The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller

by JC Gatlin

  He pulled his hand out of his pocket. His fist was closed around something inside it. “Everything that happened over the last couple of years, well, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t nobody’s fault.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know.” Darryl looked down. He put his hand back in his pocket.

  Owen yanked his line out of the water and back toward the boat. The lure slammed against the curved windshield above the steering wheel and plopped down on the floorboard. Owen stared at it for several seconds before changing the subject. “Hell, you know if I went to Australia, I’d take you with me.”

  “Hell, you would.” Darryl cast his line again. “I’d probably have to pay for the plane tickets out there.”

  They both laughed at that, then fished another hour in silence. Neither one wanted to resume the conversation.

  * * * * *

  With her feet resting on the dashboard, Rayanne sat in the Chevy alone, stewing. She didn’t want to sit in the boat like a third wheel, with Darryl and her husband, and she didn’t want to wait in town either. She simply wanted to leave.

  With nothing else to do, she flipped through a magazine, tried to find a radio station that would come in clearly, and played Solitaire on her cell phone. Owen’s guitar was lying on the backseat and she picked it up into her arms. She strummed the strings a couple times, then got distracted by a stain on her yellow shirt.

  Bored, she slid out of the truck to stretch her legs. It was a sunny day. A crow cawed above her, and she heard the lake lapping the shore. It was a beautiful day and there was no reason to pout.

  Locking the truck, Rayanne dropped the keys into her purse. They clinked, hitting her cell phone stuffed deep in the bag. Lastly, she hid the purse behind one of the logs they were going to use for firewood. She looked at the black Chevy parked along the tree line, with the empty boat trailer stretching behind it.

  She walked along the shoreline, wondering how long Owen would be on the lake. Pausing, she raised her head toward the sky and took note of the sun. The morning was turning warm, and she rolled up the long sleeves of her shirt, exposing her arms. It helped cool her a little.

  Rayanne headed for the woods and walked leisurely along the dirt path for thirty minutes. She saw rabbits and squirrels. She heard rustling noises and assumed they were deer. Images of a raging bear rushed through her head. Then the bear became a Sasquatch, making her pulse thump. She laughed at herself for getting spooked so easily. The noises continued, though, gradually becoming whispers. They were so faint she couldn’t make out the words.

  She concentrated, listening, and then proceeded in the direction of the voices. As they grew louder, she realized someone was on the path, ahead of her. They were coming toward her.

  She moved off the dirt path, into the trees. Hiding in the bushes, she slipped down into the shadows. She held her breath, listening. The trees went silent as the voices approached, followed by the padding of several heavy footsteps on the path.

  Rayanne’s eyes widened, and through the limited gaps within the branches she saw the movement of an arm. With red-and-black spider web tattoos. She froze.

  It was Scut, trailed by the other two boys—the large, burly one with the beard and the nerdy guy with his arm in the sling. She didn’t see the girl or the black Rottweiler.

  “They’re back over there,” Scut was saying to them. “I saw the boat.”

  The nerd caught up with him, holding his bandaged right arm close to his side. “What if he really doesn’t have it?”

  “I’m not telling you again, Nelson.” Scut pressed a finger into the boy’s chest, ruffling his tan button-down shirt. “The old man’s got it. He’s just not giv’n it up.”

  “But what if he doesn’t?” Nelson turned so Scut wouldn’t hit his broken arm. “Then what?”

  “Stop gett’n in my head!” Scut screamed, and jerked Nelson’s arm out of the sling. Nelson cried out in pain.

  Rayanne gasped. She must have made a noise because Scut stopped and glanced in her direction. Their eyes locked.

  Rayanne stumbled backward. Scrambling to her feet, she raced into the woods. She tumbled slightly down a hill, skinning her knees, then regained her footing. The woods thickened as Rayanne came to a narrow deer path deep in the hollow of scrawny pine trees and live oaks. Thick, low bushes and infestations of poison oak wound through the trees on either side. She followed the trail anyway.

