by L. L. Akers
Yeah, if Mom believed in angels on Earth, she would believe in warnings and signs. If she could, she’d probably come back right now to tell me everything’s okay, or warn me if they weren’t...
Gabby scrambled to an upright position again, startling Jake out of his sleep yet again.
“Jake! I know now... Mom was warning me! She’s trying to tell me something,” Gabby whispered loudly.
“Gabby, seriously? I love you, girl... but you’ve got to let it rest. You wanted to leave—we left. Can we get a good night’s sleep and talk about it tomorrow?” Jake reasoned with his face half buried in his pillow.
“But what if tomorrow is too late? I swear, Jake. I feel like the dream was Mom warning me about... something!”
“Okay, Gabby.” Jake sat up, squinting against the intrusion of the lamp. He rubbed his eyes. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know, Jake!” Gabby whined and hated herself for it. “But I can’t sleep feeling like this.”
Jake sighed. “Gabby, just tell me. Is this about that French bastard? Is it him you’re scared of? That I can deal with. I’ll kill the bastard if I have to. But I can’t deal with I don’t know.”
Gabby felt like she’d been struck. She shook her head from side to side. Jake had prompted her memory; now it all made sense.
“What?” Jake asked. “What is it?”
“He’s dead, Jake. René is dead.”
“How can you know that?”
Gabby ran her hands over her face in disbelief that she hadn’t put it together before now. He’d outright told me in so many words. The flowers were France’s national flower... his uncle had killed himself after a ruined marriage... and then told me I should know. It was Tom. It had to be. He’s René’s nephew, even though his name isn’t French—isn’t Tom a German name? That’s probably why I didn’t connect the two. It’s the only thing that makes sense, she thought.
She told Jake about her encounter with Tom, methodically stating only the facts but excited at finally piecing it together. She felt the fear melt away now that she knew... and there were three hours’ drive time between them. Obviously, René had told Tom about her tattoo and painted her as the other woman in a torrid affair rather than his victim. Tom was screwing with her mind, probably for revenge for his uncle losing his wife and taking his own life. There was no telling how far he would take it if he was related to René. Crazy does breed crazy, Gabby thought.
Jake was furious. He got up and paced the room, hobbling and limping with his bum leg. “Great day, Gabby! How could you just remember this? If you’d’ve told me this at home, I coulda handled him then.” He shook his head.
Gabby sat very still. It was rare to see her husband angry.
He blew out a breath between his teeth. “Okay, honey. I’m sorry if I sounded mad. We’ll just have to go back and deal with the sorry sack of shit,” Jake said, the droop of his shoulders giving away his lack of energy. Gabby squeezed her brows together. She hated putting Jake through this.
“Jake, wait a minute. What if he doesn’t know? What if René gave him a jacked-up story hoping he’d take revenge on me? Maybe if you talk to him and tell him what really happened, he’ll understand,” Gabby said.
“People like him—men like him—they don’t understand reason, Gabby. If he was willing to listen to reason, he would’ve asked you about it before plantin’ dead bugs in my truck or bringing you France’s friggin’ flowers and writing that card. The guy is whacked!” Jake yelled, though not at Gabby, just at the frustration of it all.
He sat down at the little table and picked up Gabby’s phone. It was off. He held down the button to power it up, and while he waited, he told Gabby, “I’m not waiting ‘til tomorrow. I’m calling Jerry now. I know his cell number. Jerry’ll have him in his office first thing in the morning, and if he admits to the flowers—or the dragonflies—I’m calling the cops. Like we shoulda done on his psycho uncle years ago.”
She leaned back against the headboard, crossing her arms against her chest, feeling relieved. See, I’m not crazy, she thought and smiled. It felt wrong to be so happy just to have figured out someone was stalking her, possibly someone as unhinged as René, too. But she felt validated.
Still, what about the dream? Is that normal during grieving? Do people dream about their loved ones when they die? If so, why does she look worried instead of happy and free?
“Hey, Gab... your phone is showing a voicemail. Do you want to check it before I call Jerry?” Jake asked, reaching over to hand the phone to Gabby.
