The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller

by JC Gatlin

  “I left the back door open.”

  “What?”

  “I left the back door open.” Rayanne began to cry. “I was watering the plants on the lanai, and he was in the living room playing.”

  “Whatever you think happened that day—”

  “I know what happened that day. I was there.” She was sobbing now. “It is my fault. My cell phone rang and I ran into the kitchen to grab it. I was only gone a few minutes. When I came back, he was in the pool.”

  “Ray—”

  “He’d walked outside into the backyard and fell into the pool.” She could barely get the words out. “Oh, dear Lord. His body was floating …. He died because of me …. My baby died because … because I didn’t shut the—”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” He placed a hand on her cheek, wiping the tears. “You loved him.”

  “No, I killed him.” Rayanne stood. “I killed our son.”

  “Ray, no, you didn’t.”

  “I’m here and he’s not. That’s not the way it’s supposed to work,” she said. She sniffed and stopped crying. “How can I live when my baby doesn’t get that opportunity?”

  Rayanne threw the cypress branch on the ground and stepped on it, smashing it into the sand. Owen struggled to his feet and reached for her. He took her in his arms. She struggled against him, then relaxed. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, squeezing her to him.

  With her head buried in his shoulder, she cried.

  The early summer evening dropped its duskiness over them, and they stayed huddled together like two people alone in the world. As they watched the lake, Owen’s breathing grew shallow and Rayanne guided him back to the tree. They fell down together, their backs against the cypress trunk, and she allowed his head to rest on her shoulder. His hands were shaking and she squeezed his fingers, trying to steady them.

  She searched the sky again, praying for help. Her free hand slipped into her pocket and grasped the rabbit’s foot. Her fingers caressed the soft fur as she watched the moon rise.

  Thick patches of clouds moved across the sky. There were still no boats, as far as she could see, but an occasional flash of moonlight sparkled off the water and came through the trees to her right. To her left, the lake ran into complete darkness. Then something emerged from the dark. Moonlight glinted on chrome.

  Rayanne’s eyes widened.

  A boat drifted in the shadows. A few yards from shore. It was their bass boat, waiting for them.

  Rayanne leapt up, bumping Owen with her shoulder, and rushed into the water. Splashing, she launched herself forward, running in the shallow water. She moved as fast as she could, praying the boat didn’t drift away from her to the center of the lake. The water deepened, coming up to her waist, but she waded faster, gaining on the boat. She hit the bow so hard with her shoulder she nearly dislocated it. Her feet dug into the sand. She pushed the boat backward, toward the shore.

  A chill down her back made her shiver as she sank to her knees in the water and, springing up, she vaulted into the boat. Fumbling for the ignition, she found it, turned the key, cranked up the engine. It started with a high-pitched growl, sputtering mud and hydrilla behind her. She shut off the engine.

  Jumping out of the boat onto dry land, she ran to Owen. Lifting him by his armpits, she whispered in his ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

  He was barely conscious, and she said it again, louder.

  She struggled to move him, and let out a faint cry when she noticed a look of surprise on his face. Rayanne’s ears twitched sharply upward as she heard a noise. She turned her head and a scream caught in her throat.

  Scut smirked and whispered her name.

  His cold smile and the rank odor of his breath registered before he backhanded her. Pain ignited in her left ear and she flipped around.

  A black mass rose out of the darkness and swung the butt of a shotgun at her head. She saw it coming down at her, but too late. She groaned and pitched forward, unconscious before she struck the ground.

  27

  A spray of cold water struck Rayanne’s face, stirring her awake. She opened her eyes and found herself lying on her back in a speeding boat. It vibrated and bounced, racing across the dark lake. High above, a solid moon glowed brilliantly in the sky, so she knew it had to be the wee hours of the morning. Rayanne shivered as more water droplets hit her face.

  Shifting, she groaned and realized her hands were tied in front of her. She lifted her arms, trying to reach her head. Her whole skull ached. She wasn’t sure how long it had been or how long she’d been out. She wanted to shut her eyes and return to that safe, black oblivion. She closed her eyes as the boat bounced again, jolting her onto her side. Rayanne’s eyes opened and widened in horror.