  As she ran, she felt disoriented and lost. Pausing, she gasped for breath. She was certain she heard voices again. The teenagers were chasing her. She was sure of it.

  She turned and ran through the brush, picking up speed as she trampled through the undergrowth until it finally cleared and revealed the lake ahead of her. She saw the lakeshore. Turning, she looked behind. Were the teenagers pursuing her? She heard movement and realized there were far more dangerous things in the woods than bears and Bigfoot.

  She scanned the lake. Owen and the boat were out there somewhere, but she couldn’t see them. She called out, screamed for Owen. Her voice echoed and dissolved quietly in the trees. The rustling behind her grew louder. Something was coming.

  Rayanne was sure the boat ramp and the truck were west of her, and she ran along the bank. Coming to the mouth of an inlet, she realized she couldn’t pass. The channel wound back into the woods. She followed it … running … stumbling.

  After what seemed like ages, the channel turned shallow and she decided to cross. She jumped from stone to stone and leapt to the other side of the stream. She made it to the other side, not wanting to look back. Still, she couldn’t help herself. She turned her head, glanced over her shoulder. A figure stood on the other side, where she had been a few minutes ago. It was a man. Or was it a dead tree? She didn’t wait to find out. She didn’t want to know. She ran faster. And she kept running till she came back to the lakeshore.

  When she reached the water, she hesitated and looked down the western bank. She didn’t know how far she was from the boat ramp and the truck.

  A faint hum carried on the wind over the lake. It sounded like a motor. Rayanne turned back to the lake. The humming grew louder. An outboard motor revved to full power, speeding along the center of the lake. It was Owen and Darryl. She was sure of it.

  “Hey!” Rayanne shouted as loud as she could. “Hey!”

  Splashing into the shallow water along the bank, she waved her arms and screamed. They couldn’t hear her.

  “Look this way, damn it,” she said under her breath. She hopped as high as she could, waving her arms like a crazy person. Screaming for Owen to see her. Praying Owen would turn his head.

  The boat slowed down and veered toward her. Rayanne sighed. She was on the verge of tears. They had seen her. Owen was coming for her.

  Rayanne tried to calm down. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears. She took deep gulps of air. Behind her, the woods were a living thing, wind rustling through the trees, birds chirping, animals just out of sight. But she didn’t hear anyone coming.

  When Owen and Darryl reached the shore, Rayanne ran, splashing, into the shallow water to meet them, and jumped into the boat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She sat down with her feet up in the seat, arms wrapped around her knees. “They’re still out there.”

  “What?” Owen sat beside her, placing an arm around her shoulder. “What’s out there?”

  “The teenagers.” She spoke quietly, looking down at her shoes. “The boy with all those spider web tattoos on his arms.”

  “They’re punk kids.”

  “They’re following us,” she said more forcefully.

  “Are you okay? Did they touch you?”

  Rayanne looked up at him, unblinking. “Owen, they’re after something you have.”

  Darryl stepped toward them. He removed his ball cap and held it in his hands. “I think she’s just scared.”

  Owen glanced at him, then at Rayanne, who had gotten to her feet. “Where’s your purse?”


  She stared at him. “What?”

  “Your purse. Where is it?”

  She took a step back. “I left it there.”

  “In the truck? Did you lock it in the truck?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I locked the truck.”

  “But where’s your purse?”

  “I told you.” Rayanne raised her arm and pointed toward the western shoreline. “At the boat ramp.”

  “And the keys? The keys are in your purse?”

  “Yeah—”

  Owen revved the motor. “We’ve got to get back.”

  12

  Owen didn’t pull back on the throttle until he was in sight of the boat ramp on the horizon. When he reached the inlet he slowed the boat. The craft settled into the water at the last moment and with its bow pushing a rolling wave of water in front of it, scraped hard against the muddy bank.

  Owen and Darryl leapt from the boat. Rayanne stepped out more cautiously, and found the ramp empty and quiet. No teenagers.

  “Dropp’n F!” Owen screamed. “Where’s my truck?”

  Owen ran to the dirt patch where his Chevy had been parked. An oil leak stained and marked the spot.