“Sure.”
Gabby’s face lost all color as she listened to Emma’s voicemail. She pulled the phone from her ear, frantically tapping the button for a timestamp. It was left two hours ago. She dialed Emma’s number, hoping she wasn’t waking her for nothing. It rang several times before rolling into voicemail. Gabby hung up and dialed again... and again.
“What? Who was it?” Jake asked.
“It was Emma. She was at our house and now she’s not answering her phone. Jake, I think Mom was trying to tell me to check my phone! That’s why I saw her there—or dreamed her there—beside the table. What if she was trying to warn us? We’ve got to get back right now!”
Gabby jumped out of the bed, ready to roll, when Jake grabbed her arm. “Wait a durn minute, Gabby,” he said in a firm and slow voice. “You had a dream. You saw your mom. Let’s not get to drawin’ seriously wild conclusions just yet.” He pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her. “It may have been just a dream.” He kissed the top of her head while squeezing her to him.
“No, Jake. I think it’s more. I want to go home. Please,” Gabby whispered against his chest, pleading. This is my baby sister. Shit just got serious. We’ve got to get back home.
“Try calling the house phone,” Jake suggested.
Duh! Gabby grabbed for her phone again, quickly dialing their home number. “It’s busy. Maybe she’s using our phone.”
Jake slapped himself on the forehead.
“Shoot, Gabby. I left the phone off the hook. It’s in the drawer next to the bed. I’m sorry. I forgot all about it when you came home all upset.”
Gabby shook her head. “We’ve got to go home, Jake.”
Jake pulled her to him, snuggling her up against his chest.
“Gabby, we’re too far to help if there really is a problem. We can call the police station and have them drive by the house. They’ll see if Emma’s car is there, and if it is, they’ll check on her. Maybe she fell asleep waitin’ for us to get home. Or maybe she went on home herself and she’s asleep there. Let’s not go off halfcocked just yet, okay?” Jake said soothingly.
Gabby shook her head from side to side. “You don’t understand. My doctor already thinks I barely made it back from the edge. If we’re wrong about Tom and send the police on a wild goose chase, he may hear about it. He can put me back in under observation if he thinks I’m conjuring this up in my mind. He will, Jake.”
Jake shook his head too. He seemed stumped. He was exhausted; Gabby could clearly see that. And he was probably hoping he wouldn’t have to deal with this once they were out of town. Gabby felt bad. There was no peace for Jake until this was all settled. “There’s got to be someone we can call.”
Gabby grabbed her purse. “There is.” She started digging and came out with a card. The card that Dusty had left on her counter after he’d spent the night and then she’d left for the graveyard the next morning. She turned the card over. It said, “Just in case you need me again, call my cell.” She took the phone from Jake and dialed, hoping with all her heart he was still awake.
“Whuh?” Dusty slurred into the phone. “Who is this?”
He hadn’t recognized Gabby’s number when it came across because he’d never entered her as a contact. He’d been holding his phone in one hand, hoping Emma would try just once more to call, and a beer in the other. He’d come straight home from Emma’s, where he’d seen her and someone’s shadow d
ancing on the wall, and started drinking. Not a common occurrence with Dusty, but then again, it wasn’t often he got his heart broken either.
He’d seen Emma’s message come across earlier and then she had called. His pride hadn’t let him answer it. Still mad or hurt—hell if he knew what he was supposed to be feeling—but whatever it was, he hadn’t wanted to talk to her after seeing her with someone else, and he couldn’t just come out and ask her. They weren’t officially going out. She hadn’t exactly said she wasn’t seeing anyone, but she had specifically said she didn’t date much. That means she’s not going out with anyone, doesn’t it? Then she’s a liar. Dusty’s mind had scrambled through a cycle of confusing feelings. Love, pain, wanting, hurt, and the front runner... jealousy, fueled by Bud Lite. But after that had worn off, he’d fallen asleep with his phone in his hand, telling himself if she called again, he’d answer, if only to ask her if she’d been with Rick. Not knowing was worse than anything. But she hadn’t called again, and he’d been too proud to call her back.