  Across from her, at the front of the boat, she saw Darryl’s rigid corpse. It was stretched out on the floorboard. His lifeless eyes were open, staring. His arms and hands had frozen in rigor mortis. Two gray cinder blocks were tied to his ankles. To his right, lying in a clump of bloody tattered clothes and mud, Owen’s body lay face down and motionless. He was only unconscious, she hoped, and she wanted to go to him.

  Rayanne struggled to move. She eventually sat up, rocking with the boat, and raised her bound arms. The boat rocked again, thrusting her forward. Her face planted into the rough carpet of the floorboard. This brought a sharp cackle behind her, and Rayanne turned her head to find Scut steering the boat.

  Sitting behind the steering wheel some three feet behind her, he laughed. The handicapped man—the one she had seen at the cabin—was sitting in the bench seat beside Scut. His legs draped lifelessly over the edge of the seat. At his feet, Rayanne noticed, was their Winchester. It was probably what hit her upside the head, and it was lying on the floorboard like discarded bait. She stared at the gun, then up at Scut as he sharply turned the wheel.

  The boat whipped to the right. Rayanne rolled onto her side and hit the base of the console. She regained her balance and, still lying on the carpet with hands bound, she craned her neck to find Owen at the front. He appeared safe. Unconscious, but safe. His body shifted into Darryl’s corpse, and Dru was pushing him away with her foot. Rayanne turned again and looked up at Scut. She was practically at his feet now, her shoulder pressed to the base of the console.

  “Now, don’t get all excited, lady,” Scut said, smiling down at her. He sounded smug and self-satisfied.

  The shotgun at his feet hadn’t moved, and was within arm’s reach. If she could free her hands, Rayanne knew she could grab the gun.

  “You guys won’t be here long,” he said to her as he slowed the boat. The motor quieted. Bringing the throttle back, he flashed a toothy grin. She knew that couldn’t be good.

  “What does that mean?” It was the first thing she’d said, and Rayanne suddenly realized how thirsty she was. She ran her tongue over her cracked lips and watched Scut get up from behind the wheel. He maneuvered around the disabled man. The man from the cabin. The man Owen knew—what was his name? She couldn’t remember, and watched Scut wave at Dru. She still stood at the front of the boat, her right boot planted on top of Owen’s shoulder like a hunter standing over prey. She called to Scut.

  Rayanne heard the girl’s voice, but wasn’t listening. She focused solely on keeping her balance as Scut rocked the boat. She watched him step to the front and stand beside Dru. The girl reached for him, grabbing his arm as he squatted next to Owen’s body. He shook Owen’s arm and yelled in his face.

  Rayanne screamed for him to stop it as Scut kicked her husband. She forced herself up onto her knees, then fell again with the boat’s jerking movements. She raised her head and watched helplessly as Scut planted his boot into Owen’s side again, then again.

  Rayanne fought with the rope holding her wrists together and looked back at the disabled man sitting on the bench behind her. “Make it stop,” she said to him. “He’s going to kill my husband.”

  The man smiled, as if he was enjoying it. Ignoring him, Rayanne turned forward a
gain, seeing Dru take a turn kicking Owen’s side. Rayanne inched ahead. She screamed, thrashing her arms, trying to loosen the bond. When Owen groaned, she stopped. Scut froze and put a hand in front of Dru, halting her as well.

  “Owen!” Rayanne watched him cough and gag, then turn onto his back. He lifted his head.

  “Babe?” Owen craned his neck, turning his head up toward Scut and Dru, then over at Darryl’s body. He groaned again, then looked at her Rayanne. “Babe, you okay?”

  Rayanne could barely understand him.

  The disabled man—what did Owen say his name was?—slumped in the bench seat by the steering wheel, and Rayanne looked back at him. His limp feet grazed the Winchester on the floorboard, but he didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he didn’t have feelings in his legs.

  He remained slumped in the seat, even as he spoke. “Owen Meeks, you’re awake.”

  Rayanne looked at her husband.

