“Goddamn it, Trent, I am taking care of her. And, no I’m not drinking. What about you? Are you gonna’ take care of her, too? Or are you just assigning that to the town drunk?”
“And I’m beginning to regret it.”
“You’ll regret this, too, if we don’t act now. This must happen, Deputy. With or without you, this is happening.”
“Stay with Vanessa, Jerry. Just stay with her and be there for her. The roads are a nightmare. We don’t need any more tragedies tonight.”
“We are running out of time! We have—”
“No, Jerry! That’s enough. I have work to do here and I don’t have time for this. Bye, Jerry.” Trent hung up the phone and fought the urge to pick it up so he could slam it back down again.
“You should go home,” Virgil said. “The Barrows house is under control, and the town is closed for all intents and purposes. Go home … do what you do. I know where to find you if I need you.”
Trent seemed to think about that for a moment as he leaned against Virgil’s counter top.
“You ever going to finish that story?”
Virgil huffed aloud. “You want more of that story? Maybe, but only over a beer and a steak from my grill. Some sunshine. A nice breeze. You get the idea …”
Trent grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “I’ll hold you to that. Call me when you need me.”
“You do the same,” Virgil replied, knowing Trent would do no such thing.
Trent drove home in a daze. Thinking of Jerry’s phone call and the fantastic stories both Jerry and Vanessa Barrows were telling.
Post-traumatic-stress disorder. That was the most logical explanation. Certainly, the easiest.
And being a former rookie officer in NYC during 911, Trent knew a thing or two about PTSD.
He rolled to a stop at the intersection of 9th and Birch, where he spotted a large truck speed through a stop sign.
He cursed under his breath. “Stupid kids are gonna’ kill somebody.”
No time to worry about that now.
Five minutes later, Trent pulled into his garage. He could tell the moment he walked in that he was alone.
“Jill? Jill? You still here?” he called out, knowing he’d receive no answer.
“She’s not here,” his dead wife said.
Despite being accustomed to his wife speaking to him since he moved to Chaplin Hills after her death in the South Tower all those years ago, her words startled him.
He caught his breath and asked, “Where did she go?”
“She left. She left with the boy. Now I need you to listen to me, Trenton. I’ve cherished being able to talk to you since you’ve moved here. But the soil here is bad. I don’t think it always was, but it is now. And it has been for a long time. You know it just as well as I do. Maybe even better.”
Despite the heater working overtime, he couldn’t stop shaking. “I live here. My whole life is here.”
“It’s a house and a job, Trent. That’s all. You can get a new house and a new job.”
“It’s not that easy.” Trent put his head in his hands and massaged his temples as if he was trying to fight back an oncoming migraine. “I made a promise to Dan and Vanessa Barrows.”
“Oh, honey. Donny’s dead. Leo’s dead. And Vanessa … There’s nothing left for you to do here.”
Despite everything, a chuckle bubbled out of his throat. “You know Jerry wants me to help him burn that tree house down.”
Janet didn’t respond, and Trent found he wasn’t surprised. He secretly hoped she would mock the idea as he had. “Am I losing it? Am I going crazy? Am I crazy?”
“No. I love you, honey, but you can’t stay here anymore. But before you go, you need to find the girl. She’s in trouble.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do. Not really. She left with a young boy and they are both in trouble. They are being hunted. And I’m worried that you’re next. You need to go … leave this town. But you must save them first.”
Trent could hear her words like they were there, but he couldn’t see her. Janet was not there for him to touch and hold. “Tell me what to do?”
The house was quiet, save for the consistent hum of the heater and the wind outside. Trent hung his head. “Don’t go. Not now…”
“Go to the tree house, darling, and end this once and for all.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Trent could feel his pulse quicken as he saw the front end of the truck sticking out of the ditch.
That’s the Sinclair kid’s tow truck.
Carl lived in the apartment building next to the football field, which made him the pervert teacher’s neighbor.
