Followed

by Mark Lukens

  Lightning flashed outside again, bright in the windows for a second even with the lamp lit up next to the bed. Thunder rumbled not even five seconds later.

  “The other rooms,” Phil told Cathy as she came out of the bathroom.

  They each took a bedroom, checking every possible hiding place.

  Moments later they were back downstairs in the living room where they had started.

  “There’s no blood anywhere,” Phil said, letting his words trail off, hoping the lack of blood was some kind of good omen, a sign that Grady hadn’t killed their daughter.

  But maybe Grady had taken Megan somewhere, hiding her in what he’d called some kind of trap, a place where time was running out if she wasn’t rescued soon. But where? Not in Grady’s car. Another girl was there. Who? Phil didn’t know, and he didn’t have time right now to ponder the question.

  Time was running out.

  They had checked everywhere in the house. Phil looked around the living room, then he entered the kitchen again, Cathy right behind him. He saw the door that led out to the garage.

  “The garage,” Cathy said at the same moment Phil saw the door.

  They rushed out to the garage.

  Phil swatted at the light switches. A row of fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickered for a second and then lit up the garage in a bright, harsh light. Like the rest of the house, the garage was neat and orderly.

  Barbara’s car was parked on the farther side of the garage as if another car might one day park next to hers. Against the far wall there were plastic tubs and cardboard boxes stacked up next to two metal shelves standing next to each other. Closer to the garage door was some gardening equipment: rakes, shovels, hoes, shears, pruners, a large wagon and a cheap wheelbarrow.

  Nowhere for Megan to hide in here.

  The car.

  Phil thought of the other girl stuffed in the trunk of Grady’s car. He hurried over to the small car and peered in the windows. He tried the doors. They were locked.

  “The keys,” he told Cathy.

  She was already running back into the kitchen like she’d thought of the car keys a split second before he’d said the words.

  He hoped to God that Barbara didn’t still have her keys on her, stuffed down into the pockets of her jeans.

  No . . . not Barbara. Her keys would be hung back up where they belonged. Things in Barbara’s house had a place, and everything was in its place.

  Cathy was back. She tossed the keys across the garage to Phil.

  He caught them and pressed the button on the key fob to unlock the doors and the trunk. The trunk lid popped up with a loud click that echoed throughout the garage.

  Phil was at the trunk in a flash. There was no time for praying right now, no time for wondering. He just opened the trunk and froze.

  Cathy was beside him a few seconds later, her breath held. And then there was an exhale from her lungs.

  Megan wasn’t in the trunk. The carpet inside the trunk looked as new as the day Barbara had bought this car; it looked like nothing had ever been inside the trunk.

  “Where did he take her?” Cathy moaned.

  Phil shook his head as a wave of helplessness like he never could’ve imagined washed over him. But he couldn’t succumb to that—he needed to think. “Grady said he had her somewhere, a place where time was running out for her if we didn’t find her soon.”

  It was apparent that he didn’t need to remind Cathy of Grady’s threat; he saw that the warning was playing itself in her mind like a loop.

  They went back inside the house.

  “She must not be here,” Phil finally said. “He must’ve taken her somewhere else.” Had Grady taken Megan to the same place where he’d brought the other girl from? Was there some kind of clue on the dead girl? Was there a clue in Grady’s car? A clue on Grady’s body?

  Phil was about to suggest that they look in Grady’s car again, even the trunk where the other dead girl was; maybe they could find some kind of clue. But then he saw Cathy staring at something. He turned to see what she was looking at.

  “What is it?” he asked her.

  “What about out there?” she said, pointing at the vertical blinds. “Out by the pool.”

  They hadn’t checked that area. Phil hadn’t even considered it.

  Phil was at the vertical blinds a few seconds later, ripping them to the side while Cathy flipped up all the switches next to the door. Lights recessed in the back porch ceiling illuminated the whole area. Even lights inside the pool came on where Megan floated.

  Barbara’s large, rectangular pool was just beyond the back patio which ran most of the length of the back of the house. The back patio was a large area with block columns that had been coated in stucco, everything painted a warm sea-green. A massive screened enclosure covered the pool.

  Phil rushed out to the pool, the rain dribbling down on him through the screened enclosure.

  “Megan!” Cathy screamed, running right behind Phil.

  Megan was balanced precariously on a big inflatable plastic float. She was on her stomach, hogtied, her mouth gagged with a rag tied around her head. She was close to the edge of the float, her body crushing down an arm of it along with the built-in drink holder. Her head was somewhat propped up on the float’s headrest, her face turned towards them, her hair matted to her face from the rain, her eyes wide with shock and terror. She was fighting to stay on top of the float, only seconds away from falling into the water.

  Phil jumped into the water and swam to Megan, grabbing the float and pulling it back to the shallow water and the steps. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re okay.”

  Cathy was in the water with him, and she was already untying the gag while Phil pulled on the knots in the ropes.

  Megan sobbed as soon as the wadded-up gag was out of her mouth.

  “You’re okay,” Phil said again, and now he realized he was crying. “You’re okay, baby.”