  Rayanne raced to the pile of firewood where she’d hidden her purse. “It’s gone,” she said.

  “Dropp’n F! They stole the truck!” Owen screamed, then turned to Rayanne. “You left the keys and your purse out here in the open? They were watching you.”

  “I’m sorry, Owen.”

  “How could you do that?” He put his hands on his head. “How could you be so stupid?”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  Darryl stepped between Owen and Rayanne. “Lay off her. She didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  “They stole my truck.” Owen threw up his arms. “Call 911. Get the police out here.”

  “I can’t.” Rayanne shrugged. “My phone was in my purse.”

  Owen turned to Darryl.

  Darryl shrugged. “Sorry, bro. My cell was in your truck. Where’s yours?”

  Owen shook his head. “Mine broke.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Owen approached Rayanne. “This is all your fault!”

  “I don’t know what else to say, Owen. I’m sorry.”

  “No. No, I don’t accept it.” Owen turned away from her, then flipped back around. “How could you be so stupid?”

  “Me?” She waved her arms at him, her voice rising. “Those thugs work for your loan shark, Owen. You did this to yourself.”

  “For the last time,” he yelled, “I didn’t borrow money from no loan sharks!”

  “Then someone repossessed your truck.” Turning sharply on her heel, she walked toward the tree line.

  Owen watched her a moment, then yelled again. “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” She walked faster, not bothering to turn around.

  “Get back over here, Rayanne.” He ran after her, reached for her.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  She pushed him away as he yelled at her. “I haven’t touched you, Rayanne. I haven’t touched you since—”

  “I don’t want to hear it!” She was screaming now.

  “Then what are you going to do? Cut yourself again?”

  Rayanne stopped. Some infinite sadness. Some haunting regret fluttered its shadow across her face. Abruptly, she turned her head and murmured, “I’m done.” She barely heard it herself over Owen’s yelling. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  Owen stopped yelling. “What?”

  Rayanne twirled the wedding ring on her left hand. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “What are you saying?” Owen held up his hands. “You want a divorce?”

  She shut her eyes, thinking, then turned to him. “I don’t know what I want.”

  “Babe, stop turning away from me.” He grabbed her arms. “I miss him every day, but I’m still here.”

  “Don’t.”

  “You and me. We’re still here.” Owen threw his arms up and turned around. Then he stopped and turned back to her. “A day doesn’t go by that I don’t miss him. An hour doesn’t go by that I don’t blame myself. I miss Connor so much—”

  “Don’t.” Rayanne’s eyes filled with tears. Her anger dissolved. She wasn’t sure why. It was replaced by deep sorrow. She watched him a moment, then said, “Don’t say his name.”

  “Why not, Rayanne?” Owen spat as he talked. “He existed, Rayanne. He was a part of our lives.”

  “Why do you keep pushing me on this?”

  “Because you spend all your time in your own little world and shutting everyone you love out of it.” He took a step toward her. He reached for her, but she shrank back. She tried not to listen, but he continued talking. “I don’t care about the truck. I don’t care about the house or the business.”

  Rayanne shut her eyes, holding back tears. She tried to shut him out.

  Owen continued. “I need you to come back to me, babe,” he said. “I want you to come back.”

  “It’s too hard.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. “And you can hide and you can pretend that it never happened and our past didn’t exist, but you can’t do it forever.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I do, babe. I do understand.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Everything you’re running from, it’ll find you. It’ll destroy you. It’s destroying u—”

  Rayanne didn’t let him finish. She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s my fault, Owen. I heard him—”

  She barely said the words when, out of the trees a black truck appeared on the path behind them. Mud and dirt flew from the wheels as its engine revved. It was Owen’s Chevy.

  Swerving as if to intentionally hit her, the truck and empty boat trailer whooshed past Rayanne just as Owen grabbed her arm and flung her into the thick brush. It missed her by inches.

