“Don’t.”
He cocked his head. Was the gallows humor upsetting her all of the sudden?
The boozy slur was gone from her voice. She crossed the room, tripping a little, and gripped him by the arm.
“Don’t open the soup,” she repeated.
He rested the cans on the counter and examined her lined face.
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t have to go to the slaughter like lambs, Joe.” She stared back at him with a hard look.
“Mrs. Ch—Eunice, we’ve been over this. He has a shotgun. We have nothing.” He swept his arms wide in a frustrated gesture to include the entire small space.
It was true. They’d spent hours scouring the cabin in search of something, anything that would serve as a weapon, but the man had taken to care to remove every blunt, sharp, or otherwise useful object: there were no knives in the silverware drawer; no scissors; no razors; no matches; no hatchet, hammer, or wrench. The sole pot was a cheap, lightweight thing. There was no skillet. There wasn’t even a can opener. The man provided them with soup that came in the pop-top cans.
“We have soup,” she answered.
He bit down hard on his lip. Even half in the bag, he’d been raised better than to call an elder a stupid cow, but he desperately wanted to.
Finally, when he was sure he could answer calmly, he said, “Exactly. We have soup.”
He turned back to the counter, snagged the can of beef stew with his right hand, and reached for the pot with his left.
“No. Joe, we have soup.” She grabbed the can from his hand and hefted it in her bony palm. “And we have socks.”
She mimed dropping the can inside an invisible sock and winding it up to take a swing.
He stared dumbly at her for at least ten seconds. Of course. Any playground bully knew that a sock full of quarters made for a dangerously effective improvised weapon.
He flung himself into the rickety chair and started pulling off his black socks. His trembling fingers made it a harder task than it should have been. His heart thumped in his chest as he wrestled the socks off first one foot, then the other.
He jammed a can down deep into the toe of each sock, suddenly grateful for his oversized feet—or flippers, as Aroostine used to tease him—and then stood and twisted the leg material. He handed one to Mrs. Chang.
“Sorry about the smell. I’ve been wearing them awhile.”
She waved away the apology and gave the sock a test swing.
“If memory serves,” she began, “you’ll want to hold this close to the heel, near the can to keep the weight stabilized.”
He didn’t ask what memory that would be, although the curiosity ate at him. There’d be time for that later—assuming this plan worked.
“So what’s the play?”
She blinked at him, surprised that he was looking to follow her lead. But she was the one who’d hit on the idea of using the cans. He assumed she had a plan.
He assumed right.
“Well, I was thinking that he usually comes in gun first, real fast, and shouts for us to get in the back room, right?”
“Sure.”
“And he’s always focused on you. He thinks you’re the bigger threat.”
He nodded. It was true—that was what the man seemed to think. Judging by Mrs. Chang’s recent behavior, he suspected the man was wrong.
“When we hear him coming, I’ll get behind the door. As soon as he steps into the room, you stop in the doorway of the back room but don’t go in like we usually do. He’ll have his eyes on you, and I’ll crack him from behind. Then you can rush him from the front.”
If he doesn’t blow my head off first, Joe thought.
He saw the idea mirrored in her eyes, and uncertainty clouded her face.
He hurriedly said, “Let’s do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“He could kill us,” she answered instantly.
“He’s going to kill us anyway.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Aroostine patted the last of the twigs and dead leaves into place and rocked back on her haunches to admire her handiwork. She’d made better shelters, but this one would suffice for one night. It was located just one hundred paces north of the spot where she’d had Franklin drop her off, so finding her way back to their meeting point theoretically would be simple. It was situated due west of the stream she hoped would lead her to the cabin. And, considering how rusty her wilderness survival skills were, it wasn’t half-bad.
She had dug out the vegetation from under a canopy of low-hanging tree boughs and insulated the ground with the leaf and twig debris. It was likely more comfortable than whatever bodily-fluid and germ-encrusted cheap mattress Franklin would be bunking down on at the motel.
She fiddled with the earpiece in her left ear.
“You there?”
They’d agreed not to use any names or other identifying information in their transmissions, both in case someone was monitoring the radio frequencies and because she had no idea how many laws they were breaking.
“Just checked in. This place is a dump.”
She grinned at her makeshift bed, doubly satisfied with her efforts.
“It’s just one night.”
“Yeah. And I doubt my mom and Joe are enjoying even this much comfort.”
The chagrin in his voice was palpable.
“Right. Listen, you’re sure the man doesn’t stay with them overnight?”
“I’m not positive, but I really doubt it. His usual pattern was to make my mom available to talk either in the evening or midday. I don’t think he sleeps where he’s holding them—he doesn’t strike me as a roughing it kind of guy.”
“Okay. Good enough.”
She checked the time. It was after two in the morning. If he wasn’t sleeping there, he would definitely be gone by now. And if for some reason he was sleeping there, the overnight hours would the best time to take the offensive against him—tribal stories always featured surprise attacks under cover of darkness and taking advantage of the target’s Circadian cycle. First thing first, though.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to take a short walk and then get some shut-eye.”
