Ethan took them around the edge of several deserted clearings. They reached a mess of outcropping rocks blocking their way. Ethan said nothing, merely took her hand and somehow led her through them. If he told her he could see in the dark, Joanna would have believed him. She stayed very close, nearly matching his footsteps. He stopped suddenly and she bumped into his back. He nodded, pointed ahead.
She leaned around him to see—what? She kept looking. There, she saw it, a light, only a flash of light, but it was there, off to their right, maybe forty feet away, not more. Then the light winked out.
Gotcha, Ethan thought, and put his finger against his lips.
He led her in a wide circle. Ethan stopped every few steps to listen. Joanna couldn’t hear or see anything. She said nothing. She felt her heart pounding, her breath catch in her throat. Truth be told, she’d rather have to fight a couple of black bears than Blessed and Grace. She knew they were close; she could feel them. She also knew what they could do to both her and Ethan with a single look. The flash of light they’d seen, it had to mean they weren’t asleep. Did they sense Ethan was close? Did they sense her? Were they waiting? Was the flash of light bait?
Ethan whispered, “Stay here. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.”
She watched him slither between two scraggly pine trees, then he was swallowed up by the darkness. The night seemed to have turned blacker than the bottom of a witch’s kettle.
She waited until she couldn’t stand it. She took one step, felt his hand on her back, and nearly screamed. He said against her temple, “They’re asleep, Joanna. We’ve got a chance now.”
“But what about the flash of light?”
“One of them probably got up to relieve himself. We’ll wait another ten, fifteen minutes, just to make sure.”
He sank down to lean against an oak tree, Joanna next to him, and they waited. After a minute, she began to hear the night sounds re-turn, a cricket, an owl hooting, small creatures moving in the underbrush.
They waited. Joanna was stiff with cold, but she didn’t say anything. When she believed her teeth would begin chattering, Ethan rose, pulled her up beside him. They both stretched to get their muscles working again.
She followed him, her hand on his back, trying to move as quietly as he did through the underbrush, under the tree branches, trying not to trip on the rocks and the rotted vegetation. She could see only his outline in front of her. She heard a sound beside her foot and stopped suddenly. Ethan stopped too. It was a small animal, a possum or a weasel. Ethan smelled a whiff of smoke, the light taint of a burned-out campfire in the night air.
Close, they were very close. When they reached the edge of a small open space, not more than six feet across, Ethan saw the small fire they’d built was nearly out. There was no movement that he could see. On either side lay a sleeping bag. Everything was quiet, a postcard kind of night.
Another owl hooted. An answering hoot came quickly, then another.
The air was soft against their faces, soft and cold. Joanna shivered. She pressed against Ethan’s back. He whispered, “They must have stolen the sleeping bags, if it’s them. We’ll have to shine a light. I’ll take the sleeping bag closest to the fire, all right? You take the other. Remember, don’t hesitate. If ever our lives will be on the line, it’s now.” He stared down at her for a long moment. He knew she couldn’t see him clearly, but he could see her. He touched his palm to her cheek. She looked scared, and determined. It would be enough. “Let’s do this and get back to Autumn.”
She nodded, her throat suddenly dry as desert sand. She’d never really understood wanting to kill another person, but she understood now. She felt a wild need to kill Blessed, watch the life flow out of his mad eyes. Then at last Autumn would be safe. And Ethan, a man she’d known only for a week or so. That was amazing.
She stared at the unmoving sleeping bag not ten feet away from her. She thought she saw the shape of a head, but she couldn’t make out who it was. It didn’t matter.
They approached silently, their weapons raised, Ethan breaking away from her toward the closer sleeping bag.
Ethan felt something flutter behind him and froze. He knew without looking. He whipped the Remington up and whirled around, his eyes down, and fired.
He heard a little girl’s scream of pain. He jerked his head up and looked at Autumn, standing not six feet from him at the edge of the trees, and she was bleeding, a gaping tear in her small chest, a river of blood flowing from her small body.
Joanna screamed her daughter’s name but swung her gun around and fired down at the sleeping bag, again and again until the clip was empty. There was no sound, no movement. Autumn—oh, God, no, no.
