Tin God

by Stacy Green

  “My sunglasses?”

  “They were laying on the counter for you. Couldn’t resist.”

  “So you plan to frame Royce? I don’t think he’ll appreciate that.”

  “Royce is a drunk. Closeted, of course. He’ll be easy to lure over here. You’ll already be dead. Then I’ll kill him and make it look like a murder-suicide.”

  “Easy-peasy.” Jaymee’s mouth had gone dry.

  “I thought so.” Darren finally looked at her again. Something in his eyes had shifted. “Not anymore.”

  * * *

  Nick let Cage drive. Cruiser lights flashing, they raced down the county road. Detective Charles rode behind them in the ambulance.

  Jaymee would need the ambulance. She wasn’t dead. Darren wouldn’t kill her right away. He’d want to play with her–torture her. Holden said he’d told Darren where Sarah was. Her brother would want to tease Jaymee with that information.

  Nick turned to Cage to voice these thoughts, but the words died in his throat. Pain decorated Cage’s face. His sister’s murderer and best friend’s kidnapper had been under his nose all this time.

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  Cage snapped his head back and forth. “Don’t.”

  “He fooled everyone.”

  “That supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No.” Nick didn’t speak again. He shut his eyes, and for the first time in four years, started to pray.

  36

  Jaymee struggled against a growing sense of despair. She couldn’t stand much more. Her stomach had gone rank from heat and fear. Her clothes stank from last night’s struggle on the muddy ground and layers of salty sweat. Water did nothing for her foul-tasting dry mouth. Murder-suicide might still be on Darren’s mind, but bone-numbing instinct told Jaymee the plan no longer involved Royce Newton.

  Her brother remained in his spot on the floor seemingly oblivious to the cabin’s sauna-like conditions. He didn’t move, speak, or even blink for an eternity. Jaymee mirrored his lack of action, barely able to breathe.

  Would Darren stab her or strangle her?

  She cast a jittery glance at his still form. Weak spots: throat, groin, knee. Knee. Darren had a bad knee, injured playing basketball in high school. A hard kick might give her enough time to escape. If she could get to her feet.

  Slowly, she moved her ankles. Alternating. First the left and then the right. No use. The plastic bound her too tightly.

  “Darren.” Her voice had gone hoarse. She coughed. “My feet are numb.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and raised his head to stare at her. He needed a haircut. Wrinkles she’d never noticed lined his eyes. Growing stubble did nothing for him. Neither did dull, bloodshot eyes. He could have been the mental patient who sat in front of the window day and night, mute and miserable. He should have been.

  “I’ll take care of it soon enough.”

  * * *

  “Where is this place?” Nick clutched the armrest as the cruiser bounced around the dirt road.

  “Boon-fucking-docks.” Cage spoke through tight lips. “Lyric Lake is pretty big. Scattered cabins around it. No real towns nearby. Not for ten miles or so.”

  No help for Jaymee.

  “How close are we?”

  Cage glanced at the speedometer. He sped up. “Fifteen minutes if I don’t flip us.”

  * * *

  Hands in her lap, hidden between her legs, Jaymee rubbed her wrists raw. Half her right hand was free, but the restraint caught on her knuckles.

  Darren had gone catatonic. He had to be aware of Jaymee’s movements. If she could free one hand, she’d have a fighting chance.

  “Holden said I was weak?” His bluster gone, Darren sounded like a little boy who’d just been told Santa and the Tooth Fairy didn’t exist.

  “Just because he said it doesn’t mean it’s true.”

  “But that’s what he thinks about me. After all I’ve done.”

  “Does he know what you’ve done for him?”

  Darren sat up a little straighter. “No. No, he doesn’t.”

  She thought fast. Walking a tightrope now, she had to lead Darren in the right direction. “I’m sure he’d think you were strong, but would Holden value murder?”

  “I did it to protect him.”

  “But murder is a sin. Holden believes he’s helping the children by finding them parents in an unconventional way.” Jaymee nearly choked on the bile brought on by the lie. “Murder is against God, Darren. Holden won’t condone that.”