“This is GABBY! Emma’s sister,” Gabby yelled again, not realizing raising her voice wouldn’t make him understand her any better. He was just barely on the drunken side of drinking; one more and he’d be there.
“And why you calling me?” Dusty asked for the second time, trying to wrap his head around what Gabby had said and failing.
“Because. Emma went to my house and called me from there. She won’t answer her phone now and I think something’s wrong,” Gabby explained, trying to talk slowly so she wouldn’t have to repeat herself yet again. “I’m out of town.”
“Call the cops!” Dusty blurted out. Then he laughed.
He turned it into an embarrassed cough.
“Oops, sorry. Um, some misplaced emotion there.” He cleared his throat, hoping to swallow down the inappropriate laughter that always came after he’d been stress drinking, which wasn’t often but usually ended in embarrassment.
“Dusty! I can’t call the cops. Please. You left your card on my counter with a note if I ever needed you again to call. Well, I need you... and so does Emma. Please go out there and check on her?” Gabby pleaded, hoping he was sober enough to handle this.
“She doesn’t need me. She’s got Rickey.” Dusty scoffed, unnecessarily stretching out the nickname of his nemesis and ending the statement with his nose wrinkled and his lip curled up. He couldn’t believe Emma would choose that tool over him. Seriously. My ego may never recover, he thought to himself.
“For God’s sake, Dusty. Rickey can’t help her if she’s facing a lunatic. Get real. Are you going or not?” Gabby asked impatiently, her voice sounding flabbergasted.
Dusty paused before answering. Gabby’s words finally sank in. Rick couldn’t help her. Of course he can’t. He’s a freakin’ wuss. That’s why big sister’s calling me. He felt his chest puff up and gave a solid nod of his head, even though Gabby couldn’t see him. “I’ll go,” he answered.
“Thank you! Thank you so much, Dusty. Please hurry.”
“I will,” Dusty answered. “I’ll call you when I find her.”
He ended the call with Gabby and immediately dialed Jump. As he waited for the call to connect and ring, he turned on the cold water in the sink. He needed to get sober quick. He was ready for his dunking when Jump picked up on the first ring—of course he did. “Hey, Dust! What’s up, dude?”
“I need ya to drive me somewhere, Jump. Come get me... quick.”
CHAPTER 31
JUMP turned into the driveway and slowly rolled down the hill. His headlights revealed a car parked at the bottom of the driveway, near the garage. He slowed to a stop midway.
“That's her car,” Dusty whispered.
“The light’s on in the house, dude. She's in there.”
Dusty pursed his lips together, blowing out a long breath. Relieved but still tense. She may not be alone. He rubbed the back of his neck, digging his fingers into the knots that had built up since his drive to Emma's earlier. What am I supposed to say if she’s got Rick in there? He stopped rubbing his neck but rubbed his chin as he grew very still, staring straight ahead at Emma’s car.
Dusty felt Jump's eyes on him. “Relax, man. What's up with you?” Jump asked.
“Nothing!” Dusty snapped back, pulling his hand down quick. “Keep driving. Take me all the way down there.”
Jump snickered. “Dude... you're like all twitterpated with this chick!” Jump said, leaning over to flutter his eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion at Dusty.
“Twitterpated? What the hell is that?”
“You know, man... Like on Bambi?”
Dusty shrugged and shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about, Jump?”
“Bambi, man... It's a cartoon movie,” Jump answered excitedly. “In the forest, mating season causes all the animals to fall in love and act all goofy. Then they mate,” Jump said, leaning close to Dusty and lifting his eyebrows up and down. “They called it twitterpated.”
I've seen that movie—by accident and only parts of it. How did I miss animals mating on a kid's movie? Dusty wondered. Definitely gonna turn on the Netflix and check that out. Probably Jump was jacked when he watched it. They say you see all kinds of crazy shit when you watch a cartoon while high.
“Yeah, well... You ever seen Mickey Mouse? This chick might be with Goofy,” Dusty answered, doing his part to try to break the tension. Jump laughed. Dusty cringed at the loudness of it. “At least she was earlier.”