  As soon as Megan was untied, Phil scooped her up into his arms. She was too old and too big for him to carry, but he did it anyway, struggling up the steps to the pool deck, the water running off of him, his clothes heavy and adding to the weight, his shoes squishy. His back was already tweaking with spasms, but he didn’t care—he was going to carry his daughter to safety.

  Megan clung to him, crying harder, her body racked with sobs.

  “You’re okay,” Phil said again like a mantra, trying to implant those words in her mind. “You’re okay now, baby.”

  “He said . . . said he was coming back for me,” Megan sobbed as Phil laid her down on a PVC piped patio chair that was under the porch roof and out of the rain.

  “He’s gone,” Cathy assured Megan, hugging her.

  “The cops got him?” Megan asked Cathy, searching her eyes.

  Phil and Cathy glanced at each other for just a second.

  “He’s gone,” Cathy told Megan again, holding her. “He won’t ever bother you again. I promise.”

  In the distance Phil could hear police sirens.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Phil

  Thursday

  The next day Phil and Cathy were in Megan’s hospital room. She hadn’t received any serious physical wounds from Grady, but her doctor recommended that she stay overnight just for observation.

  Cathy told Phil that she was staying the night with Megan in the hospital room. Phil went home and packed an overnight bag for the both of them, along with a cooler of drinks and a few snacks. He stayed in the hospital room with them until eleven o’clock, and then he went home again, promising to be back in the morning.

  Before he left the hospital room, he saw it in Cathy’s eyes—was he going home to drink?

  When Phil got home, he poured out every bottle of alcohol he had in the house. That look in Cathy’s eyes had destroyed him in those few moments, humiliated him—he never wanted to see that look from her again, and now he knew he wouldn’t. The doctors had treated his minor wounds to his face from Grady’s punch, but Phil
washed his face again, staring at the damage done to it for a moment—the bruising around his eye and cheek, the split in his lips which reminded him so much of Dolores’ split lips.

  He lay on the couch for a few hours with the TV on after he had cleaned up. He barely got any sleep, mostly just fitful bouts here and there that were riddled with nightmares. He wanted a drink so bad, something to calm his nerves, but he wasn’t going to give in to the temptation anymore.

  Never again.

  Phil had come back to Megan’s hospital room this morning. Megan was dressed in regular clothes and sitting up in bed. He brought her a balloon and a stuffed animal that he’d bought in the gift shop.

  Dr. Patel came in an hour later to give his final okay. He had a prescription written out for some sedatives. Phil would get the pills from the pharmacy, but he’d only give them to Megan if she absolutely needed them.

  “All the tests came back okay,” Dr. Patel said.

  “Good,” Megan said. “Can I leave now?”

  They all laughed.

  Phil and Cathy asked to talk to the doctor outside the room for a moment. When they were down the hall, tucked away near a wall and out of earshot of anyone else, Dr. Patel assured them that Megan hadn’t been sexually abused in any way. She didn’t have any physical wounds, but she would probably have some emotional ones for quite some time. But Phil could help with that—he knew a great child psychologist that Megan could see for as long as she needed to. And of course he and Cathy would be there for her, too. Phil promised himself that he would be there for his family more than he used to be.

  Police officers had taken Megan’s statement at the scene last night. And then, at the hospital, two detectives had taken all of their statements again. No charges were being filed even though the police department was not too happy about Cathy taking Wells’ service pistol with her when she drove down the street and slammed into Grady, but they seemed to be willing to overlook that considering the circumstances, and the fact that she had saved Wells’ life by calling for an ambulance and for backup.

  Dr. Patel came back to the room with them and wished Megan well, and then he left. Cathy was already busy getting their things together, packing away the stuffed animal Phil had bought into Megan’s bag. She tied the balloon to the straps of the duffel bag. Phil hurried out into the hall to catch up to the doctor before he got too far away.

  “Dr. Patel,” Phil called.

  The doctor turned around with a patient smile on his face.

  “I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”

  Dr. Patel waited for Phil to continue.

  “Is there any way I could see Officer Wells?”

  “He’s still in critical condition. And he’s only supposed to receive family members right now.”

  “He saved our lives,” Phil told him.

  Dr. Patel sighed, already giving in. “Just for a moment. Just a quick peek.”

  “I promise.”

  The doctor gave Phil the room number.

  Phil took the elevator up to the sixth floor. He headed down the hall of the intensive care unit and found Wells’ room. The door was ajar, and he pushed it open a little more so he could creep inside. The room was murky, only the lights of the machines were on. Wells looked terrible. There were tubes and wires hooked up to him and several machines. He had a big bandage on the side of his neck, and a smaller one on the side of his head. His left arm was wrapped in what looked like a soft cast. He was either sleeping right now or unconscious. He seemed to be barely clinging to life.

  “He’ll make it.”

  Phil jumped, turning around to see a tall and muscular man in his late thirties standing in the doorway right behind him. He was dressed in jeans and a Polo shirt.

  “I’m Clay Penski,” the man said. “I work with Wells.”