  He slumped again, sagging all the way to the floor into a yoga-like pose, his head on his hands and the knife resting between them. Shoulders rising and falling, slowly at first, and then faster, Darren’s body quivered. His gusty breathing was loud and ragged, the noise festering in Jaymee’s ears until she wanted to scream.

  “Darren, stop crying.”

  “I thought I was protecting him.”

  “You did. But the truth has a way of prevailing.”

  “I failed. I’m a failure.”

  For Christ’s sake. She didn’t have the psychology degree for this, much less the patience. Her body was frying in the heat, her bladder had filled to an excruciating level, and her nerves were as frayed as a bad electrical wire.

  “Nothing’s ever been good enough for Dad.” Darren’s face was soaked with tears, the skin around his eyes red from rubbing. Snot streamed from his nose. “But I thought Holden accepted me. He was only pretending.”

  “That’s what he does, Darren.” Jaymee tried to discreetly free her trapped knuckles. Her skin tore. She gritted her teeth to stop the scream. “He manipulated you, just like he did me and Elaine and who knows how many others. It’s not your fault.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  Jaymee leaned forward, hiding her hands. Darren still had his head down. She braced herself and gave a final, hard yank. The small knick on her knuckles turned into a gash down her index finger, but the rush of slippery blood provided enough lubrication to free her hand. It smacked the floor before Jaymee could stop it, and she ceased breathing, eyes on Darren.

  He didn’t move.

  “End this.” She shifted so that she could get to her knees. The knife was still between her brother’s slack hands. She might slice her hand, but if she could grab the blade, he’d crumble. Hopefully.

  “How?”

  “Let me go. I’ll cover for you, Darren. Say it was someone else who took me. We’ll make up a story. You rescued me. The other murders will go unsolved. Everything will go back to normal.”

  Silence.

  Ducks quacked on the lake. Birds cheeped and whistled. Blood rushed to Jaymee’s head, filling her ears with a harsh whoosh. She wanted to scream, wanted to hit, wanted to hold Darren. He was a monster–a monster who murdered her best friend and destroyed lives. But he was also her brother. The same boy who’d quieted her tears after Paul whipped her, who’d sneaked her popsicles when she wasn’t feeling well, and who’d offered to beat up the supposed low-life who’d left her pregnant at seventeen. Darren was the only member of her family who hadn’t completely renounced her. Every week, he told her he was there if she needed him. Every week, he made her feel a little less loathed.

  Maybe he really did hate her. But he was her damned brother, brought up in the same dungeon of self-righteous piety and abuse. If anyone could understand the screwed-up workings of his mind, she could.

  “Darren, please. Let me go, and I’ll make it all okay.”

  She expected more crying. Maybe shouting. Even a sudden lunge with the knife. His laughter threw her off guard. It wasn’t full-on belly laughter, but cackling; first low and rough, and then high-pitched and as chilling as any horror film she’d seen. Knife in his right hand, Darren unfolded his body out of the weird yoga pose and sat up.

  His raucous laugh grew louder. “You’ll make it okay?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  The laughter died as fast as it started. His eyes were no longer
dead but bright and glowing. Darren held her hostage in his gaze. Helplessness replaced by grim understanding.

  “No, you don’t.” The robotic set of his face made Jaymee go numb with terror.

  “I do, I swear.”

  “Do not lie to me,” he screamed, jerking forward, snarling and spitting, so enraged Jaymee swore she saw the devil himself. “You think I’m stupid? Weak, like Holden? Soon as I let you go, you’ll run and tell the first person you see what I’ve done.”

  His frenzied screech hurt her ears. She barely caught herself before she covered them with her freed hands. Instead, she buried her hands in her lap and hunched into a quivering ball.

  Darren leapt to his feet. “You’re all a bunch of fucking liars. Holden, Dad, Mom. You. You most of all.”

  “I lied for you,” Jaymee said. “I told you.”