“So why they need you, then?”
“Like I said, he's Goofy, not Brutus. I guess her sister wanted to bring in the big guns.”
Jump slowed to a stop and turned off the car. He killed the lights. Dusty chuckled as he watched Jump’s head dart side to side in paranoia. He looked like a chicken in a ditch, looking all around. Scared of the dark much? he thought but didn’t say it aloud. Jump was a friend—although a twitchy one—always watching shadows.
“Yeah, man, about that. Don't leave me sitting here with no protection, dude.” Jump’s eyes darted to Dusty, pleading. “This shit goes sideways or something, I might need a piece.”
“A piece of what?”
“You know, man... a gun!” Jump made the universal hand sign for a gun. “Pow, pow!”
Dusty rolled his eyes, although Jump couldn't see him. “Damn, Jump. This ain't the movies. We don't call it a piece, and I sure as hell don't carry more than one, especially since I'm off duty.”
“No shit?”
Dusty shook his head slowly. “Yeah. Seriously, dude. I got this. I'm going to go and check the house. You just sit tight.”
Dusty reached up to turn off the dome light and then quietly opened the door. Before closing the door, he leaned back in and said, “Just watch the house, man, okay? If there's any trouble at all, call 9-1-1.”
“Don't worry. I got yo back, Dust.”
Dusty stood up before rolling his eyes once again. Not my best plan, bringing Jump into this. What if shit does go sideways? My ass will probably be in a sling, but at least I’m not driving. Drinking's not illegal... Neither is checking on a friend, he reminded himself.
He slapped the heavy flashlight against his palm and turned it on. The moonlight here in the clearing around the house was bright, but you never know when you might need a good heavy flashlight—like a billy club—much safer than spitting bullets at people. But if all else failed, he’d do what he had to do. He reached behind him and patted his concealed carry gun, stuck down into the back of his pants under his shirt. Never hurts to be too prepared.
Hopefully Emma was just asleep—alone—on her sister's couch. Gabby was probably overreacting because of all the stress she'd been under, not to mention losing their mama less than two months ago. She'd called him again just as after he'd left—on his way to drive by Emma's—to tell him not to waste time going there. Her other sister, Olivia, was already there and both Emma and her car were gone. Gabby was slightly hysterical by then and had handed the phone off to Jake, who was
much calmer but still just as concerned as Gabby. He'd promised to come straight here and call them as soon as he'd found Emma.
He quietly stepped alongside the house on his way to the front porch.
Seemed like a lot of worry over Emma not answering her phone for just a few hours. Especially since they seemed aware she'd been with Rick earlier. Maybe she and Goofy—err, Rick—were just taking advantage of the house while Gabby was away. Maybe they were both in there right now, together, and more than fine. Dusty hoped it wasn't so but prepared himself for it.
He hesitated at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the door, hoping Emma had heard or seen them pull in and would save him from having to ring the bell and possibly come face to face with Rick. She’s not coming, dude. Move it, Dusty’s conscience prompted him.
When his foot hit the first step, he nearly fumbled, his shoe coming down on the edge of something. He shined the flashlight down and found Emma's phone. He picked it up. The colorful case had a crowd of cartoon figures on it; he'd never seen another like it. He turned around, shining his light across the yard. Is she out here? The swing broke his beam. It looked different than the only other time he'd been here. He quietly stepped over to it and grabbed the ribbons with his free hand, alarmed to see what looked like a few drops of blood splatter. He took a closer look at the swing seat and saw what looked like a blood smear there, too.
He swung his flashlight over the entire yard and then focused on the edge of the woods closest to the swing. There. He saw the weeds and brush pushed down as if someone—or something—had recently run through there.
He looked back over his shoulder to Jump's car first. Jump was still sitting tight, with his head poked out the window, probably trying to figure out what Dusty was doing. He still looked spooked. Dusty held his hand up and gestured that he was going up to the house; he made sure his light was aimed on his hand so Jump would clearly see his intentions.