  Owen seemed confused for a moment. Then his eyes widened. “Groves, what are you doing?”

  Grover Lott. That was his name, Rayanne thought, and turned her head to look at the man. She knew he was going to reach down and pick up the shotgun. But he didn’t. Instead, he clasped his hands together and nodded his head.

  “I’m pleased you remember me,” Grover said, clearly addressing her husband. “How long has it been? Ten, fifteen years?”

  Owen stirred at the front of the boat, barely able to raise his head. Rayanne saw that his hands were tied like hers. His ankles were knotted together too. He didn’t move, though, seemingly focused on Grover Lott.

  “What do you want, Groves? Why are you doing this?”

  Grover laughed. “You’re acquainted with Scut and his girlfriend already. They’re in my employ.” Grover waved at the girl, then motioned toward Rayanne. “My nephew wanted to join us, but he’s at the cabin, licking his wounds. Seems somebody threw a wild animal at him.”

  Rayanne struggled to sit up, and thrashed her arms to free her hands. The rope loosened, but her wrists were still bound. She wanted to stand. Giving up, she relaxed and leaned her back against the console.

  “We didn’t have a choice,” she said. “He tried to shoot us.”

  Owen looked at Scut and Dru standing over him, and back at Grover. “What do you want?”

  “You know what I want.” Grover’s voice carried across the boat and into the night. It echoed over the lake, sounding ghostly.

  Owen groaned, perhaps from the pain. Perhaps from something else. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

  “And you know that I’m not.” Grover smiled at him, dismissing Owen’s accusation. “You’ve seen it, just as I have. You’ve seen what it can do.”

  “And I’ve seen what happens when you lose it,” Owen said. “I don’t have it.”

  “Let me show you what will happen if you don’t give it back to me in the next sixty seconds.” Grover waved a hand at Scut.

  The teen acknowledged him with a nod, then tapped Dru’s shoulder. They maneuvered around Darryl’s corpse. Dru lifted Darryl’s feet. The rope that wrapped around Darryl’s boots slithered across the floorboard of the boat and straightened. It was attached to two cinder blocks. Scut slid his tattooed arms under Darryl’s armpits and around his torso. Lifting the corpse, Scut and Dru swung it toward the side of the boat and pitched it overboard. The body splashed into the dark water. Instantly, the two cinder blocks scuffed across the floorboard, following the body over the side. They made quieter splashes.

  Rayanne screamed when she saw the rope wrapped around her husband’s ankles stretched along the carpet to another two cinder blocks in the center of the boat. Rayanne shook her head. She tried to stand again.

  Owen met her eyes, quieting her.

  He turned to Grover. “You’re sick,” he said. “You know that.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” Grover said.

  A heavy silence hung in the air between the two men.

  After a moment, Owen looked down at the floorboard of the boat, as if he was absorbing what had just happened.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. He chuckled, then laughed out loud. His laughter turned into a cough. He regained his composure and looked up at Grover. “You shouldn’t have done th—”

  “Owen, don’t!” Rayanne pleaded. “Babe, please.”

  Owen looked at her, seemingly surprised by her calling him “babe,” then back at Grover Lott.

  “Tell me, Owen Meeks. How long has it been?” Grover’s voice was louder. “How long has it been since you last saw me?”

  “I know you blame me for the accident.” Strength seemed to grow in Owen’s voice. “I get that. You think I pushed you off that cliff on purpose.”

  “I know you did, bro.” Grover emphasized the word “bro” with an exaggerated, sarcastic antagonism. “I was there.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted any of this to happen.” Owen tried to stand, but he stumbled with his hands and ankles tied. He got to his knees and held up his hands. His wrists were bleeding beneath the rope. “But you know how it was, growing up.”

  “No, bro.” Grover enunciated every word. “Tell me. What was it like, growing up?”

  “You were timid. Shy, you know. Afraid to do anything. And I didn’t want everyone making fun of you because you were afraid to jump.”

  “Isn’t that ironic? I guess no one makes fun of me anymore, do they? I guess I’m not afraid to do anything anymore.”