  “Oh, you’re a police officer,” Phil said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “You can say cop,” Clay joked. “We don’t mind.”

  Phil just smiled. “I’m not really supposed to be in here.”

  Clay nodded knowingly. “Me either, but looks like the doc has been giving out special privileges to a few people.”

  Phil glanced back at Wells, then at Clay again. “He saved my life. He saved my wife and daughter too.”

  “He’s a good cop. A good man.”

  “You sure he’s going to be okay?”

  “He lost a lot of blood, had some internal injuries, but the doc thinks he’ll pull through just fine. He’s a tough one.”

  Phil just nodded. “It was good to meet you, Clay. I need to catch up with my wife and daughter.”

  Phil left the room. He’d only gotten a few steps down the hall before he heard Clay call him.

  “Mr. Stanton?”

  Phil stopped and turned around, a little surprised that Clay knew his name.

  “Sorry,” Clay said. “I know who you are and what happened last night. Everybody does.”

  Phil just waited. Obviously Clay had more to say.

  Clay walked up to Phil and spoke in a low voice so no one else would overhear. “I just wanted you to know that Carlos’ daughter was already dead before you hit the car.”

  Phil felt the stinging of tears in his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. He kept his mouth closed tight, clenching his teeth.

  “I’m sorry,” Clay said. “I just wanted you to know that you didn’t kill her.” He shrugged. “I thought it might help a little.”

  “Thank you,” Phil said. He wasn’t sure if it made him feel that much better, but then he realized that it did. “Thank you,” he said again. “It really does help.”

  Clay just nodded—he didn’t seem to have anything else to say.

  Phil turned and walked towards the elevator doors. He was sure now, more than ever, that everything was going to be okay.

  EPILOGUE

  Two months later

  Phil and Cathy’s home stood alone among the empty lots of this section of their subdivision. Barbara’s house, the only other home in Phase III of The Oaks subdivision that Phil and Cathy were beginning to believe would never be completed, stood dark and empty down the street. It was going to be a while before anyone bought Barbara’s house after what had happened there. Bad news traveled fast.

  Phil and Cathy’s home was dark. It was late. The sky was clear with stars twinkling everywhere. A thin sliver of the moon offered little extra light. The air had turned a little cooler; the hint of winter on the way—there really wasn’t an autumn in this area of Florida, the weather went right from hot and humid to a few cold nights here and there.

  Inside the house, Phil was awakened by a familiar rumbling sound—the white pickup truck idling outside their home, its powerful motor rumbling. He almost jumped out of bed to grab the phone, but then he had to stop himself.

  It wasn’t the truck. Carlos’ pickup truck had been demolished in the crash after the police chase, and then eventually junked. No, the truck wasn’t out there. Grady was dead. It was over. All of it was over.

  Phil lay there for a moment, his eyes wide open in the darkness. Still, he felt an itch gnawing at him to get up and look out the window. He looked at Cathy. He could tell she was sleeping, her breaths deep and steady.

  After another few moments he got out of bed as quietly as he could and walked over to the bedroom window, unable to ignore the impulse to check. It couldn’t hurt to check, could it?

  There was nobody out there. No pickup truck. No gray sedan.

  Nothing.

  He didn’t hear the rumbling sound that he’d heard in his dream.

  Phil went back to the bed and stood beside it, sipping from a bottle of water on the end table.

  “You okay?” Cathy asked in a sleep-heavy voice.

  He must’ve woken her up when he’d gotten out of bed. Maybe she was sleeping as lightly as he was nowadays. “Yeah. Just getting some water.”

  Phil lay back down in bed, and Cathy snuggled up closer to him.

  • • •

/>   Outside Phil and Cathy’s home, as if materializing out of the night itself, Carlos walked out of the weeds and brush across the street. He stood at the edge of the street, watching Phil and Cathy’s house.

  Phil and Cathy—they were the people who’d gotten his daughter killed. Grady had wanted them, and he’d killed Carlos’ daughter to get to them.

  This was their fault.

  Carlos started walking across the street towards Phil and Cathy’s house . . .

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  Thank you so much for reading my book! I hope you enjoyed it.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

  Mark Lukens has been writing since the second grade when his teacher called his parents in for a conference because the ghost story he’d written had her a little concerned.

  Since then he’s had several stories published and four screenplays optioned by producers in Hollywood. One script is in development to become a film. He’s the author of many bestselling books including: Ancient Enemy, Darkwind: Ancient Enemy 2, Descendants of Magic, The Summoning, Night Terrors, Sightings, The Exorcist’s Apprentice, What Lies Below, Devil’s Island, The Darwin Effect, Razorblade Dreams, Ghost Town: a novella, and A Dark Collection: 12 Scary Stories. He’s a proud member of the Horror Writers Association.

  He grew up in Daytona Beach, Florida. But after many travels and adventures, he settled down near Tampa, Florida with his wonderful wife and son . . . and a stray cat they adopted.

  He loves to hear from readers! You can find him on Facebook here:

  https://www.facebook.com/Mark-Lukens-Books-670337796318510/