“Ethan. Mama. Why did you shoot me?”
She was dead. Joanna had seen the huge bloody hole through her chest.
She was hearing her dead child’s voice.
50
“ETHAN, MAMA, that’s not me. I’m over here.”
Ethan watched as the little girl he’d shot fell slowly to the ground onto her back, watched that little girl change—a second, that’s all it took—like a shift in the air had lifted a veil, and Grace became him-self. Ethan shook his head, not wanting to believe what his eyes had witnessed. It was madness, but it was nonetheless true. His life had flown out of control since these two had come into it. Grace lay on the ground, his hands pressing frantically down on his gut, blood and fluid seeping through his fingers, and he was hissing with pain.
Ethan yelled to Joanna, “Where is Blessed?”
“I shot him in his sleeping bag,” Joanna said as she ran toward Autumn. “Finally he’s dead, thank God, he’s dead. I emptied my clip into him.”
“No, you didn’t, Joanna.”
She whirled around, stared him right in the face.
“No!” Autumn screamed, and launched herself at Blessed. He turned to grab her small arm. He looked at Ethan as he jerked up the Remington. “You don’t want to do that, Sheriff.”
Ethan froze.
“Autumn, my little niece, my little sweetheart, it’s all right now— no, it’s not, I can’t lie to you. He shot Grace, that sheriff shot your uncle, Autumn. Look at him, it’s bad.”
Blessed dragged Autumn to where his brother lay curled up on his side, his palms flat against his belly, his blood now gushing through his fingers, whimpering with pain. Gut shot, the sheriff had gut-shot Grace. Blessed knew if he didn’t get him to the hospital fast, Grace would die. His guts would twist up, and they’d turn green and black, and Grace would rot. He would die screaming. Martin was dead, and now Grace. He’d always protected both of them, always paid back, with bloody interest, anyone who bullied them because they were different, because they were special. But the bullies beat his brothers up only once, because Blessed nearly killed them. And now Grace was shot, shot bad, in his belly. Blessed had failed him. He wanted to howl, to shriek, but not pray, never pray, because Mama had told him prayers from him could bring up the devil and then things would re-ally get bad.
He stood there staring down at his brother, his brain squirreling about madly. He knew little Autumn was terrified, he couldn’t blame her for that, but Grace was lying on the cold ground, weeping and screaming. What was he to do?
Grace’s eyes fastened on his brother, tears running in dirty rivulets down his thin cheeks. “Blessed,” Grace whispered. “Listen to me, Blessed. Kill me, kill me. There’s no choice. Oh, Jesus, I can’t stand it.”
“Oh, no, no, you can’t ask me to do that, Grace. No!”
“Do it, Blessed. I can feel the bullet in me, feel it burrowed deep I know there’s no way to get me out of here. I shouldn’t have tried to fool the sheriff like that. He was afraid it was you, so he shot me before he looked at me, my fault.
“I love you, Blessed. Tell Mama I’ll look down on her. Tell her I’ll prepare a welcome for her and a special place for her. I know I’m dying, Blessed. Do it now, please, just do it now.” Grace drew up his knees, still clutching himself, and
turned his face away. His sobs were all they could hear in the silent forest night.
Blessed said to Ethan, “Give him a kill shot.”
Ethan turned to Grace, brought up his Remington, and fired. The bullet struck Grace between his eyes. His body lurched up, then collapsed again. He died with his eyes open, his face riddled with pain, his hands still clutching his belly.
“Stand back, Sheriff.”
Ethan took a single step back. Blessed pulled Autumn with him as he dropped to his knees beside his dead brother. He touched Grace’s face, closed his staring eyes. “I’m sorry, Grace. This is gonna kill Mama, and she’s gonna blame me even though it was what you wanted. I couldn’t take you to a doctor, and you knew it.” He leaned down and kissed his brother’s tear-streaked face. Blessed straightened, swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, then turned to Ethan. “You killed my brother.”
Autumn hit him with her fists, yelled in his face, “Don’t you dare hurt Ethan or Mama! You monster, don’t you dare!”
Blessed controlled his killing rage. He stared down in shock at the little girl, his own flesh and blood. “I’m not a monster. That’s not a nice thing to say to your uncle.”