“You’re going to sleep?” His voice dripped with disbelief.
“Yes. Sleep is a weapon. I’ll catch a nap and then head out for a longer recon before daybreak. I suggest you get some sleep, too.”
She didn’t particularly care what he thought of her plan. She knew her body and her mind, and she needed some rest.
“Okay, okay. Got it.”
“Good night.”
She looked up at the cloudless night sky to orient herself with the stars. The beauty of the low-hung moon made her catch her breath. It felt right to be in the woods again.
She scanned the ridge for animals or humans and saw nothing but the still, dark outline of vegetation and rock outcroppings. She paced a large circle around her campsite, mainly to reassure herself she wasn’t sharing space with any predators. As she walked, she let the tension and anxiety drain from her body.
She wanted to fall asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow of dead leaves. Two or three hours would restore her. She always needed less sleep when she was outside, sleeping under the wide sky with no manmade light or noises to interrupt the world’s nighttime rhythms. Joe once suggested she pitch a tent in the backyard and live there.
Joe.
She blinked the tears from her eyes. I’m coming for you, Joe.
________
Franklin shifted on the hard mattress and punched the stiff pillow into a concave shape with his fist. He flopped onto his side in a futile search for a marginally comfortable spot.
How could Aroostine possibly be sleeping out in the woods, on the freezing ground?
He started counting backwards from one hundred but the hum of the motel’s heating system buzzed so loudly he lost count. Through the thin wall, he heard a toilet flush in the room ne
xt door.
He pulled the pillow over his head, jamming it down over his ears.
Bright halogen lights painted his room in a slow arc as a vehicle pulled into the parking lot. So much for the room-darkening curtain.
A car door slammed, and laughing voices drifted across the lot.
He huffed. This was pointless. He was amped up on adrenaline and anticipation. Between his racing brain and the noisy motel, sleep was out of the question. He tossed the pillow aside and peered at the illuminated clock: Three-forty a.m.
He reached over and switched on the bedside lamp bolted to the particle board nightstand. Then, just in case Aroostine woke up and tried to reach him, he popped in his earpiece. After he’d gotten it into place, he fired up the laptop, and started surfing the Internet.
CHAPTER FORTY
Friday morning, before dawn
Aroostine stretched to her full length, then rose, brushing her blanket of debris from her clothes. The leaves and sticks had done their job. She was warm, dry, and rested.
She checked the illuminated face on the watch Franklin had provided: It was quarter to six. She’d slept longer than she’d intended.
She looked up at the dark sky and estimated she still had an hour and a half before sunrise.
She glided over the frozen earth, ghostlike and silent. Although her pulse was rushing in her ears, urging her to hurry, hurry, she forced herself to keep a slow, deliberate pace. She had plenty of time to find the cabin, and she knew if she simply paid attention to the forest surrounding her, it would reveal its secrets.
She walked due east, toward the stream she remembered from the maps. As she passed a copse of small trees, a flutter announced the departure of a bird. She squinted at the shape: tufted titmouse.
The next sound she heard was the hushed whisper of water moving. She turned toward the noise. After a short while, it grew louder. She scrabbled up a small incline. As she crested it, she spotted the glint of the moon off the surface of a stream, the stream.
The stream cut through the woods and she hewed to its curve, picking her way through the tall, brown grass drooping over the bank. Perfect cover for voles and mice as they raced through the forest for water out of the sight of larger predators.
She followed the water around a bend and then stopped short, struck by a powerful wave of déjà vu. This was the spot from her vision. Just a foot away, the hulking gray boulder where the beaver had sat rose from the earth. She let her eyes travel down the hillside, across the water, and then through the tall trees uphill on the opposite bank. She squinted and could just make out a dark square squatting among the dense trees. The cabin. A yellow point of light winked in the darkness.
Her breath came in shaky, shallow gasps. She’d had visions her entire life. Everyone in her family had visions. Once she’d gone to live with the Higginses, though, she’d worked hard to ignore them and push them down. In response, they’d grown opaque and hazy, more dreamlike than real.
But the beaver’s visit in her bedroom back in D.C. had been crisp and true. Standing in the spot he’d shown her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been there, exactly there, before—or the conviction that Joe and Mrs. Chang were just over the hill.
“You okay?”
Franklin’s sleepy voice in her ear startled her.
“What? I’m fine.”
“Okay, your breath got all choppy and stuff. Just checking.”
“Why are you awake?”
“Couldn’t sleep. I’ve been messing around online. I heard you rustling around a while ago.”
“I think I found the cabin,” she whispered
“Already?!”
He shouted so loudly she thought his voice would echo off the bank.
“Shh.”
“Sorry. Wow. How’d you do that?”
She didn’t have time to explain her animal spirit guide to a computer geek. “Ancient Indian secret,” she deadpanned.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to check out the cabin.”