  “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Owen said again, his voice now weak and groggy. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “You’re right, Owen,” Grover said. “Return it to me, and none of this has to happen.”

  “Let my wife go.” Strength grew in his voice. “You’re mad at me, Groves. Not her.”

  Grover cleared his throat. “Now, now, Owen. This isn’t about you and it isn’t about me. It’s about what you took from me. And I want it back.”

  “I told you, I don’t have it.”

  “I didn’t believe it at first. But when I watched you become so successful, when I saw how blessed you’d become, I knew it was true. I knew then what you’d done.”

  Owen never took his eyes off Rayanne, even though he spoke to Grover. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please, let my wife go. She has nothing to do with this.”

  “Then give it back …” Grover stretched out his arm, opening his hand. “If you didn’t mean to hurt me, give me the rabbit’s foot.”

  “I can’t, I told you,” Owen said quietly. He laughed again, then coughed. “You’re right, I took it. I took the rabbit’s foot and lost it. Just like you did.”

  “Just like I did?” Grover brought a hand to his face, seeming to think about that. “When this happened, you cried at the side of my bed for days on end, babbling how sorry you were. But you didn’t return it to me, did you? You kept it.”

  “It was just a toy. Who knew what it could do?”

  “You knew. Else, why did you keep it all these years? Why else did you blow out of town and out of my life?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  Grover wouldn’t let him finish. “Because you couldn’t bear to see me. Is that it? You couldn’t bear to see what you did to me.”

  “I never meant to—”

  “If you had returned the rabbit’s foot, I wouldn’t have been laid up, crippled, and forgotten while you and Darryl ran off being best friends and getting married and moving on with your lives.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  Grover was screaming now. “Because you stole it, I was stuck at my parents’ home, in my room, rotting away. And I never, ever forgave you.”

  “I told you I don’t have it,” Owen yelled, and then paused. He laughed again. “But I can tell you who does.”

  Grover let out a deep breath. “Go on. Humor me.”

  “Darryl.” Owen nodded toward the side of the boat. “He stole it from me two years ago, before my life tanked. He told me las
t night, before he died. He had the damn thing on him. Took it out of his shirt pocket and showed it to me.” Owen cocked his head and grinned. “I guess if you want it, you’re gonna need some scuba gear.”

  The occupants of the boat fell silent as Scut and Dru watched Grover from the bow. Grover looked down, biting his lower lip.

  “Well,” he said quietly, staring at his empty hand. “That is unfortunate.”

  Rayanne knew instantly what that meant, and screamed. She watched helplessly as Scut grabbed Owen’s arms and Dru came to his feet. They lifted Owen off the floorboard and carried him to the side of the boat. The two concrete blocks tied to his ankles scratched along the thin carpet. Rayanne struggled to her feet and fought against the loose ropes around her wrists.

  “No! Stop it!” she yelled as she got to her knees. Her right hand slipped through the coarse rope and she raised her hand to halt him. “I have it. I have what you’re looking for.”

  Her other hand, with the loose rope coiled around it, went to her jeans pocket and she fished the rabbit’s foot out. She held it up, showing them. The bright pink fur glistened in the moonlight.

  Everyone paused.

  “The rabbit’s foot,” Grover said. He reached for it.

  Rayanne shrank back. “Let us go,” she said, “or I swear I will chuck it overboard.”

  Grover waved to Scut. “I’m tired of playing these games,” he said. “Kill her and take it.”

  Scut released his grip around Owen’s torso. Owen dropped to the floor with a loud thud that rocked the boat. Scut stepped across the boat. He approached Rayanne, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. It opened with a flick of his wrist. Standing over her, he leaned forward, pointing the knife. Rayanne locked eyes with him, and took a deep breath.

  He came close to her, breathing in her face, and she could smell his rank breath. Rayanne inched back on her haunches, as if cowering from him, then sprang up. She knocked her forehead into his chin.

  It cracked loudly.

  Scut bounced backward, surprised, and cried out in pain. She then pushed him as hard as she could. He lost his balance, rocking the boat. Flailing his arms, he arched back, pitched over the side of the boat, and splashed into the water.