Trent frowned and pulled the cruiser as far over to the side of the road as he dared. With a flip of the switch, he activated his warning lights and stepped into the cold.
Despite the heavy snow that still fell, Trent could see a bevy of tracks around the car. He panned his flashlight around the scene and instinctively unsnapped the catch that secured his service pistol. Three steps through the snow, and Trent aimed his flashlight inside the vehicle.
Empty.
He reached for the handle and pulled. It swung open and the dome-light lit up.
A noise from the other side of the truck.
Trent removed the pistol from his hip, almost calling out, but he hesitated. He slid around the front of the truck, pistol and flashlight leading the way. With his back pressed against the trucks grill, Trent sucked in a shaky breath, and then spun towards the driver side door.
Nothing there.
Trent exhaled. Suddenly, the noise came again, behind him this time. Moaning. The Deputy spun towards the noise, his flashlight illuminating a snow-covered lump on the forest floor.
Will this night ever end?
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Trent said, racing towards the limp form. The body lay face down, but Trent was already certain it was Leo’s former friend, Kevin. Trent spotted the wide pool of bloody, slushy, snow before he spotted the exit wound on the boy’s upper left shoulder. The open wound caused another adrenalin spike, and the Officer wondered how many more of those he could take.
“No more.”
He checked the kid’s pulse and almost couldn’t believe that the boy still had one. It was weak but steady.
“I’ve gotta’ move you, young man. Just stay strong.” Trent rolled him over and opened his coat. He tore open the kid’s shirt and saw blood dribble out of the small hole in his left shoulder. Trent tore off his own coat and struggled to rip the sleeve from his shirt.
“I should carry a goddamn hanky like Virgil,” he spat the words out, hoping that swearing would relieve some of his stress like usual. So far, it wasn’t working.
Finally, the shirt gave way. Trent pressed the scrap tight against the kid’s wound.
With that done, Trent exhaled a deep breath and considered the woods. He could see tracks leading into the forest.
“A killer went that way.” The words slipped out of his mouth, and Trent wondered briefly if someone else had said it.
With an effort, Trent tried to ignore what may or may not be fleeing into the woods, while he raced back to his cruiser to open the back door before returning for the boy. “We can’t wait for an ambulance, bud. I hate to do this to you, but here goes.”
Trent lifted the boy from the snow. He was so cold and heavy.
Dead weight.
Trent slid the boy onto the backseat.
“Hang on, kid,” he said, before slamming the back door and climbing into the driver’s seat.
Trent dialed 911 and told them he was transporting a shooting victim to Sedgewick Memorial hospital and, barring too much trouble with the roads, should be there in twenty minutes or less. “Be ready,” he told them.
The roads may have been dark and slick, but they were empty, and Trent was thankful for that. He was good at driving on slick roads. And they were better than they had been at the storms outset. If he was going to crash, it would probabl
y be due to constantly checking on the boy in the rear-view mirror. The kid had remained silent, but Trent had convinced himself that he could see the boy’s chest rising slowly, shallowly.
“We’re almost there, bud. Just hang on … stay strong.”
Trent pulled into town, lights flashing, siren blaring. As the police cruiser made the final turn and approached the hospital, Kevin finally spoke.
“Jesus Christ, this hurts.”
Trent jerked his head around to the backseat. “Kevin! Thank God. We’re just a few minutes from the hospital. You’re going to be okay.”
“He shot me? He shot me!” The boy groaned in pain.
Careful to keep the car on the road for the last few blocks, Trent asked, “Who shot you, Kevin?”
From the rear-view mirror, Trent could see the boy grimacing in pain.
“Listen, kid, you’re going to make it … You’re going to be just fine. Now tell me who did this to you.”
“He has Jill,” the boy said franticly. “You have to help her. He’ll kill her, I know it. I just know—” A watery cough cut off his words. “Oh, shit, I’m coughing blood! I’m coughing up blood, man! That’s bad, isn’t it. Am I gonna’ die? Am I dying?” His words ran together and only stopped due to another coughing fit.