  “I didn’t need your favors. I don’t need them now.” He pounded his chest with clenched fists. “You’ll see. I’m no coward.” He threw his head back and shouted at the ceiling. “I’m no coward!” The last words came with the force of a screech owl.

  Out of time.

  Panic sent Jaymee into action. Dropping her shoulder, she sprang forward with a move she’d learned in flag football years ago. She’d have to thank Cage for teaching her how to play. She slammed against Darren’s leg and hit him in the bad knee with all the force she could muster. He teetered, howling in pain. She drove her fist into his stomach. Eyes wide as dinner plates, arms moving in tiny circles, he fought for balance. The weight of Jaymee’s body prevailed, and the two of them fell backward in a grotesque, slow-motion ballet.

  His butt hit the floor. Velocity carried the rest of his body down. The cabin rattled with the impact, and the knife flew out of his hands. Blinded by sweat and fear, Jaymee shoved off her brother. She dragged herself toward the knife.

  Fear licked the back of her neck. At any moment, Darren would grab her ankle and throw himself on top of her. Her fingers inched forward. The steel glinted in the sunshine. So close. Panic tightening in her ribs, breath held, stomach twisted, she made a final lunge.

  She clasped the knife.

  Jaymee wrenched herself around, knife in front of her, ready to strike.

  Darren lay motionless.

  37

  Jaymee slid forward, brandishing her weapon.

  Her brother didn’t move.

  Then she saw the blood trickling from his open mouth. His eyes were open. Frozen in shock. Like Rebecca.

  No.

  She reached Darren and laid her left hand on his chest. He wasn’t breathing. The duffle bag. His head had landed on the blue bag and was propped up at an odd angle, like he was using it for a pillow.

  She touched his neck. No pulse.

  Trance-like, Jaymee reached for the duffle bag. There was something hard and bulky inside.

  Realization blanketed her in a smothering cocoon. Tears dripped from her leaking eyes. She unzipped the duffle bag enough to see inside.

  Crystal’s old typewriter.

  Jaymee crawled away from Darren’s body. She perched against the wall, and a stinging, raw scream forced its way out of her throat. Grief swallowed her whole. She cried until her throat was hoarse and her lungs burned.

  Bleary-eyed, all the fight drained out of her, Jaymee sat and stared and cried some more. Her brother was dead. She’d killed him.

  The keys to the van were probably in Darren’s pocket. Freedom meant rummaging through her dead brother’s clothes.

  Jaymee closed her eyes. Heaviness seeped into her mind and then made its way down her arms and into her legs. She needed to cut the binding around her ankles, but her energy had been drained.

  Someone shouted her name.

  Her imagination. She needed to get up. Leave.

  Too tired.

  She heard her name again, louder this time and just outside the door. She opened her eyes.

  Blaring sunlight suddenly blinded her. She blocked it with her hands.

  “Jaymee. Jaymee, it’s me. Look at me.”

  Nick.

  38

  The descending sun painted a backdrop of brilliant pink and rich orange splashed with purple. It sank over the western edge of Roselea’s historic cemetery, slowly casting the graying stones in shadow.

  Jaymee sat beside Lana’s grave. She placed the bouquet of wildflowers she’d brought into the copper base at the foot of the headstone. “Your favorite. I picked them from the field down the road.”

  Her bandaged hand looked ugly against the colorful blossoms, and the cut on her chest still hurt. The scrapes were superficial, but they were the least of her worries. Like a magnet, Jaymee’s attention was pulled to the opposite side of the cemetery where the Ballard family plot resided. The dirt still piled over Darren’s freshly dug grave.

  He’d been killed on impact when the back of his skull struck the heavy typewriter. His death was ruled an accident and an act of self-defense. Jaymee faced no charges, but the grief she carried was penance enough.

  His funeral had been two days ago, and only a few people showed up. Mary was silent, clutching her confused and crying child. With her mother by her side, Jaymee laid a white rose on his casket and told her brother she’d forgiven him.

  “I love you, Darren. I’m sorry for everything.”