“Now?”
“Yes. I want to see if I can get them out. Stay handy and be ready to call the police when I say.”
“Why don’t I just call now?”
“Let’s make sure they’re actually in there, first.”
“Oh, right. Good point. Be careful.”
“I will.”
She stepped up onto the boulder and stared hard at the pinprick of light.
Would she find Joe awake inside, waiting for her? Or something unspeakably bad? Or, perhaps worst of all, would she find absolutely nothing inside?
She forced herself to move off the rock and toward the water. As frightened as she was of what she might find in the cabin, there was no other way forward. She had to know.
She waded into the icy water and sloshed across to the bank.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Joe started awake in the hard kitchen chair and blinked into the light.
“Wha?”
Mrs. Chang stood over him and peered down at his face, a worried frown creasing her lips. She was clutching her sock weapon two-handed.
“I hear something.”
The urgency in her voice cleared the whiskey-coated cobwebs from his brain and he sat up straight to listen, expecting to hear the low purr of the engine of the man’s car or the crunching of footsteps over gravel. He heard neither.
He cocked his head. He thought he might detect a faint rustling or scratching against the wall near the window.
“That?”
She nodded, wide-eyed.
“It’s probably just a tree branch,” he soothed. He glanced out the window. “The sky’s still gray. He never comes before sunrise.”
The man had never come to back to the cabin after he’d left for the night, but they’d agreed to sleep in shifts, just in case he deviated this time. They couldn’t risk losing what might be their final chance to get the jump on him.
She shook her head. “No. It’s not a branch. There’s no wind.”
“How can you tell?”
“No breeze around the window frame.”
He reached down beside the chair and retrieved his sock from the floor then pushed himself to his feet. The floor planks were cold under his bare feet.
He crossed the small space and entered the back room, trailed by Mrs. Chang. He pressed his free hand against the wall under the small window. She was right. There was no wind coming through.
He peered through the window out into the dense woods. A full moon hung on one side of the sky. On the other, the horizon was growing light. It was nearly daybreak. He saw nothing but trees.
He was about to turn to tell Mrs. Chang as much, when a spray of loose rocks hit the window. He jumped back and bumped into the old woman.
He leaned forward and squinted out into the night. A flashlight beam hit him square in the face and he shielded his eyes.
“There’s someone out there,” he said, forcing the words out. His pulse was thumping so hard in his throat that it was almost impossible to speak.
“Oh, thank you, God!” Mrs. Chang murmured, sagging with relief.
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he cautioned, although his entire body was shaking with excitement.
He pressed his head against the window. The flashlight arced away and focused on the side of the house. Between the diffuse light and the moon, he could see an illuminated figure, tall and straight, covered in black from head-to-toe. He’d recognize that regal bearing anywhere.
Aroostine.
“Aroostine?” he shouted through the thick glass.
The shape bobbed its head. She mimicked tossing a ball or rock toward him and motioned for him to move away from the window.
He raised a hand, palm up, to stop her. “Don’t. It’s too small to get through. And it’ll be too cold in here if you break it.”
She nodded understanding and strained on her toes to see through the high, square window.
�
��Are you hurt?” she called.
“We’re both fine.” He spoke loudly, glancing beside him at Mrs. Chang, who was too short to see through the window.
Aroostine muttered something too low for him to make out. Then she yelled, “Tell Mrs. Chang she’ll see her son soon.”
Mrs. Chang burst into tears.
“How’d you find us—the wood?” he asked.
“The wood,” she confirmed. “We can talk about it later. Mrs. Chang can’t fit through that window?”
“Not a chance. It’s way too small.”
It was true. They had idly contemplated breaking the window, but it measured less than twelve inches square.
Aroostine looked up at him. Even in the dim light, he recognized the frustrated, determined way she held her jaw.
“There’s got to be a way out. The only door is the one in front, with the padlock?”
“Yeah.”
His adrenaline was draining away, chased by resignation and despair. He sneaked another glance at Mrs. Chang. Her shoulders slumped.
“Okay. Hang tight. I’ll try to bust it open. If I can’t, we’ll call the police. I’m going to get you out of there.”
She smiled her reassurance and turned to go.
He felt his heart crack open.
“Wait—”
She pivoted back toward the window.
The words he wanted to say were lodged in his throat. Beside him, Mrs. Chang jabbed him in the side with a bony elbow.
“Uh … thank you,” he managed weakly.
Mrs. Chang tsked, and Aroostine’s expectant face flashed disappointment. Then her smile returned, and she gave him a thumb’s up sign before jogging out of view.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
There was no way in. Aroostine banged pointlessly on the padlock with her flashlight, frustration screaming through her veins. Joe and Mrs. Chang were just feet away and she couldn’t get them out.
She caught her breath and said, “I can’t get it open. Call the cops.”
There was no response.
“Franklin?”
Mortal Crimes 1 Page 46