“I hate you. I wish you weren’t my uncle. I wish you were in hell. That’s where you should be.”
“I am your uncle and I love you.” Autumn was hiccupping, tears streaming down her face. He thought for a moment and said slowly, “If you promise to come with me willingly, I won’t kill them even though the sheriff did murder my brother. If you promise to let me and Mama teach you how to use your gift, I won’t. Do you promise?”
Autumn looked at Grace and thought, You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead. But Blessed wasn’t dead. He wasn’t like her, that was a lie, he was a monster, and monsters could look like anybody they wanted to when they snuck into your dreams or crashed into your face. Autumn knew death was the end of things, like her father had gone away forever, and now Grace wasn’t here anymore either, and that meant sometimes death was good. But Blessed—what should she do?
She looked at Ethan, then at her mother, both of their faces blank, as if they weren’t there.
She heard his rough old voice saying again, “I promise I won’t kill them, Autumn, I won’t, if you do what I want.”
Blessed’s words fluttered over her. Autumn wanted to run to her mother, to shake her until she was back into herself again, and she jerked her arm to try to get away from him, but Blessed tightened his hold. She wanted her mother, she wanted her laughing and holding her, telling her everything would be all right. She nodded up at the old man whose eyes were hard and soft at the same time.
“Say it. Say, ‘I promise, Uncle Blessed.’”
It was hard to get the words out, but she did, finally. “I-I promise.” She tried to say his name, but she simply couldn’t. She hated his name, it scared her. Autumn lowered her head and cried. Through her hiccups, she whispered, “I want my mama back.”
“You will have her, but just not yet,” Blessed said. “Sheriff, you will dig a grave for my brother.”
Ethan said, “I don’t have a shovel.”
Autumn’s head snapped up. Ethan sounded like himself, it was his voice, but in a way it wasn’t. His voice sounded dead, uncaring, flat as the strawberry pancakes she’d tried to make for her mother on her birthday.
Blessed said, “Then you will dig with sticks and your bare hands. Woman, you will help him. Both of you.”
He loosened his hold on Autumn’s arm. She ran to her mother, but Joanna ignored her, dropped to her knees beside Ethan, and began to dig, pulling up clumps of dirt and grass, tossing them as far as she could.
“Mama.” Autumn pulled on her sleeve, but Joanna paid her no attention. Autumn grabbed Ethan’s jacket, but, like her mother, it was as if he wasn’t even there. “Come back, come back,” she whispered, and couldn’t even whisper anymore because her throat was clogged with tears. She drew back her fist and hit Ethan as hard as she could He didn’t flinch, he didn’t react at all, he continued digging up dirt, big handfuls of it, throwing it over his shoulder. It was horrible what she was seeing, but Autumn couldn’t do anything to stop it. She listened to the thuds of earth strike the ground. She didn’t look at Grace; she couldn’t. She fell to her knees and began to dig up clots of earth.
“Stop that! Come here, Autumn,” Blessed said, and pulled her away.
“I’ll help them. Let me help them. Let me dig too.”
“No.”
Blessed pulled Autumn down to the ground beside him and held her there. She sat beside the monster for what seemed like hours, watching her mother and Ethan dig a grave for Grace, and finally, so exhausted her brain finally closed down, she fell asleep.
When the grave was deep enough, Blessed wrapped Grace in a sleeping bag and told the sheriff to lay him at the bottom of the four-foot hole. He did.
“Now come out.”
Ethan climbed out of the hole and stood silently beside Grace’s grave.
Autumn slept, her face against her cupped hands. Blessed had taken off his jacket, covered her with it.
He said, “Now, both of you, fill the grave.”
Throwing handfuls of dirt over Grace’s body didn’t take as long as digging his grave. When it was done to Blessed’s satisfaction, he told them to stand respectfully on each side of Grace’s grave. “Sheriff, you and the—” He took a quick look at Autumn, saw that she was sleeping soundly, and said, “You and the bitch will pray for my brother.”
Ethan said, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want....”After a moment, Joanna joined him.