  Paul tried to attack her at the cemetery. He spent the night in lockup and now had a restraining order against him. Sonia was moving to Biloxi to live with her sister. Jaymee intended to visit.

  Her gaze lingered on Darren’s final resting place. She hated that it would be months before he had anything but a temporary marker.

  A warm, strong hand caressed her shoulder, and Jaymee leaned into Nick’s embrace. He’d sat quietly behind her for several minutes, his presence enough to steady her tumultuous emotions.

  “Cage texted.” Nick spoke against the shell of her ear. “Holden’s been released from the hospital. He’ll be booked in town, and then he’ll be shipped to Jackson.”

  “Good.”

  Whether from guilt or disappointment or humiliation, Darren’s actions had been Holden’s undoing, and he confessed to Detective Charles and the attorney general. His church and home office were raided, his accounts seized. A list of sold children–all twenty-one of them–had been turned over. Hannah’s House was helping to facilitate the heartbreaking process of contacting both birth parents and adoptive parents.

  “Did you tell Cage where we were?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He say anything else?”

  Nick’s fingers trailed down her arms. “To say hi to his sister for him.”

  Cage had given them his version of his blessing at the hospital when Jaymee was treated for dehydration and shock. She’d clung to Nick, unable to let go, and Cage had nodded once. She knew it still hurt her friend, but he was trying.

  Not that he had much choice. Nick hadn’t left her side since carrying her out of Holden’s cabin. He had slept on a miserable cot in the hospital and then shared his bed at Annabelle’s. They hadn’t always slept.

  Nearly losing Jaymee had brought Lorelai around, and after a long talk, she’d forgiven Jaymee. She and Oren had been nearly as ever-present as Nick and Cage.

  “Can I see the picture again?”

  Shifting against her, Nick retrieved his new phone and handed it to Jaymee. A few taps, and a picture of a smiling seven year old with brown curls and mischievous eyes appeared. Jaymee touched her daughter’s face.

  “She really does look like me.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  Holden had lied about Sarah leaving the country. She was safe and sound in Oxford with her adoptive parents. He was a professor at Ole Miss and the mother a stay-at-home mom. They were devastated when the attorney general contacted them. Because of the illegal adoption, Jaymee had the right to petition for custody.

  They’d emailed this picture of Sarah, and Jaymee used Nick’s account to stare at her precious daughter. She was filled with equal joy and
pain every time she opened the file. Sarah looked like Jaymee, but with Holden’s bright eyes and cheeky smile. Sarah was happy.

  “You can still change your mind.”

  “No.” A part of Jaymee would always ache for her daughter, but being a good parent meant sacrifice, just as her own mother had sacrificed. Jaymee had taken a hellishly long road to that revelation, but she was at peace with her decision. She wouldn’t ruin her daughter’s happy life by putting her own selfish needs first. Legal adoption papers were being drawn up. “Just a few weeks and it will be final.”

  “I’m proud of you.” Nick stood up, smiling down at her. In the dusky light, his dark blond hair glinted with gold streaks. He touched Lana’s headstone.

  “I hope you’re at peace now.”

  Jaymee uncrossed her legs and gingerly got to her feet. The ankle she’d sprained running from Darren still ached.

  A dragonfly flitted past and landed on Lana’s headstone. Its delicate, translucent wings glowed, and its green body looked iridescent. Jaymee held her hand out, and the dragonfly rose in the air. It lingered for a moment before settling on the tip of her finger.

  “Did you know,” she whispered, “that in almost every part of the world, the dragonfly symbolizes change in the perspective of self-realization? Change in mental and emotional maturity and in the understanding of the deeper meaning of life?”

  As if satisfied, the dragonfly moved its wings, caught the faint breeze, and flew into the sunset.

  Nick’s warm arm pulled her close. “Where’d you hear that?”

  She smiled up at him. “From Lana. When I was a little girl. She loved dragonflies.”

  His eyes misted. He cupped her face in his hands, kissed her forehead. “She did, didn’t she?”

  Jaymee took his hand in her bandaged one and led them out of the cemetery–away from the past and on to a new life.

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