“You are not going to die. I promise you. Just stay calm. Kevin. Who shot you? Who has Jill? Who has her?”
“I’m dying,” he muttered, his eyes drifting off, staring into space,
“Focus, Kevin!” Trent chided.
Kevin’s eyes snapped back into focus, and he looked at the man behind the wheel. “Mr. Barker has her. My freaking history teacher did this.”
~ ~ ~ ~
With the siren screaming, and the lights flashing, Trent pulled the cruiser into the Emergency Room slot. Two attendants met him with a stretcher.
As the attendants carted the boy off, Trent couldn’t help but notice the terror in the kid’s eyes.
“You’re going to be fine, I promise. I’m going to fix this.”
Kevin glanced at him, but didn’t respond. And then he was gone, whisked through the sliding doors and down the hall by the doctors who were yelling orders at nurses from the front desk.
As Trent turned back to his car, a familiar voice caught him by surprise.
“That’s the Harper kid, isn’t it?” Jerry didn’t know young Kevin Harper, but he had been a few grades above Kevin’s dad in school. And in Chaplin Hills, everybody knows everybody.
Trent turned to face the voice. “I don’t have time to shoot the shit with you, Jerry. I need to get back to town.”
“Yes, you do need to get back to town, and I’m coming with you. We have to stop this, and I think I know how.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Trent said again. He turned his back on the man and began walking to his car.
Jerry ran after him and grabbed his shoulder. “You can’t run from this. You can’t cover your eyes and pretend you don’t see it. It may stop eventually, but how many more bodies do you think it will leave in its wake?”
Trent could only stare wide eyed at the man in front of him. This wasn’t the head down, lovable loser that he had always been. Trent, with shame, realized that he didn’t like this new Jerry nearly as much as comfortable ‘old Jerry’.
When Trent finally did open his mouth to rebut him, Jerry wasn’t having it.
“Save it, ‘Deputy’, I could do without any more excuses today. Especially from you. If you don’t want to help, well then by God, that’s your own damn choice. But you’re going to give me a ride back to town, and we both know it. So, let’s stop bullshitting and get on with it.” He stormed passed the Officer and stood next to the passenger door, an impatient look on his face. “It’s not getting any warmer out here,” he added, making a move-it-along gesture with his hand.
Before Trent could stop himself, he hustled towards the vehicle.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Well look at that,” Troy said, staring wide eyed at the tree house. “I don’t think I really thought it would be here.”
Jill, who had been to the abandoned tree house on many occasions, wasn’t as awestruck. But she was still in shock. Was Kevin dead? She wasn’t sure, but she knew he would be if she didn’t do something to help him.
“Please let me go, Troy. I won’t say anything, I swear!” Her words were slurry from her fat lip.
Her teacher and former lover pointed towards the steps that lead into the tree. “Go on, sweetheart. Get moving before you freeze that sexy ass off.”
“Please …”
“Ugh. You’re starting to wear on my last nerve, girl. Now climb the damn stairs before I do something crazy.” He shoved her hard between the shoulder blades, and Jill stumbled forwards.
The tree branches and the structure itself protected most of the steps from the falling snow, but it was still six inches deep and slick. Jill’s feet slipped on the third step, and she fell to the bottom, slamming her shin on one of the boards. She cried out in pain, eliciting a slap to the back of the head from her kidnapper who had to dance out of her way as she fell. He cursed at her, grabbed her under her arm, and forcibly pulled her to her feet.
“No more Mister Nice Guy, bitch. Move your ass before we freeze to death like a couple of dumb fucks.”
Jill looked up to the top of the steps and could picture herself pushing this asshole over the side. With a renewed sense of purpose, Jill stepped carefully onto the ledge.
“Atta girl.”
