twisted around a little like he’d been in the process of turning around. The fountain of dark blood sprayed across the hood was already being washed away by the rain.

  Cathy . . . was she dead?

  She was moving a little as he opened the driver’s door.

  She pushed the deflated airbag away, sitting upright, a dazed look in her eyes. White powder from the airbag floated all around her. There was blood running out of her nose and the corner of her mouth. Her hair was messy from the impact.

  “Cathy!” Phil yelled.

  “Mmm.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She looked at Phil like she was struggling to remember what she’d just been doing, how she had gotten here.

  “Cathy?” he said again, his voice lower and softer.

  “Yeah,” she answered. Her eyes darted to the front of her SUV, then widened as everything came back to her. “Is he . . .?”

  “Yes. He has to be.” Even if Grady wasn’t dead yet, there was no way he was unpinning himself from between the two vehicles.

  “Megan,” Cathy snapped. “Where’s Megan?” She looked right at Phil. “Did you find her?”

  “Cathy . . .”

  She unbuckled her seatbelt and practically spilled out of her SUV, her legs a little unsteady. Phil helped guide her with a gentle hand on her arm.

  “Where is she?” Cathy asked.

  Phil started crying. He couldn’t help it.

  Cathy stared at him, and then she shook her head no, refusing to believe . . . to accept.

  “I’m sorry,” Phil said through choked sobs.

  “Where is she?” Cathy asked again.

  “Grady’s car. The trunk.”

  Cathy barreled forward.

  “Wait . . .”

  But Cathy wasn’t waiting. She bolted to the trunk of the sedan, and then she stopped suddenly when she saw the flash of bright pink—Megan’s hoodie.

  Phil was going to go after Cathy. He was going to hug her, try to console her, try to tell her that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn’t move; he couldn’t make himself do any of that. Emptiness overtook him, a sudden void of all emotion.

  Cathy stood ramrod straight in the rain, staring into the trunk of the crashed car. Phil was afraid his wife was in shock now, afraid that she was going to faint.

  And then Cathy turned around with a strange expression on her face, a mixture of sadness and hope. “It’s not her.”

  For a moment Phil wasn’t sure he’d heard Cathy’s words correctly.

  “That’s not Megan,” Cathy said again, excited now, yelling over the rain.

  Phil wondered if Cathy really was in shock now, her mind shutting down as she refused to believe that her daughter was dead.

  “It’s not her,” Cathy said again, even louder this time.

  Even though the rational side of Phil’s mind couldn’t make himself believe, a part of him propelled himself forward, wanting to grasp on to this thin strand of hope, wanting to join his wife in the bliss of shock.

  “Who?” Phil said as he stood beside his wife. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. But look.”

  Now that Phil was on this side of Grady’s car and seeing things at a new angle, he had a different view of the girl. He could see part of her face now . . . and it wasn’t Megan. But the hoodie, it looked just like Megan’s.

  “Megan has to be in Barbara’s house,” Cathy said.

  Phil looked at the house just beyond their collection of crashed cars. Even after the crash into her home, Barbara hadn’t come outside to see what had happened. And now Phil was getting a nauseous feeling back in his stomach again.

  A surprise waiting for you. That’s what Grady had said.

  No . . . don’t give me hope and then take Megan away from me again.

  Phil was off and running around the rear of Cathy’s SUV, and then up the driveway to Barbara’s front door. Cathy was right behind him, splashing through puddles.

  They both reached the front door together. Phil pounded on the door with the edge of his fist while Cathy rang the doorbell.

  “Hello!” Cathy yelled. “Barbara! It’s us! It’s Cathy and Phil!”

  Phil checked the door handle—it was unlocked. Normally he wouldn’t just barge into someone’s home, but this was an emergency. He pushed the door open and rushed inside the living room. He could tell immediately that something was wrong. The TV was on and there was a deck of cards laid out on the coffee table, hands dealt. But no one was playing. A can of soda and a cup of coffee sat untouched on coasters. This was an evening interrupted, and now Barbara and Megan weren’t here.

  Maybe they were hiding somewhere in the house. Maybe the crash had scared them. Maybe they were waiting until they were sure it was safe to come out again.

  “Hello?” Phil yelled. “It’s safe! You can come out now!”

  Cathy called Megan’s name as Phil rushed towards the dining room and then the kitchen, leaving wet footprints behind. Cathy headed up the stairs to the bedrooms, both of them splitting up their search.

  The kitchen looked a lot like the living room, like Megan and Barbara had been interrupted in the middle of something. There was some food and drinks on the counters, but the stuff left out almost looked offensive and wrong in Barbara’s orderly home.

  Phil moved around the kitchen, nervous energy controlling him. He was moving just to move as he shouted for his daughter. He checked irrational places like the cupboards and the pantry. But he had to do something; he couldn’t just stand there helplessly in the kitchen and not try to look for Megan. He couldn’t admit to himself that she might not even be in this house. She might have been taken earlier in the evening, taken somewhere by Grady . . . taken somewhere where time was
running out.

  “Phil!” Cathy screamed from upstairs.

  Phil’s heart jumped in his chest, a painful thump that stopped in mid-beat. He was afraid he was going to have a heart attack, a massive and sudden heart attack, his heart finally failing as the mounted stress became too much for him to bear.

  Before he even realized what he was doing, he was running through the living room, and then up the stairs. He rushed down a hallway towards the master bedroom, passing other bedrooms along the way, doors wide open.

  “Phil!” Cathy yelled again.

  He heard the panic in her voice, the fear.

  Oh God, she found Megan’s body.

  Phil rushed into the master bedroom and then stopped when he was three steps inside. Cathy stood next to the large bed where a body was sprawled out, arms and legs wide, blood everywhere.

  “It’s Barbara,” Cathy said, already crying.

  Phil walked closer to the bed on weak and rubbery legs.

  Barbara stared up at the ceiling with wide eyes. Phil thought her eyes would’ve been milky with death, but they were bright, even a little moist, like she was somehow still alive but immobile, staring blankly up at the ceiling. But there was no way she could be alive because her throat was a bloody mess. And even with all of the gore, Phil could see the huge gash in her neck, the flesh parted at least two or three inches, a deep crevice there now, her head nearly separated. Blood had soaked her white blouse, her bare arms, her dark bed cover, the blood shiny and sticky on the fabric.

  Cathy darted to the master bathroom, and for some strange reason Phil thought she’d run in there to vomit, but then he realized that she was still looking for Megan.

  That spurred Phil into action. Once again, they split up the task of the search. Phil looked inside Barbara’s walk-in closet. Even her closet was as neat and orderly as the rest of her home, and that made it obvious fairly quickly that Megan wasn’t hiding anywhere in here.

  Megan’s dead body wasn’t stuffed in here, his mind whispered.

  He went back to the foot of the bed and looked underneath it, praying that Megan had somehow gotten away from Grady, that she was hiding underneath the bed, trembling in shock, but alive.