  The truck’s brakes squealed and the vehicle skidded to a sudden stop on top of the weeds beside the dirt path, its rear tires angrily spitting dead leaves and gravel. The boat trailer rattled and swung violently toward the side of the truck bed. The Chevy’s engine revved, growling louder. It was only a few yards from them, and Rayanne’s mind struggled to grasp what was happening.

  “Someone’s driving your truck,” she said over the roar of the engine. She watched, dazed, as it bolted forward, made a U-turn, then came back at them.

  “Get out of there!” Darryl yelled, pushing his glasses higher on his nose and running from the bank. He was too far away and his voice barely carried above the roaring engine and rattling trailer.

  Rayanne saw him, but she wasn’t listening. Crouching beside Owen, his arms wrapped protectively around her, she watched the black Chevy speed toward them.

  “Get out of there!” Darryl yelled again. He waved his arms.

  Rayanne got to her feet but stood motionless, unable to take her eyes off the oncoming truck. Owen’s grip tightened and pulled her forward, snapping her back to reality. Together they stumbled into the thick brush behind them and ran between the trees. Coming to the thick undergrowth, they dropped to their knees behind the cover of several sprawling bushes.

  The truck swerved off the path and into the brush after them, stopping short of a gnarled oak tree. One of the teenage boys popped up in the truck bed. He laughed and whooped, then called to Owen.

  Rayanne realized it was Scut, and the boy seemed even more dangerous than before. She placed a hand on her husband’s arm, warning him not to respond to Scut’s baiting.

  “Old man, where are you?” Scut’s voice rose above the revving engine. “You stole something. Give it back and we’ll call it even.”

  Owen looked at Rayanne with wide eyes.

  She shook her head. “The boy’s not stable,” she whispered.

  “Come on, old man,” Scut yelled again from the truck bed. His voice echoed through the trees. “You know what you took. Now give it back.”

 
; Owen started to rise again and Rayanne stopped him. She tightened her hold on his shoulder, then was caught off guard by a loud yelling coming from the trees on the other side of the path. It startled her, and she saw Darryl running toward the truck.

  Darryl screamed like a savage and vaulted onto the rear tire and into the truck bed. Taking Scut by surprise, he grabbed the teen and threw him over the side of the truck in one swift motion. Scut tumbled to the ground. Then, barely pausing for breath, Darryl plunged over the side and landed on top of the kid. Scut brought up his arms, covering his face.

  “You almost hit them!” Darryl screamed as he punched Scut in the jaw. He raised his fist and hit the kid again, and again. “You coulda killed them!”

  Instantly, the Chevy doors opened. The large hairy kid with the ratty beard fell out of the cab. Unclipping a knife from his belt with one hand, he swiped a black beanie from his head with the other. Right behind him the slim, nerdy boy gripped a wooden baseball bat awkwardly in his uninjured hand. Rude Roddy and Nelson.

  They launched themselves at Darryl, who still straddled on top of Scut’s stomach, and was punching his face.

  The two boys came at Darryl from behind, pushing him to the ground. Darryl landed hard on his side. Scut, now free, got up on his knees and wiped his bloody nose on the back of his arm. Roddy grasped the nape of Darryl’s neck and slammed his forehead against the ground. Stunned, Darryl struggled upward. Then Scut whisked Darryl’s feet from under him and slammed his head down again.

  Holding the shotgun, Dru slipped out of the truck. Her Rottweiler jumped from the floorboard to the ground. He galloped to the fighting boys and barked. Dru stood behind the dog, aiming the gun.

  “Hold him still,” she said, pointing the gun at Darryl, who was struggling with the three boys on the ground. The Rottweiler growled, and that brought a chuckle from her throat. “We shoot his friend, and that Owen Meeks won’t think we’re playing games no more.”

  13

  Owen stood, rising from the cover of the brush. Rayanne couldn’t hold him back, and she remained crouched in the bushes, hidden, watching her husband run toward Dru. He tackled the girl, bringing her to the ground, and the shotgun went flying. In the commotion, Luger barked and clamped down on Owen’s leg. Owen cried out in pain and grabbed the dog by its neck as Dru struggled to her feet.