She reached for the ledge and carefully ascended the winding staircase. Behind her, Troy moaned at her deliberate pace. Jill didn’t care. She couldn’t stop staring at the landing above.
I’ll turn and shove the bastard with everything I got. I’ll probably fall with him, but what the hell … it’ll be worth it.
Jill reached the top step and let herself breathe. She could feel Troy behind her.
Just a few more steps …
One more …
“Well don’t just stand there,” Troy said, “Open the door and let’s get outta’ this shitty Nebraska weather. Maybe you could warm me up when we get in there … you know, for old times’ sake.”
Jill gritted her teeth and spun towards him. With all her strength, she pushed at the man standing behind her. The surprise on his face was almost comical. His leering smile morphed into one of confusion, before becoming one of true hatred. He raised his hands to defend himself, but Jill was too fast, and her palms were already on his chest. With a grunt, she pressed, and Troy Baker stumbled backwards, arms flailing. Troy’s face twisted in pain as the small of his back struck the railing. His balance began to shift towards the ground, but he held on, righting himself.
Jill rushed forward to finish the job. Troy grabbed her arms just below the elbows, and pulled her towards him.
“If I go, you’re coming with me.”
Jill shrugged, “Okay.”
She dug her heals into the slick boards and found just enough traction to send them both over the side.
The two of them careened towards the snow-covered earth like a human torpedo. Troy landed first, but the thick blanket of snow cushioned his fall. The added weight of the girl on top of him knocked the wind from his lungs in a rush. The back of his head and his left shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but there was so much snow.
Troy cried out as Jill rolled off him, finally escaping his grasp.
“God, you bitch!” Troy tried to say, gasping for air, trying to sit up.
Jill climbed to her feet, barely noticing the throb from her right wrist.
Please, don’t be broken.
Either way, she knew there was no time to worry about that now.
Troy grasped at her ankle and squeezed, but his hands were frozen, and they had no strength. She freed herself and ran. Behind her, Troy still struggled to get to his feet while she picked up speed.
I’m gonna’ make it! Jill thought, I’m gonna’ make it!
And then her mother wal
ked out from behind a tree.
“Hi, honey. Where you going so fast?”
Jill screamed and tried to stop. She lost her footing and tumbled forwards, directly into her mother’s hands.
“There you go, I got you, sweetheart. Isn’t that nice?”
Jill squirmed. It wasn’t nice at all. Her mother’s arms were bare and, despite the cold air, they were warm to the touch and slimy, like a wet snake.
“No, stop,” Jill cried. She struggled against her mother’s grasp, which seemed to caress and squeeze all of her at once, as if she was more octopus than mother. There were hands all over her. She could feel them pulling on her, groping. Eight hands? Twelve? Poking. Prodding. Soft. Aggressive. Twenty hands? A hundred?
“Let me go!” Jill screamed.
And to her surprise, her mother did.
Jill collapsed to the snow. She looked up and the thing that looked like her mother was gone. She turned to run, but Troy was blocking her way.
“I’m really mad at you,” he said. Then he punched her in the face, smashing her lips again, knocking her out cold.
~ ~ ~ ~
Troy petted Plastic Jesus and whispered into its ear. “What’s happening? Where are you? Don’t leave me now!”
He repeated these phrases as he paced back and forth across the dusty floor of the tree house. Jill kept her head down, but her mind raced. There was a way out of this; there had to be. The laces around her wrist were tight, and she couldn’t budge them, but her feet …
Her jeans had kept him from tying the binds around her feet as tight. When Troy had his back to her, she pistoned her legs up and down, effectively sliding the lace down from her high ankle down to the top of her boot. She was now certain that if she could kick off her boots, she could slip out of the ties. She may not be able to untie her hands, but she could run.
“I need a hit,” Troy said. “Yes … a hit.” He fumbled through his pocket until he found the last of his stash in a tiny plastic bag.
The Complete Bleaker Trilogy Box-set Page 32