Blessed thought of his mother, at the awful soul-tearing grief she’d feel, and felt his throat clog. He prayed she’d understand. She had to. He’d had no choice. He listened to the smooth, even cadence, a monotone really, no feeling to the words at all. At least they knew all the words. It was good.
Blessed slapped his hands against his arms. He was getting cold without his jacket, but that was all right, Autumn needed warmth more than he did. She was only a little girl, after all, so small and fragile, and she was his niece. She was important. He wished she understood. But it was too soon and the child was too young, too dependent on her mother, the bitch who controlled her. She would come to understand, to know he’d done the right thing. Blessed tucked his jacket more closely around her. He didn’t want her to get sick. Autumn still slept—a blessing, Blessed thought, and smiled at the irony of it—a blessing, and that’s what he was, that’s what both his mother and his father had told him. His smile fell away. How was he to tell Mama the story hadn’t ended right, that another one of her sons was dead, dead because of the sheriff?
My fault, Grace had said. No, it wasn’t Grace’s fault, Blessed would never accept that. Grace had a gift, he was good, his soul was in heaven with Martin. Was Martin in heaven? He hoped so, but he’d been away from his family for so many years, nearly half his life, and Mama had finally said, Let him go, let him go, he’ll come back, on his own. But Martin had been corrupted, all her fault, and then the bitch had brought him home in an urn.
And now Grace was dead too, and he’d rot inside that sleeping bad covered with a mound of heavy black dirt because he’d been doing what he had to do. It hadn’t turned out right. It had all gone wrong and Grace was dead. He’d lie out here forever.
It wasn’t right.
Blessed felt his rage build until he shook from the inside out. It was so strong, his need to kill both of them, to wipe them away as if they’d never existed. It would be hard with Autumn, though, if he broke his word to her. He didn’t know what she’d do, and Mama said he had to get her back. She had to have Martin’s daughter. He looked at them. They were filthy, covered with Grace’s grave dirt. He supposed he couldn’t leave the wilderness with them looking like this.
“Take us to the nearest stream, Sheriff.”
Blessed picked Autumn up in his arms and followed Ethan and Joanna. Thankfully, she still slept because those two had exh
austed the poor child, dragging her through the wilderness, probably not giving her enough to eat or drink in their rush to get her away from him and Grace. The sheriff seemed to know where he was going, even in the dark. Blessed was impressed.
51
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
Thursday morning
An orange glow lit up the gray dawn sky. Even this early there was lots of traffic on the road, mainly trucks and vans. They checked into a small Hilton because they were both exhausted, but sleep didn’t come. Sherlock finally sat up. Hazy morning light now filled the room. She saw Dillon was awake, staring up at the ceiling.
“We’ve got Shepherd out of circulation,” she said with satisfaction. “She’s behind bars, scaring her fellow inmates with her chants.”
Savich turned his head to look at her. He smiled. “When she screamed at one guard, I thought he was going to faint.”
“See? We did good. You told Ethan we were going to cut off the snake’s head and we did.” She kissed his ear, then looked toward the windows at the bright morning sky. “Well, I don’t think sleep is going to happen.” She called Ox’s cell and, glory be, got through to him. She turned on the speaker and Ox told them they were getting ready to go in since it was light enough now. But Ox sounded really worried.
“I’ll call you guys as soon as we find them, or I know more.”
She told him about Shepherd in jail in Atlanta, then, “Ox, we think Blessed and Grace are headed back home, to Bricker’s Bowl. Please keep in touch.”
When she punched off her cell, Savich said, “I’ve tried to call Autumn, but there’s no answer.” He sighed. He was scared for them, really didn’t see a good outcome here if Ox and all the rest of the deputies hadn’t heard from them. Then again, there wasn’t much reception in the wilderness.
Sherlock was right. They’d had one victory. He thought of everyone’s shock when they first saw the little old lady in cuffs, being hauled into booking. The chanting and screaming took care of the shock. Shepherd was tucked away tight. That left Grace and Blessed. He felt panic nibbling away and wanted to smack it out of his head. Well, he’d gotten what he’d wanted. He’d bet his gym membership Shepherd had somehow contacted Blessed and Grace.
KnockOut ft-13 Page 23
